The priest's promise to find Latisan had been living with her, consoling the hours of her waiting. Her load had become so heavy that her yearning for Latisan's return had become desperate and anguished. The slow drag of the logs in the deadwater gave her time for pondering and she was afraid of her thoughts. She was not accusing Latisan of being an inexcusable recreant where duty was concerned; she was understanding in better fashion the men and the manners of the north country and she realized the full force of the reasons for his flight and why the situation had overwhelmed him. Her pity and remorse had been feeding her love. But the priest had promised. Latisan must know. Why did he not come to her and lift the dreadful burden in her extremity? Old Vittum, sitting on a bleached trunk among the dry kye stranded on the shore, plucked slowly the spills of a pine tassel, staring down between his knees. "You've seen how they have worked, miss, for every ounce that's in 'em. But I don't know how they'll fight if they don't have a real captain--a single head to plan--the right man to lead off. Latisan's that! Half of 'em came north because they figured on him. I've been hoping. But I'm sort of giving up." "I don't like to hear you say that," she cried. "As soon as he knows the truth he will come to us. Father Leroque promised to carry that truth to him." "Providing the priest can find him in the Tomah country--yes, you have said that to me and I've been cal'lating to see Latisan come tearing around a bend in the river most any minute ever since you told me. But Miah Sprague, the fire warden, went through to-day. I've been hating to report to you, miss, for I'm knowing to it how you feel these days; your looks tell me, and I'm sorry. But Sprague has come from the Tomah and he tells me that Ward Latisan hasn't been home--hasn't been heard from. Nobody knows where he is. That is straight from Garry Latisan, because Garry is starting a hue and a cry and asked Miah to comb the north country for news." She did not reply. She was not sure that there was a touch of rebuke in the old man's mournful tones, but she felt that any sort of reproach would be justified. She had never made a calm analysis of the affair between herself and Latisan, to determine what onus of the blame rested on her and how much was due to the plots and the falsehoods of Crowley. She clung to her sense of fault in order to spur herself to make good; that same sense, a heritage from a father, had served vicariously in rousing her spirit to battle for her grandfather. "I hope you're going to keep up your grit, miss," urged Vittum. "We'll do our best for you--but I ain't lotting much on Latisan's showing up again. It's too bad! It'll break his heart when he finds out at last what he has been left out of and what a chance he has missed."