Master reassured him and paddled slowly towards the moss-covered rock. Silently his bow touched the shore. He stuck his paddle in the sand. He stepped into the shallow water and helped the children ashore. In the edge of the tamaracks and now partly hidden by their foliage, Miss Dunmore stood looking at the children. Her figure was tall, erect, and oddly picturesque. Somehow she reminded Master of a deer halted in its flight by curiosity. Her face, charming in form and expression, betrayed a childish timidity and innocence. Her large, blue eyes were full of wonder. Pretty symbols of girlish vanity adorned her figure. There were fresh violets on her bodice, and a delicate, lacy length of the moss-vine woven among her curls. The girl's hair, wonderfully full and rich in color, had streaks of gold in it. A beaded belt and holster of Indian make held a small pistol. "Miss Dunmore, I believe?" he ventured. The girl retired a step or two and stood looking timidly, first at him and then at the children. Her manner betrayed excitement. She addressed him with hesitation. "My--my name is Edith Dunmore," she said, in a tone just above a whisper. With trembling hands she picked a spray of tamarack that for a moment obscured her face. "You are the nun of the green veil. I have heard of you," said Master. "I--I must not speak to you, sir," she said, as she retreated a little farther. "My name is Master--Robert Master," said he. "I shall stay only a minute, but these children would like to know you." While speaking he had returned to his canoe. Socky and Sue stood still, looking up at the maiden. "Children!" she exclaimed, in a low, sweet, tremulous, tone, as she took a step towards them. "The wonderful little children?" "Sometimes I think they are brownies," he answered, with a smile of amusement. "But their uncle calls them little fawns." Her right hand, which held the spray of tamarack, fell to her side; her left hand clung to a branch on which the crow sat a little above her shoulder, and her cheek lay upon her arm as she looked down wistfully, fondly, at the children. Her blue eyes were full of curiosity. Socky and Sue regarded the beautiful maiden with a longing akin to that in her. In all there was a deep, mysterious desire which had grown out of nature's need--in them for a mother, in her for the endearing touch of those newly come into the world and for their high companionship. Moreover, these two little ones, who had now a dim and imperfect recollection of their mother, had shaped an ideal--partly through the help of Gordon--to take its place. Therein they saw a lady, young and beautiful and more like this one who stood before them than like any they had yet beheld. Sue grasped the hand of her brother, and both stood gazing at the maiden, but neither spoke nor moved for a moment. Edith Dun-more leaned forward a little, looking into their faces. "Can you not speak to me?" she asked.