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sparking whitely only where it had been pierced by subsurface obstacles.
    She knew that on any other occasion it would have been a breathtakingly beautiful scene; now it was one that only filled her with dread. From the looks of it, there would be no easy wading ashore. She would have to swim.
    For the second time since her nightmare had begun, she thought of Aunt Aggie. Several times her father had taken her to Philadelphia, and while there Agatha had insisted Cass be brought to the wide banks of the Delaware, where races were held during the summer for those young men who thought they were strong enough to swim the short but turbulent distance across to Camden. Cass had been fascinated by the feat, and had accepted a dare by her cousin Bret to try it herself. Her father had objected, her aunt had been scandalized, and it was only under the cover of a dark August evening that she and Bret had made the attempt. When it was done, she had succeeded, and the marks she bore for weeks afterward as the result of her father’s subsequent whipping, she displayed proudly to her brothers.
    “You’re not a woman, you’re a man,” her aunt had despaired. “Aaron, you must get her away from that horrid farm before it’s too late.”
    “And you are a snob,” her father had retorted, still holding the belt in his trembling hand. “The city has made you soft, Aggie. At least Cassandra will know what living is like before you lure her away from me.”
    Cass shook her head suddenly, and the vision faded. The force of the river kept her close to the carriage body, and there was a moment’s temptation to yield to its constant pressure, to the comforting coolness that soothed her aching flesh. The water roared and whispered, flowed and waved, and there seemed more silk than danger in its firm caress. She felt her hands relaxing their grip on the frame, her legs drifting inexorably beneath the vehicle, but when a slow grinding rose from the meeting of rock and wood, she snapped herself back and voiced one bitter curse to banish her weakness. Quickly, then, before the hypnotic sensation could return and overcome her, she tore with one hand at the tatters of her dress until she was able to kick it free. Her underskirts were next, and after a struggle, her shoes. Then she worked her way cautiously to the back of the carriage, lifted her eyes once to the stars, and pushed herself, naked, into the darkness.
    Immediately, the river took hold of her, spun her clear of her prison and whirled her downstream. After a few seconds’ frantic thrashing, she managed to gain a measure of control over her swimming and began her struggle toward the shore. Her arms soon ached, and her lungs seemed ready to burst from her gasping and the icy water she could not help but swallow. She beat at the powerful current doggedly, a distant part of her mind amazed at the reserve of strength she had been able to call upon when it was needed. The near bank was little more than a looming black wall of trees and shrubs, but she pushed and strained with mindless determination. Several times she encountered great, black shadows of boulders that, had she slammed against them, would have crushed her as easily as a hand crushes a dry leaf. But those she could not avoid through veering, she met head on, drawing her legs up, letting her feet absorb the impact and instantly pushing her off again with little more reaction than a sudden skip of her heartbeat.
    She was closer to the shore now, and her feet scraped over the pebbled bottom, but were swept away before she had time to attempt to dig in her heels. Her strength faltered, but her resolve persisted, and she tried several times to reach out for the tree limbs that stretched over the water. Twice she managed to close her fingers, nearly frozen stiff, around a branch, and both times they slid from the slime-covered bark as if it were air.
    Then, over the voice of the river, she heard the final, prolonged ripping of violated