When she awoke she found herself being carried by two strong arms. She was so muffled up that she could not in the least see who her bearer was, and a sensation of unreasoning fear crept over her. “Father,” she called out, trying to move.
“Gently, Mademoiselle,” said a voice which she recognised at once. “You have had a good rest, and will be glad to walk now, I daresay,” and she felt herself placed on the ground, and her wraps loosened from around her.
The whole party had stopped, and, as she stood in their midst, her father said, smiling,—
“You’ve had the best of it, Mercèdes; we are nearly done up again, and you are fresh as a young colt, or ought to be. Thank Monsieur; he has carried you for the last two hours.”
“Oh, how could you let him?” exclaimed Mercèdes reproachfully.
“We could not leave you behind, and you were sleeping so deeply that it would have been impossible to rouse you sufficiently for you to walk. Monsieur is kind enough to say that your weight is nothing compared to that of a deer.”
Charles laughed. “Indeed no,” he said; “you need not fear having wearied me, Mademoiselle. I hardly knew I had a burden, you are so small and light. But now we must hurry forward; we have still some distance to go before we reach the log hut where we shall put up for the night.”
“Poor Marthe! Let me help you; you can hardly drag yourself,” said Mercèdes to her foster-mother.
“I’m not so bad as that, Mademoiselle,” answered the patient peasant woman; “the man’s like the master, he’s helped me along;” and she pointed to John Stone, who smiled and nodded without understanding her, and, once more taking her arm, he almost carried her over the ground.
The day was drawing to a close when they reached the log or lumber camp, and saw the smoke rising straight in the air, giving promise at least of shelter and of warmth.