"Do not think I am blaming you overmuch," he added, quickly; "you have been led astray because you could not see as the world sees. Your heart and motive were pure, were generous, but none the less are you subject to those rules which govern so rigorously the class to which you belong, whose very existence depends on their observance. In a romance, the world would no doubt have wept over your perplexities; but in real life, it would crush you, because you have sinned against the only code it acknowledges. Your purity and faithfulness would count for nothing. Believe me, my child, I know it and its ways." So it was decided; and at once I began to plan with new hope for the desire of my heart; and such was the change it wrought in me that the whole world took on a new interest to my eyes. For the first time I realised the grandeur of the river into which we had now fully entered; the sullen sweep of black water in the depths, the dance of silver over the shallows, the race of waves down the rapids between its ever-changing banks, now like imprisoning walls with great sombre pines, now open and radiant with the gold and scarlet of the maples, marshalled in order by the white lances of the slender birches. At times Lucy and I were allowed to walk along the reaches of level sand to relieve the strain on the paddlers, where the river ran swift and strong, and when we at length gained the great stretch of the lake called Matapediac, like the river, my heart was full of the beauty and charm about me. "The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh, Nor deep eneugh the sea, Nor braid eneugh this weary warld, To part my Love frae me," ... I sang in my heart, for was it not all so wonderful, so beyond all planning, this way of Love? It might be long, it might be wearying, but it would lead aright in the end. When the head of the lake was reached, the canoes were lifted from the water; that of the strange Indians was left behind, but ours they raised on their shoulders, and, Andre carrying the scanty baggage of the priest, we set off on a long carry, or portage, as they call it. This occupied two days, as the path was difficult, and we found a sad encumbrance in our skirts, which suffered much in the traverse. We took the water again at a tiny stream, and finally gained another, called the Metis, leading to the St. Lawrence, our highway for Quebec. At the Metis the strange Indians left us and returned to join their fellows. Late one afternoon le pere Jean ran the canoe inshore, and, nothing loath, we left her in charge of Andre, to follow the priest up the high bank and take our way on foot under the great pines.