dar. "Some one is coming in a
canoe. The dog heard it before we did--recognised it, too, probably. It
must be the witch!"

The dipping sound came nearer and presently there slipped from the
shadow of the trees a darker shadow, moving. A canoe with one paddle was
coming toward them.

Esther with undignified haste scrambled up from the float, abandoning
her position in the line of battle in favour of the doctor. The dog
broke into a chorus of ear-splitting yelps of warning and welcome. The
moving shadow loomed larger and a calm though harsh voice demanded, "Be
quiet, General! Who is there?"

"We are!" answered Callandar, stepping as far from the tree shadow as
possible. "Picnickers from Coombe, in an unfortunate predicament. Our
motor has broken down, and we want the loan of a boat to get over to
Pine Lake station."

As he spoke he was vividly conscious of Esther close behind. So near was
she that he felt her warm breath on his neck. She was breathing quickly.
Was the child really frightened? Instinctively he put out his hand,
backward, and thrilled through every nerve when something cool and small
and tremulous slipped into it.

The canoe shot up to the float.

"You can't get any boat here."

There was no surprise or resentment in the harsh level voice. Only
determination, final and unshakable.

Esther felt the doctor's hand close around her own. Its clasp meant
everything, reassurance, protection, strength. In the darkness she
exulted and even ventured to frown belligerently in the direction of the
disagreeable canoeist. They could see her plainly now. A tall woman in a
man's coat with the sleeves rolled up displaying muscular arms. Her
face, even in the half-light, looked harsh and gaunt. With a skill,
which spoke of long practice, she sprang from the canoe, scarcely
rocking it, and proceeded to tie the painter securely to a heavy ring in
the float. Then she straightened herself and turned.

"I'll loose the dog!" she announced calmly.

Just that and no more! No arguments, no revilings, no display of any
human quality. There was something uncanny in her ruthlessness.

"If you do, it will be bad for the dog," said Callandar coldly. "Who
are you who threaten decent people?"

It was the tone of authority and for an instant she answered to it. Her
harsh voice held a faint Scotch accent.

"There'll be no decent people here at this hour o' the nicht. Be off.
You'll get no boat. Nor the hussy either. The dog's