A minute later and we heard behind us a sound like the winding of a small horn, clear, shrill, and sweet.

Sparrow and I wheeled--and saw nothing.
The trees ran down to the very edge of the wharf, upon whose rotten, loosened, and noisy boards we now trod.

Suddenly the clouds above us broke, and the moon shone forth, whitening the mountainous clouds, the ridged and angry river, and the low, tree-fringed shore.

Below us, fastened to the piles and rocking with the waves, was the open boat in which we were to embark.

A few broken steps led from the boards above to the water below.