transfigured. There was no fear
there--only a look of trust in a higher power, and of
compassion.

"Pepin," cried Dorothy, "you have been a good, dear friend
to me, and I want to thank you before--"

"Bah !" interrupted the dwarf. "What foolishness is it
you will talk about thanks! But, my dear, I will say this
to you now, although you are a woman, there is no one in
this wide world--save, of course, the good mother--that
I would more gladly have laid down my life to serve than
you! I am sure your Pasmore would forgive me if he heard
that Good-bye, my dear child, and if it is the Lord's
will that together we go to knock at the gates of the
great Beyond, then I will thank Heaven that I have been
sent in such good company. Now, let us thank the good
God that He has put the love of Him in our hearts."

And then the darkness swallowed them up.

Back from the land of dreams and shadows--back from the
Valley of the Shadow and the realms of unconsciousness.

Dorothy opened her eyes. At first she could see nothing.
Then there fell upon her view the shadowy form of a human
figure bending over her, and a slimy roof of rock that
seemed to rush past at racehorse speed. It seemed to grow
lighter. The canoe swayed; she heard the rush of water;
then there was darkness again.

It was the splash of cold water on her face from a little
wave that dashed over the side of the canoe that roused
her. She opened her eyes. In the bow she could see Pepin
kneeling; his hands were clasped before him; his deep
voice ran above the surge of the current, and she knew
that he was praying aloud.

The roof over her head seemed to recede. It grew higher.
Pepin turned and seized the paddle. He dipped it into
the water and headed the canoe into the centre of the
stream.

"Mam'selle, my dear," he cried, "the good God has heard
our prayer. He has guided us through. Have heart of
courage, and all will be well."

Dorothy raised herself on to her hands and knees. It was
as if she had been dead and had come to life again. The
stream opened out. Suddenly there came a break in the
roof.

"Courage, _mon ami!_" cried Pepin, and he was just in
time to turn them from a rock that threatened destruction.

Then all at once they shot out into the great isle-studded
bosom of the broad river, and the sweet sunshine of the
coming day.

Half-an-hour later, and the canoe was gliding past the
banks where the ash and the wolf-willow grew, and the
great cl