“Good heavens, yes!  What was it; the archangel Michael?”

“Only a snowy heron.”

The Seminole had halted and laid his hand flat on the dead leaves under a gigantic water-oak.

“A-po-kes-chay,” he whispered; and Shiela translated close to Hamil’s ear:  “He says that we must all sit down here—­” A sudden crackle in the darkness stilled her voice.

“Im-po-kit-chkaw?” she asked.  “Did you hear that?  No-ka-tee; what is it?”

“Deer walk,” nodded the Seminole; “sun gone down; moon come.  Bimeby roost um turkey.  Li-kus-chay!  No sound.”

Shiela settled quietly on the poncho among the dead leaves, resting her back against the huge tree trunk.  Hamil warily sank into position beside her; the Indian stood for a while, head raised, apparently gazing at the tree-tops, then, walking noiselessly forward a dozen yards, squatted.

Shiela opened the conversation presently by whispering that they must not speak.

And the conversation continued, fitfully in ghostly whispers, lips scarcely stirring close to one another’s ears.

As for the swamp, it was less reticent, and began to wake up all around them in the darkness.  Strange creaks and quacks and croaks broke out, sudden snappings of twigs, a scurry among dead leaves, a splash in the water, the far whir of wings.  There were no insect noises, no resonant voices of bull-frogs; weird squeaks arose at intervals, the murmuring complaint of water-fowl, guttural quack of duck and bittern—­a vague stirring everywhere of wild things settling to rest or awaking.  There were things moving in the unseen ooze, too, leaving sudden sinuous trails in the dim but growing lustre that whitened above the trees—­probably turtles, perhaps snakes.

She leaned almost imperceptibly toward him, and he moved his shoulder close to hers.

“You are not nervous, Shiela?”

“Indeed I am.”

“Why on earth did you come?”

“I don’t know.  The idea of snakes in darkness always worries me....  Once, waking in camp, reaching out through the darkness for the water-bottle, I laid my hand on an exceedingly chilly snake.  It was a harmless one, but I nearly died....  And here I am back again.  Believe me, no burnt child ever dreaded the fire enough to keep away from it.  I’m a coward, but not enough of a one to practise prudence.”

He laughed silently.  “You brave little thing!  Every moment I am learning more and more how adorable you are—­”

“Do men adore folly?”

“Your kind of folly.  Are you cold?”

“No; only foolish.  There’s some sort of live creature moving rather close to me—­hush!  Don’t you hear it?”

But whatever it was it went its uncanny way in darkness and left them listening, her small hand remaining loosely in his.

“What on earth is the matter now, Shiela?” he whispered, feeling her trembling.

“Nothing.  They say a snake won’t strike you if you hold your breath.  Its nonsense, but I was trying it....  What is that ring I feel on your hand?”