than twenty yards in width. It
flowed between smooth slimy walls of rock, the vasty
heights of which shut out the light of coming day. There
was no roaring now, only the rapid, deep, tremulous flow
of the sea-green waters. Dorothy looked upwards, but
all she could see was the black, pitiless cliffs, and a
narrow ribbon of sky. Pepin had ceased to ply his paddle,
and was gazing fixedly down stream. A presentiment that
something was wrong took possession of Dorothy. When the
dwarf turned round, and she saw the look of pity for her
upon his face, she knew he had something ghastly to tell.
His expression was not that of fear; it was that of one
who, seeing death ahead, is not afraid for himself, but
is strangely apprehensive about breaking the news to
another. And all the time the thin ribbon of sky was
getting narrower.

The girl looked at the dwarf keenly.

"Pepin Quesnelle," she said, "you have been a good, dear
friend to me, and now you have lost your life in trying
to save mine--"

"Pardon, Mam'selle, my dear, what is it you know? You
say we go for to meet the death. How you know that, eh?
What?"

Despite the tragedy of the situation, and the great pity
for her that filled his heart, he would not have been
Pepin had he not posed as the _petit maitre_ in this the
hour of the shadow.

She pointed to the great black archway looming up ahead
under which their canoe must shoot in another minute. It
was the dread subterranean passage, which meant for them
the end of all things. It was a tragic ending to all her
hopes and dreams, the trials and the triumphs of her
young life. It was, indeed, bitter to think that just
when love, the crowning experience of womanhood, had come
to her, its sweetness should have been untasted. Even
the lover's kiss--that seal upon the compact of souls--had
been denied her. Her fate had been a hard one, but Dorothy
was no fair-weather Christian. Was it not a great triumph
that in the dark end she should have bowed to the higher
will, and been strong? And her love, if it had experienced
no earthly close, might it not live again in the mysterious
Hereafter? She thanked God for the comfort of the thought.
She had been face to face with death before, but now here
surely was the end. She would be brave and true to all
that was best and truest in her, and she felt that somehow
those who were left behind must know.

The dwarf faced her, and his hands were clasped as in
prayer. His face was