“Grub!” he announced gayly.

Languor had taken possession of Io, the languor of one who yields to unknown and fateful forces.  Passive and at peace, she wanted nothing but to be wafted by the current to whatever far bourne might await her.  That there should be such things as railway trains and man-made schedules in this world of winds and mystery and the voice of great waters, was hard to believe; hardly worth believing in any case.  Better not to think of it:  better to muse on her companion, building fire as the first man had built for the first woman, to feed and comfort her in an environment of imminent fears.

Coffee, when her man brought it, seemed too artificial for the time and place.  She shook her head.  She was not hungry.

“You must,” insisted Ban.  He pointed downstream where the murk lay heavy.  “We shall run into more rain.  You will need the warmth and support of food.”

So, because there were only they two on the face of the known earth, woman and man, the woman obeyed the man.  To her surprise, she found that she was hungry, ardently hungry.  Both ate heartily.  It was a silent meal; little spoken except about the chances and developments of the journey, until she got to her feet.  Then she said: 

“I shall never, as long as I live, wherever I go, whatever I do, know anything like this again.  I shall not want to.  I want it to stand alone.”

“It will stand alone,” he answered.

They met the rain within half an hour, a wall-like mass of it.  It blotted out everything around them.  The roar of it cut off sound, as the mass of it cut off sight.  Fortunately the boat was now going evenly as in an oiled groove.  By feeling, Io knew that her guide was moving from his seat, and guessed that he was bailing.  The spare poncho, put in by Miss Van Arsdale, protected her.  She was jubilant with the thresh of the rain in her face, the sweet, smooth motion of the boat beneath her, the wild abandon of the night, which, entering into her blood, had transmuted it into soft fire.

How long she crouched, exultant and exalted, under the beat of the storm, she could not guess.  She half emerged from her possession with a strange feeling that the little craft was being irresistibly drawn forward and downward in what was now a suction rather than a current.  At the same time she felt the spring and thrust of Banneker’s muscles, straining at the oars.  She dipped a hand into the water.  It ridged high around her wrists with a startling pressure.  What was happening?

Through the uproar she could dimly hear Ban’s voice.  He seemed to be swearing insanely.  Dropping to her hands and knees, for the craft was now swerving and rocking, she crept to him.

“The dam!  The dam!  The dam!” he shouted.  “I’d forgotten about it.  Go back.  Turn on the flash.  Look for shore.”