"Young man, a good sailor never loses an oar. How do you feel,
Desiree?"
"Like a drowned rat," she answered, but with a laugh in her
voice. "I'm faint and sick and wet, and my throat is ready to
burst, but I wouldn't have missed that for anything. It was
glorious! I'd like to do it again."
"Yes, you would," said Harry skeptically. "You're welcome, thank
you. But what I want to know is, where did that oar come from?"
I explained that I had taken the precaution to fall on it.
"Do you never lose your head?" asked Desiree.
"No, merely my heart."
"Oh, as for that," she retorted, with a lightness that still had
a sting, "my good friend, you never had any."
Whereupon I returned to my paddling in haste.
Soon I discovered that though, as I have said, we appeared to be
in a lake--for I could see no bank on either side--there was
still a current. We drifted slowly, but our movement was plainly
perceptible, and I rested on my oar.
Presently a wall loomed up ahead of us and I saw that the stream
again narrowed down as it entered the tunnel, much lower than the
one above the cataract. The current became swifter as we were
carried toward its mouth, and I called to Harry to get his spear
to keep us off from the walls if it should prove necessary.
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