of the
boat during our flight northward. Yet its incidents remain in memory
with peculiar distinctness of detail. I do not recall exactly how it
occurred, but my duty during that first night chanced to place me at
the after oar. In consequence I sat directly facing Madame de Noyan,
operating the rudder bar. It was so warm, merely a delicate, fragrant
breeze blowing from the south, she had felt no necessity for drawing up
her hood, and the soft light of distant stars, glimmering along the
bosom of the river, reflected back into her face, illumining it until I
could almost note the changing expression within her dark eyes.

It was a sadder, graver face than the one I associated with her
girlhood. Yet I could scarce forbear an impression that it was now a
sweeter one, more womanly, faint lines beginning to mark its satin
smoothness with impress of sorrow. To my thought a new, higher
womanhood had found birth within, during weary days and nights of
suspense and suffering. It was yet torture to me constantly beholding
these two together, but, as I observed her then, I thanked the good God
who had permitted me to be near her in time of trial. In patience I
would serve, even though I must suffer. Tears were clinging to her
long lashes, and occasionally one would glitter an instant upon her
white cheek, as she leaned her face upon one hand, from which the loose
sleeve fell away, revealing an arm like chiselled marble. She made no
effort at concealing these evidences of emotion, doubtless believing
them sufficiently hidden by the gloomy shadows. Nor did she appear to
glance at me, keeping her own gaze directly ahead, where the dark,
swirling waters merged into the mystery of the North.

We were none of us in talkative mood--although I heard De Noyan, behind
me, humming a light French air, as though perfectly free from
trouble--and I have no recollection of exchanging a word for more than
an hour. We merely continued to pull sturdily against the downward
rush of the stream, the deep silence of the night broken only by the
dripping of uplifted blades, or the occasional far-off hooting of an
owl upon the bank to our left. The pressure of the river's current was
scarcely perceptible close against the shore, so we made fair progress.
Yet it was hard work, neither of us being accustomed to such exercise,
the heavy oars feeling awkward to the hand. The grim uncertainty of
the future, coupled with our solitary surrounding