"And, oh," cried this poor mother, in a voice of piercing anguish and amazement, as if she could not yet wholly realize it,--"my boy, my boy! He is in the power of such a monster!" "Be of good heart, I beseech you," said I, with a kind of passion in my voice. "I will find him, I swear I will bring him back to you. I will wait only so long as to see my own boy in safe hands!" Again that look of trust was turned upon me, thrilling me with invincible resolve. "Oh, I trust you, Monsieur!" she cried. Then pressing both hands to her eyes with a pathetic gesture, and thrusting back her hair--"I knew you, somehow, for the Seigneur de Briart," she went on, "as soon as I heard you demanding our release. And I immediately felt a great hope that you would set us free and save Philip. I suppose it is from Marc that I have learned such confidence, Monsieur!" I bowed, awkward and glad, and without a pretty word to repay her with,--I who have some name in Quebec for well-turned compliment. But before this woman, who was young enough to be my daughter, I was like a green boy. "You are too kind," I stammered. "It will be my great ambition to justify your good opinion of me." Then I turned away to launch a canoe. While I busied myself getting the canoe ready, and spreading ferns in the bottom of it for Marc to lie on, Mizpah walked up and down in a kind of violent speechlessness, as it were, twisting her long white hands, but no more giving voice to her grief and her anxiety. Once she sat down abruptly under the maple tree, and buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook, but not a sound of sob or moan came to my ears. My heart ached at the sight. I determined that I would give her work to do, such as would compel some attention on her part. As soon as the canoe was ready I asked: "Can you paddle, Madame?" She nodded an affirmative, her voice seeming to have gone from her. "Very well," said I, "then you will take the bow paddle, will you not?" "Yes, indeed!" she found voice to cry, with an eagerness which I took to signify that she thought by paddling hard to find her child the sooner. But the manner in which she picked up the paddle, and took her place, and held the canoe, showed me she was no novice in the art of canoeing. I now went to lift Marc and carry him to the canoe. "Let me help you," pleaded Prudence, springing up from beside him. "He must be so heavy!" Whereat I laughed. "I can walk, I am sure, Father," said Marc, faintly, "if you put me on my feet and steady me." "I doubt it, lad," said I, "and 'tis hardly worth while wasting your little strength in the attempt. Now, Prudence," I went on, turning to the girl, "I want you to get in there in front of the middle bar, and make a comfortable place for this man's head,--if you don't mind taking a live traitor's head in your lap!"