fell and trembled, till his head whirled. He paused uncertainly at a parting of the paths, crying:
“Zora! Zora!” as for some lost soul. “Zora! Zora!” echoed the cry, faintly.
Abruptly the music fell; there came a long slow-growing silence; and then, with a flutter, she was beside him again, laughing in his ears and crying with mocking voice:
“Is you afeared, honey?”
He saw in her eyes sweet yearnings, but could speak nothing. He could only clasp her hand tightly, and again down they raced through the wood.
All at once the swamp changed and chilled to a dull grayness; tall, dull trees started down upon the murky waters; and long pendent streamings of moss-like tears dripped from tree to earth.
Slowly and warily they threaded their way.
“Are you sure of the path, Zora?” he once inquired anxiously.
“I could find it asleep,” she answered, skipping surefooted onward. He continued to hold her hand tightly, and his own pace never slackened. Around them the gray and deathlike wilderness darkened. They felt and saw the cold white mist rising slowly from the ground, and waters growing blacker and broader.
At last they came to what seemed the end. Silently and dismally the half-dead forest, with its ghostly moss, lowered and darkened, and the