"
"Where are we going now, Bruce? Not the way they went--" and
Betty glanced out into the black void where the keel boat had
merged into the gloom.
"No, no--but we can't get the raft back up-stream against the
current, so the best thing is to land at the Bates' plantation
below here; then as soon as you are able we can return to Belle
Plain," said Carrington.
There was an interval broken only by the occasional sweep of the
great steering oar as Cavendish coaxed the raft out toward the
channel. The thought of Charley Norton's murder rested on
Carrington like a pall. Scarcely a week had elapsed since he
quitted Thicket Point and in that week the hand of death had
dealt with them impartially, and to what end? Then the miles he
had traversed in his hopeless journey up-river translated
themselves into a division of time as well as space. They were
just so much further removed from the past with its blight of
tragic terror. He turned and glanced at Betty. He saw that her
eyes held their steady look of wistful pity that was for the dead
man; yet in spite of this, and in spite of the bounds beyond
which he would not let his imagination carry him, the future
enriched with sudden promise unfolded itself. The deep sense of
recovered hope stirred within him. He knew there must come a day
when he would dare to speak of his love, and she would listen.
"It's best we should land at Bates' place--we can get teams
there," he went on to explain.
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