Once, close ahead, a great white bird, winged like an angel, rose in spectral silence through the twilight.
"Did you see!" she breathed, partly turning her head.
"Good heavens, yes! What was it; the archangel Michael ?" "Only a snowy heron." The Seminole had halted and laid his hand flat on the dead leaves under a gigantic water-oak.
"A-po-kes-chay," he whispered; and Shiela translated close to Hamil's ear: "He says that we must all sit down here--" A sudden crackle in the darkness stilled her voice.
"Im-po-kit-chkaw ?" she asked.

"Did you hear that?
No-ka-tee; what is it ?" "Deer walk," nodded the Seminole; "sun gone down; moon come.

Bimeby roost um turkey.

Li-kus-chay! No sound." Shiela settled quietly on the poncho among the dead leaves, resting her back against the huge tree trunk.

Hamil warily sank into position beside her; the Indian stood for a while, head raised, apparently gazing at the tree-tops, then, walking noiselessly forward a dozen yards, squatted.
Shiela opened the conversation presently by whispering that they must not speak.
And the conversation continued, fitfully in ghostly whispers, lips scarcely stirring close to one another's ears.
As for the swamp, it was less reticent, and began to wake up all around them in the darkness.