On they went, never reaching him, though he answered four times; for, in spite of the intensity of Eve's exertion, the sound constantly changed its direction. Cicely called to her child, she sang to him; she even laughed. "How slow you are!" she said to Eve. "Don't stop." "I stopped to listen." But presently they were both listening in vain. Jack's voice had ceased. The wind now blew not in gusts, but steadily. Eve still rowed with all her strength, in reality at random, though; with each new flash of lightning she took a new direction, so that her course resembled the spokes of a wheel. "He has of course fallen asleep," said Cicely. "He is always so good about going to bed." Their canoe now rose and fell perceptibly; the tranquillity of the lake was broken, it was no longer gray glass, nor a black floor; first there was a swell; then little waves showed themselves; by-and-by these waves had crests. Eve, kneeling on the bottom, exerted all her intelligence to keep the boat in the right position. "These canoes never tip over when left alone; it's only when people try to guide them," said Cicely, confidently. "Now Jack's just like no one; he's so very light, you know." Words were becoming difficult, their canoe rose on the crest of one wave, then plunged down into the hollow behind it; then rose on the next. A light flared out on their left; it was low down, seeming below their own level. "They have kindled--a fire--on the beach," called Eve. She was obliged to call now, though Cicely was so near. "Yes. Porley," Cicely answered. They were not so far out as they had thought; the light of the fire showed that. Perhaps they had been going round in a circle. Eve was now letting the boat drift; Jack's canoe was drifting, the same currents and wind might take theirs in the same direction; it was not very long since they had heard his last cry, he could not be far away. The lightning had begun to come in great sheets of white light; these were blinding, but if one could bear to look, they lit up the surface of the water for an instant with extraordinary distinctness. Cicely, from her babyhood so impressionable to lightning, let its glare sweep over her unmoved; but her beautiful eyes were near-sighted, she could not see far. Eve, on the contrary, had strong eyesight, and after what seemed a long time (it was five minutes), she distinguished a dark, low outline very near at hand; she sent the boat in that direction with all her might. "It's Jack!" she called to Cicely. Cicely, holding on to the sides of the canoe, kept her head turned, peering forward with her unseeing eyes into the alternating darkness and dazzling glare. The flashes were so near sometimes that it seemed as if they would sweep across them, touch them, and shrivel them up. Now they approached the other boat; they came up to it on the crest of a wave. Cicely took hold of its edge, and the two boats went down into the hollow behind together.