"Take me with you," she implored. "I can paddle, I can serve you as well as any man whom you can get. And I am brave, believe me. And how _can_ I wait here when my boy, my darling, my Philip, is alone among those beasts? I would die every hour." How could I refuse her? Yet refuse her I would, I must. To take her would be to lessen my own powers, I thought, and to add tenfold to the peril of the venture. Nevertheless my heart did now so leap at the thought of this strange, close fellowship which she demanded, that I came near to silencing my better judgment, and saying she might go. But I shut my teeth obstinately on the words. At this moment, while she waited trembling, Marc once more intervened. "You might do far worse than take her, Father. No one else will serve you more bravely or more skilfully, I think." So Marc actually approved of this incredible proposal? Then was it, after all, so preposterous? My wavering must have shown itself in my face, for her own began to lighten rarely. "But--those clothes!" said I. At this she flushed to her ears. But she answered bravely. "I will wear others; did you think I would so hamper you with this guise? No," she added with a little nervous laugh, "I will play the man; be sure." And so, though I could scarce believe it, it was settled that Mizpah Hanford should go with me. That night I found little sleep. My thoughts were a chaos of astonishment and apprehension. Marc, moreover, kept tossing, for his wound fretted him sorely, and I was continually at his side to give him drink. At about two in the morning there came a horseman to the garden gate, riding swiftly. Hurrying out I met him in the path. It was Father Fafard, come straight upon my word. He turned his horse into Giraud's pasture, put saddle and bridle in the porchway, and then followed me in to Marc's bedside. When he had dressed the wound anew, and administered a soothing draught, Marc fell into a quiet sleep. "He will do well, but it is a matter for long patience," said the Cure. Then we went out of the house and down to the garden corner by the thicket of beans, where we might talk freely and jar no slumberers. Father Fafard fell in with my plans most heartily, and accepted my charges. To hold the Black Abbe in check at any point, would, he felt, be counted unto him for righteousness. My mind being thus set at ease, I resolved to start as soon as might be after daybreak.