ted that she take
possession of her cabin again, and Bateese had brought out a bundle of
blankets. These he spread under the awning, and when he drowsed off, it
was to dream of the lovely face he had seen last in the glow of the
moon.

It was in the afternoon of the fourth day that two things happened--one
that he had prepared himself for, and another so unexpected that for a
space it sent his world crashing out of its orbit. With St. Pierre's
wife he had gone again to the ridge-line for flowers, half a mile back
from the river. Returning a new way, they came to a shallow stream, and
Marie-Anne stood at the edge of it, and there was laughter in her
shining eyes as she looked to the other side of it. She had twined
flowers into her hair. Her cheeks were rich with color. Her slim figure
was exquisite in its wild pulse of life.

Suddenly she turned on him, her red lips smiling their witchery in his
face. "You must carry me across," she said.

He did not answer. He was a-tremble as he drew near her. She raised her
arms a little, waiting. And then he picked her up. She was against his
breast. Her two hands went to his shoulders as he waded into the
stream; he slipped, and they clung a little tighter. The soft note of
laughter was in her throat when the current came to his knees out in
the middle of the stream. He held her tighter; and then stupidly, he
slipped again, and the movement brought her lower in his arms, so that
for a space her head was against his breast and his face was crushed in
the soft masses of her hair. He came with her that way to the opposite
shore and stood her on her feet again, standing back quickly so that
she would not hear the pounding of his heart. Her face was radiantly
beautiful, and she did not look at David, but away from him.

"Thank you," she said.

And then, suddenly, they heard running feet behind them, and in another
moment one of the brigade men came dashing through the stream. At the
same time there came from the river a quarter of a mile away a
thunderous burst of voice. It was not the voice of a dozen men, but of
half a hundred, and Marie-Anne grew tense, listening, her eyes on fire
even before the messenger could get the words out of his mouth.

"It is St. Pierre!" he cried then. "He has come with the great raft,
and you must hurry if you would reach the bateau before he lands!"

In that moment it seemed to David that Marie-Anne forgot he was alive.
A little cry came to her li