drew her
safe to land. She was naked and shivered in the cold night air--a
slender statue of bronze. Her hair hung dripping about her shoulders,
and her eyes were bright with excitement. Granger thought, as he gazed
on her, that he had never realised how beautiful she was. Freed from
her conventional European garments, there was a grace of rebellion
about her which brought her into harmony with the forest environment,
which was also unconfined.

But she had come to the island on a serious errand, and with no
thought of being admired. Drawing her husband to one side, she told
him that he would find a revolver and food, sufficient for three days,
in the bundle which she had brought, and advised him to lie quietly on
the island until Robert Pilgrim should have gone away. She told him
that Pere Antoine was his friend, and was doing his best to save him.
When Granger asked her how she had known where he was, she replied
that Eyelids had told her, but that she had made him promise to tell
no one else, so that even Antoine was in ignorance of his whereabouts.
She had given them to understand that he had set out for God's Voice a
week ago, and had simulated surprise and grave concern that he had not
arrived before the factor's departure; but she added, "They know that
I am lying."

When Granger referred to the murder with which he was charged, and
began hurriedly to explain why he had not told her about it, she
became strangely perturbed, and cut him short, saying that she must
get back to the store before her absence was observed. It was quite
evident to him that she had not for a moment doubted but that he was
guilty; it was also evident that so small a misdemeanour as killing a
man was not reckoned in her code of morals as being very blameworthy.
He felt hurt at her lack of faith in his integrity; but afterwards,
when he came to think things over, was amazed at her unswerving
loyalty in spite of that deficiency.

He watched her plunge into the river on her return journey, swim
across, run lightly up the bank to where her clothes were lying, and
disappear in the gloom of the forest.

"If I could only learn to care for her," he thought, "even here, in
Keewatin, I might have something left to live for." And then, in the
solemnity which precedes the sunrise, made conscious of the emptiness
which her departure had left, he added, "And I do begin to care."

It was noticeable that in all that she had said, she had made no
r