Into this bay a long slim finger of land is thrust out from the northern shore, enclosing in its crook a harbor so safe and possible in all seas that from the earliest navigation of these waters it has been a port. The port, known in the days of New France by the more euphonious name of l'Arbor Croche, is now called prosaically Harbor Springs, but the bay, by the most fortunate reversion to an earlier occupation, is We-que-ton-sing--signifying in the Indian tongue from which it is derived, "A little one within the larger bay." On this inner bay has grown up, among the white birches, a very beautiful little summer resort, and it was here that Margaret De Jarnette found herself after her flight from the Island. She had had a calm night and had waked with a song of deliverance on her lips. Here, surely, in this peaceful spot was nothing which could molest or make afraid. Rising early, she had dressed herself and Philip and together they had slipped past Mrs. Pennybacker's door and on out upon the hotel piazza. The only sound of life was the clatter in the kitchen and dining-room. But her soul was so full of relief that she had found it impossible to sleep. As she looked out over the bay, sparkling in the morning sun, her joy bubbled over, and the words of an old anthem rose to her lips. She sang it softly but triumphantly as she and Philip went out upon the pier. "My soul is escaped, Like a bird, like a bird, From the snare of the fowlers, My soul is escaped! My soul is escaped! My soul is escaped! My soul--is--escaped!" There was a jubilant ascending scale at the last. "Good morning!" came a voice from behind her. "Your body came perilously near escaping too. I am out of breath trying to catch up with you. I was glad there was water beyond, so that something could stop you!" It was John Harcourt, every trace of last night's bad humor gone. "Oh, good morning! Isn't this superb? I don't often sing, but this air is like wine. I think it went to my head. But then I didn't expect to have an audience this time of the morning." "Where are the others?" "Not up yet. They are losing the cream of the day, aren't they?" Then turning toward the water, "What place is that across the bay? It looks like quite a city." "Petoskey. Named for an old Ottawa chief of this locality, I believe. And that place over at our right is Harbor Point." "I noticed it last night. The lights from both places add immeasurably to the beauty of the night scene, especially the one from the lighthouse. It throws a shaft of glowing red across the water. Did you notice it? I thought I never saw anything so lovely as this bay was by moonlight." "It is beautiful in all its phases. I have heard it likened to the Bay of Naples. Come and take a morning walk with me. What do you say? It will give you an appetite for the broiled whitefish you will have for breakfast." "Can I go without my hat?" "Certainly. Nobody wears hats now but old ladies and men."