His arm, however, still retained the rudder-paddle in position, so that the canoe sped on with equal swiftness.  She would have struck more than one of the sandbanks and islets had it not been for the strong current that was running.  Instead of carrying her against the banks this warded her off, for it drew her between the islets in the channels where it ran fastest, and the undertow, where it struck the shore, bore her back from the land.  Driving before the wind, the canoe swept onward steadily to the west.  In an hour it had passed the line of the black water, and entered the sweet Lake.  Another hour and all trace of the marshes had utterly disappeared, the last faint glow of the vapour had vanished.  The dawn of the coming summer’s day appeared, and the sky became a lovely azure.  The canoe sailed on, but Felix remained immovable in slumber.

Long since the strong current had ceased, it scarcely extended into the sweet waters, and the wind only impelled the canoe.  As the sun rose the breeze gradually fell away, and in an hour or so there was only a light air.  The canoe had left most of the islets and was approaching the open Lake when, as she passed almost the last, the yard caught the overhanging branch of a willow, the canoe swung round and grounded gently under the shadow of the tree.  For some time the little wavelets beat against the side of the boat; gradually they ceased, and the clear and beautiful water became still.  Felix slept till nearly noon, when he awoke and sat up.  At the sudden movement a pike struck, and two moorhens scuttled out of the water into the grass on the shore.  A thrush was singing sweetly, whitethroats were busy in the bushes, and swallows swept by overhead.

Felix drew a long deep breath of intense relief; it was like awakening in Paradise.  He snatched up a cup, dipped, and satisfied his craving thirst, then washed his hands over the side, and threw the water over his face.  But when he came to stand up and move, he found that his limbs were almost powerless.  Like a child he tottered, his joints had no strength, his legs tingled as if they had been benumbed.  He was so weak he crawled on all fours along to the mast, furled the sail kneeling, and dragged himself rather than stepped ashore with the painter.  The instant he had fastened the rope to a branch, he threw himself at full length on the grass, and grasped a handful of it.  Merely to touch the grass after such an experience was intense delight.

The song of the thrush, the chatter of the whitethroats, the sight of a hedge-sparrow, gave him inexpressible pleasure.  Lying on the sward he watched the curves traced by the swallows in the sky.  From the sedges came the curious cry of the moorhen; a bright kingfisher went by.  He rested as he had never rested before.  His whole body, his whole being was resigned to rest.  It was fully two hours before he rose and crept on all fours into the canoe for food.  There was only sufficient left for one meal, but that gave him no concern now he was out of the marshes; he could fish and use his crossbow.