In the cabin I was not greatly astonished, though more than greatly pleased, to find Mother Pêche. The undisguised triumph in her eyes said, “Didn’t I tell you?”—and in involuntary response to the challenge I thrust my hand into my breast and felt the little deerskin pouch containing the tress of hair and the mystic stone. She smiled at the gesture. I pressed the dear old witch’s hand, and said in a low voice: “In all my life to come I cannot thank you enough. But isn’t it wonderful? I’m in fear each moment of waking, and to find it a dream.” “She _is_ a dream, Master Paul!” said the old dame. “And see how all men dream when they look upon her!” With a jealous pang I realized the truth of what she said; and thereupon I made haste to Yvonne’s side, where I saw Marc, Shafto, and Captain Eliphalet all hanging devoutly upon her words. I was but a dull addition to the sprightly circle, for I was wondering how I should manage to get a word with her. Had I but known her better I need not have wondered. Presently she broke off in the midst of a sparkling tirade, laid her hand upon my arm, and said: “Will you pardon me, gentlemen, but I have a brief word awaiting the ear of Captain Grande,” and calmly she walked me off to the cabin door. “I presumed, perhaps too hastily, that you still wanted me, dear,” was what she said. I dared not look straight at her, for I knew that if I did so my face would be a flaunting proclamation of my worship. I could but say, in a voice that strove for steadiness: “Beloved, beloved! have you done all this for me?” A happy mirth came into her voice as she answered: “No, Paul, not quite all for you! I had to think a little of a certain good man, madly bent on marrying a woman who would, alas! (I know it too well) have made him a most unpleasant wife. George Anderson will never know what I saved him from. But _you_ may, Paul! Aren’t you a little bit afraid?” I am well aware that in this supreme moment I betrayed no originality whatever. I could only repeat myself, in expressions which I need not set down. Trite as they were, however, she forgave them. “We have so much to talk about, dear,” she said, “but not now. We must go back to the others; and I must take your cousin Marc aside as I have done with you, so that this won’t look too strange. Does _he_ like me—approve of me?” she asked anxiously. “Second only to his little Puritan he loves you,” said I. “He knows everything.” Then, just as we turned back to the others, I whispered in her ear: “Be prepared for events to-night!” She gave me a startled look, understanding at once. Then indeed, as now, whatever is in my mind she is apt to read as if it were an open book. “So soon? Oh, be careful for my sake!” I could give no answer, for by this, the cabin being small, we were quite returned from our privacy.