The lagoon was dry. He stood a moment bewildered, then turned and rushed upon the island. A great sheet of dazzling sunlight swept the place, and beneath lay a mighty mass of olive green, thick, tall, wet, and willowy. The squares of cotton, sharp-edged, heavy, were just about to burst to bolls! And underneath, the land lay carefully drained and black! For one long moment he paused, stupid, agape with utter amazement, then leaned dizzily against a tree.
The swamp, the eternal swamp, had been drained in its deepest fastness; but, how?‚ÅÝ‚Äîhow? He gazed about, perplexed, astonished. What a field of cotton! what a marvellous field! But how had it been saved?
He skirted the island slowly, stopping near Zora’s oak.
Here lay the reading of the riddle: with infinite work and pain, someone had dug a canal from the lagoon to the creek, into which the former had drained by a long and crooked way, thus allowing it to empty directly.
The canal went straight, a hundred yards through stubborn soil, and it was oozing now with slimy waters.
He sat down weak, bewildered, and one thought was uppermost‚ÅÝ‚ÄîZora! And with the thought came a low moan of pain. He wheeled and leapt toward the dripping shelter in the tree. There she lay‚ÅÝ‚Äîwet, bedraggled, motionless, gray-pallid beneath her dark-drawn skin, her burning eyes searching restlessly for some lost thing, her lips a-moaning.
In dumb despair he dropped beside her and gathered her in his arms. The earth staggered beneath him as he stumbled on; the mud splashed and sunlight glistened; he saw long snakes slithering across his path and fear-struck beasts fleeing before his coming.