100 THE LABKADOE PENINSULA. CHAP. x. 



in our terrible loneliness close together on that small 

 rock, in black darkness, with roaring waters rising fast 

 around us. 



' Fortunately there was no rain nor wind, and the 

 storm was passing to the west of us. A flash of lightning 

 showed us the moon shining, with some stars and silvery 

 clouds, and then left us in darkness again. 



' " Now, Jerome," I said, " you never told me you were 

 night-blind before ; the storm is over, the water will 

 not rise much higher, we must wait here till sunrise ; tell 

 me how you first came night-blind." 



' " I never liked to talk of it, or I would have told vou 



>/ 



all about it ; it almost made me give up lumbering, it 

 shook me so. Put your arm in mine ; sit close. I will 

 put my foot out to mark if the creek rises, and it may 

 please God that we may get through the night." 



' We sat for a long time without speaking, the noise 

 of the river was too much for us. Jerome was just 

 telling me that the water had risen to within two 

 feet of the top of the rock. I was in the act of lean- 

 ing forward to feel it, when something thumped heavily 

 against the rock. Jerome felt with Ms foot, to see if it 

 had lodged. At the same moment there was another 

 thump, then a grating and jarring against the rock ; 

 something had rested on it, for the water curled up sud- 

 denly, and came within one foot of w r here we were 

 sitting close together. We strained, and pushed, and 

 strained again, but we could not move the lodged stick. 

 Just as we gave up all thought of getting it off, another 

 stick came down, then another, and jammed against the 

 one on the rock, pushing it across. Jerome screamed to 



