At this the poor girl's face flushed scarlet, as she quickly seated herself in the canoe; and her lips trembled so that my heart smote me for the jest. "Forgive me, child. I meant it not as a taunt, but merely as a poor jest," I hastened to explain. "Your sister has told me all, and you were scarce to blame. Now, take the lad and make him as comfortable as a man with a shattered shoulder can hope to be." And I laid Marc gently down so that he could slip his long legs under the bar. He straightway closed his eyes from sheer weakness; but he could feel his maid bend her blushing face over his, and his expression was a strangely mingled one of suffering and content. Taking my place in the stern of the canoe, I pushed out. The tide was just beginning to ebb. There was no wind. The shores were green and fair on either hand. My dear lad, though sore hurt, was happy in the sweet tenderness of his lily maid. As for me, I looked perhaps overmuch at the radiant head of Mizpah, at the lithe vigorous swaying of her long arms, the play of her gracious shoulders as she paddled strenuously. I felt that it was good to be in this canoe, all of us together, floating softly down to the little village beside the Canard's mouth. Part II Mizpah Chapter XII In a Strange Fellowship I took Marc and the ladies to the house of one Giraud, a well-tried and trusted retainer, to whom I told the whole affair. Then I sent a speedy messenger to Father Fafard, begging him to come at once. The Cure of Grand Pre was a skilled physician, and I looked to him to treat Marc's wound better than I could hope to do. My purpose, as I unfolded it to Marc and to the ladies that same evening, sitting by Marc's pallet at the open cottage door, was to start the very next day in quest of the stolen child. I would take but one follower, to help me paddle, for I would rely not on force but on cunning in this venture. I would warn some good men among my tenants, and certain others who were in the counsels of the Forge, to keep an unobtrusive guard about the place, till Marc's wound should be so far healed that he might go to Grand Pre. And further, I would put them all in the hands of Father Fafard, with whom even the Black Abbe would scarce dare to meddle openly. "The Cure," said I, turning to Mizpah, "you may trust both for his wisdom and his goodness. With him you will all be secure till my return." Mizpah bowed her head in acknowledgment, and looked at me gratefully, but could not trust herself to speak. She sat a little apart, by the door, and was making a mighty effort to maintain her outward composure. Then I turned to where Marc's face, pallid but glad, shone dimly on his pillow. I took his hand, I felt his pulse--for the hundredth time, perhaps. There was no more fever, no more prostration, than was to be accounted inevitable from such a wound. So I said:--