Robert's blood chilled, and it was not from the cold of the water.

He was in a mystic and unreal world, but a world in which danger pressed in on every side.

He felt like one living back in a primeval time.

The swish of the paddles was doubled and tripled by his imagination, and the canoes seemed to be almost on him.
The questing eyes of Tandakora and his warriors swept the waters as far as the night, surcharged with mists and vapors, would allow, but they did not see the two human figures, so near them and almost submerged in the lake.
The sound of the swishing paddles moved southward, and the line of ghostly canoes melted again, one by one, into the darkness.
"They're gone, Tayoga," whispered Robert in a tone of immense relief.
"So they are, Dagaeoga, and they will seek us long elsewhere.

Are you yet weary ?" "I might be at another time, but with my life at stake I can't afford to grow tired.