He knew he must return to the fringe of cypress to be able to cross the open field and gain the negro quarters, where it was still possible that Cato had fled.

Taking a general direction from the few stars visible above the opening, he began to retrace his steps.

But he had no longer the negro's woodcraft to guide him.

At times his feet were caught in trailing vines which seemed to coil around his ankles with ominous suggestiveness; at times the yielding soil beneath his tread showed his perilous proximity to the swamp, as well as the fact that he was beginning to incline towards that dread circle which is the hopeless instinct of all lost and straying humanity.

Luckily the edge of the swamp was more open, and he would be enabled to correct his changed course again by the position of the stars.