Gradually the sun slipped down behind the violet fields. The wind died, and a scented, luminous twilight fell. The atmosphere was like an evening in late April. We were preparing to land for the night, when a dark speck appeared on the river ahead. The surface of the water was a dull red gold, reflecting the western sky. Into this there had drifted a sharp, black outline—a boat, we saw presently—a sort of canoe. It was the first indication of human life, and we held our breath, wondering. As it approached, it appeared empty. We turned our craft toward it, and it drifted just under our side. We leaned over and looked down. A face looked up into ours—the white, dead face of a beautiful young girl, and above and about her there were masses and festoons of flowers. We held the boat a little, and regarded the sleeper without speaking. She was so beautiful, and had come to us so silently out of the unknown land. Twilight deepened. Then presently we loosed the little funeral boat, and saw it pass down into the dimness of evening to the land of eternal cold. “It was a part of just such a boat that we found in Bottle Bay,” Gale said, as we drew near the shore. “This accounts for its being there.” I assented, but we did not discuss the matter further, and we spoke but little as we prepared for the night. Communication with those behind had ceased. Before us was mystery, and about us silence. Cut off from every tie we knew, we had entered an enchanted land, and the spell of its potent magic came down with the perfumed dark. XXVII. THE PRINCE OF THE PURPLE FIELDS. I woke next morning to an odor even more inspiring than the smell of violets. There was that about it which at first made me distrust my senses. It seemed too good to be true—that searching, pervading, heavenly odor. I closed my eyes and opened them to make sure I was awake. Then it came again—more persistent than before—and with it a sputter and a crackle. It was! It was! I could not be deceived—it was frying fish! Gale, it seems, had risen early, upturned some insects and worms from under the violet sod, and found splendid fishing but a step away. Mr. Sturritt had promptly joined him, and now there was ready a breakfast that made up for many days of fasting and tablets. “I don’t know what kind of fish they are,” explained Gale, “but they seemed as hungry as we were, so we formed a sort of mutual benefit association. Sort of a first aid to the famished.”