"No," admitted Bobolo. "Who could stop a spirit?"
The sun was sinking behind the western forest, its light playing upon the surging current of the great river that rolled past the village of Bobolo. A man and a woman stood looking out across the water that was plunging westward in its long journey to the sea down to the trading posts and the towns and the ships, which are the frail links that connect the dark forest with civilization.
"Tomorrow you will start," said the man. "In six or eight weeks you will be home. Home!" There was a world of wistfulness in the simple, homely word. He sighed. "I am so glad for both of you."
She came closer to him and stood directly in front of him, looking straight into his eyes. "You are coming with us," she said.
"What makes you think so?" he asked. "Because I love you, you will come."