But while the scene softened Wyat's feelings, it filled him with
intolerable remorse, and so poignant did his emotions become, that he
pressed his hands upon his eyes to shut out the lovely prospect. When
he looked up again the scene was changed. The skiff had entered a
narrow creek, arched over by huge trees, and looking as dark and
gloomy as the rest of the lake was fair and smiling. It was closed in by
a high overhanging bank, crested by two tall trees, whose tangled roots
protruded through it like monstrous reptiles, while their branches cast
a heavy shade over the deep, sluggish water.
"Why have you come here?" demanded Wyat, looking uneasily round
the forbidding spot.
"You will discover anon," replied Fenwolf moodily.
"Go back into the sunshine, and take me to some pleasant bank--I will
not land here," said Wyat sternly.
"Needs must when--I need not remind you of the proverb," rejoined
Fenwolf, with a sneer.
"Give me the oars, thou malapert knave!" cried Wyat fiercely, "and I will
put myself ashore."
"Keep quiet," said Fenwolf; "you must perforce abide our master's
coming."
Wyat gazed at the keeper for a moment, as if with the intention of
throwing him overboard; but abandoning the idea, he rose up in the
boat, and caught at what he took to be a root of the tree above.
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