him. Were men and women but half alive? Was there some
sudden revivifying influence that raised them above the daily wants,
that gave them an insight into a new existence? Had he ever experienced
it?

The sun dropped down behind a range of hills, covered with pines, furs,
and cedars, that were growing into a compact dark wall, the interstices
being black. The edge of the river took on these sombre hues, but a
little beyond there were long strips of rose and tawny gold, between
zones of purple and green. The current tossed them hither and thither,
like some weird thing winding about. Destournier was strangely moved by
this mysterious kinship to nature that he had never experienced before.

"We must turn back," he began briefly, though it seemed to him he could
gladly go on to a new life in some other land.

She nodded. The tide was growing a little stronger, but it was in their
favor. They kept quite near the shore, where it was dark in spaces, and
then opened into a sort of clearing, only to close again. Even now the
voyager dreams on the enchanting shores that are not all given up to
towns and business.

She began to sing. It was melody without words. Now and then she
recalled a French verse or two, then it settled into some melancholy
Indian plaint, or the evening song of a belated bird. She was not
singing for him, yet he was enchanted.

He drew in the canoe presently. She sprang out with the agile grace
caught from much solitary rambling and climbing. Then she waited for him
to fasten it.

"You are quite sure that you will not consent to M. Boulle's wishes?"
she inquired, as they turned in and out of the winding path.

"You shall be left entirely free. You shall not marry at all, if you
prefer," he answered solemnly.

"Oh, a thousand thanks. And you will convince miladi. I think she wishes
M. Boulle all success. I must go make my peace with Wanamee and get some
supper."

She ran to the end of the house, the wide kitchen, where the cooking was
done. Wanamee and Mawha were in a discussion, as often happened. Pani
sat with a great wooden platter on his knees, eating voraciously. Rose
realized suddenly that she was hungry, and the smell of the broiling
fish was appetizing.

"I'm famished, Wanamee," she cried. "Will you give me some supper?"

"Miladi is much vexed with you, little one. She had supper sent to her
room and M. Boulle was there. They wanted you and M. Destournier. There
was to be a--I do not kn