Once launched on that wild ride Isaac forgot his uneasiness and his bruises.

The night was beautiful; he loved the water, and was not lacking in sentiment.

He gave himself up to the charm of the silver moonlight, of the changing scenery, and the musical gurgle of the water.

Had it not been for the cruel face of Crow, he could have imagined himself on one of those enchanted canoes in fairyland, of which he had read when a boy.

Ever varying pictures presented themselves at the range, impelled by vigorous arms, flew over the shining bosom of the stream.