Certainly the inexplicable appearance of her father the night before had shaken her nerves.

Ann was doing a braver thing than she had ever done in her life, because she was a prey to terror.

Lonely as the desolate Ahwewee was, to turn from it into the windings of the secret opening seemed like leaving the world behind and going alone into a region of death.

There was no sound but the splash of paddle, the ripple of the still water under the canoe, the occasional voice of a frog from the swampy edges of the lake, and the shrill murmur of crickets from the dry fields beyond.
When Ann came near she saw the bound figure reclining in the arms of the fallen tree.

Then she believed that her worst fear had been true--that Bart had been unfaithful, and that her father had died in this wretched place.