And Brice's footsteps quickened, as in a race with darkness.
Then, at a twist of the path, the way suddenly grew lighter.
And at another turn, twilight brightened into clearness.

A hundred feet ahead was a thin interlacing of moonflower vines, compact enough, no doubt, to prevent a view of the path to any one standing in the stronger light beyond the grove, but making distinct to Brice a grassy clearing beyond.
Upon this clearing, the brief bright afterglow was shining, for the trim grass and shrubs of an upwardsloping lawn were clearly visible.

For some minutes the water and the swamp underfoot had given place to firmer ground, and the character of the trees themselves had changed.

Evidently, the trail had its ending at that screen of vineleaves draped between two giant gumbo-limbo trees at the lawn's verge.
Thirty feet from the vines, Brice slackened his steps.

His lithe body was vibrant with cautious watchfulness.