But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. The small Diedermayer clan was a captive audience. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. Committing him to the custody of the others, Blueskin, followed by a numerous band, darted in that direction. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites.
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