"Martin what?"
"Rutland—Martin Rutland."
At these words Nurse Marion gave a slight start, but recovered herself immediately. Her cheeks, flushed by the exercise of paddling, became very white, while her eyes looked straight before her among the trees on the shore. That name brought back memories which she believed had long since been buried. Her brain throbbed as she endeavoured to piece together the things she had just heard. But for the name it would all have passed as a matter of general interest only. Now, however, it was different. She pictured to herself Martin Rutland as she had known him years ago. The last time they had been together he had played for her upon his violin. Then came the terrible blow, and she had not heard one word from him since. Could it be possible, she asked herself, that this was he? Had he fled away into the wilderness, and lived ever since among the Indians, caring for this orphan girl? She longed to ask more questions, but could not trust herself to do so just now. But she was determined to find out the whole truth, and Nance was the one who could help her. And suppose it really was Martin! Her heart beat wildly as she thought of it, and a sudden weakness came upon her. Had the people at the mission station down river been able at this moment to look upon Nurse Marion, who always was so calm and self-possessed, they would have been greatly surprised. But Nance and Quabee saw nothing unusual, so delighted were they in having this wonderful white woman near them.
"Would you like to come with me to the hospital?" the nurse at length asked.
"Oh, may I?" Nance replied. "It would be so nice."
"We will go at once, then. Perhaps you would like to help me to fix up my room."
The look in Nance's eyes told their own story of joy, as she dropped her paddle into the water, swung the canoe about, and headed it for the opposite shore.