““So when Finn sailed back down the Negro at dawn, he saw no flames and heard no roaring as the house was destroyed. Everything at first seemed to be as it had always been: the big trees by the river, the huts of the Indians, the Carters’ launch riding at anchor. Then the dog, standing beside him, threw back his head and howled. “What is it?” asked Finn. But now he, too, smelled the choking, lingering smoke. And as he sailed toward the landing stage, he saw it--the space, the nothingness, where the Carters’ house should have been. Not even an empty shell. Nothing. He had thought that the news of his father’s death was the worst thing that had happened to him, but this was worse, because he was to blame. If he had taken Maia as she had begged… He was shivering so much that it was difficult to steer the Arabella to the jetty and make her fast. There was no point in searching the ruins; it was so obvious that no one could survive such a blaze. But there was one last hope. The huts of the Indians had been spared. Perhaps they had gotten Maia out; perhaps he would find her sleeping there. He pushed open the door of the first hut and went inside…then the second and the third. They were completely empty. Even the parrot on his perch had gone, even the little dog. A broken rope in the run outside showed where the pig, terrified by the flames, had rushed back into the forest. There was no doubt now in Finn’s mind. They had let Maia burn and fled in terror and shame. What would it be like, Finn wondered, going on living and knowing that he had killed his friend? The howler monkeys had been right to laugh when he said he wasn’t going back. He had turned downriver again almost at once to fetch Maia, and he had made good time, traveling with the current--but he had come too late.””
