Bella asked no more questions and Millicent sat wondering how far she had been influenced by the reason she had given for leaving Clarence behind. She had undoubtedly desired to be free to devote herself to the gathering of material for her book, but that was not quite all. She had also half-consciously shrunk from the close contact with Clarence which would have been one result of their life in camp, but this she refused to admit. It was clearer that she desired an extension of the liberty which she must sometime relinquish. Taking it all round, she was rather troubled in mind.
“There’s one thing,” remarked Bella. “He can’t write you any reproachful letters for stealing away. At least, if he does so, you won’t get them.”
This, as Millicent recognized, was a relief, but Miss Hume broke in upon her reflections with some trifling request and soon afterward the men strolled back toward the fire. The packers had already gone to sleep; the dew was heavy, but Nasmyth lay down on the shingle and Carew took a place beside his wife’s chair. Suddenly Millicent leaned forward with her face turned toward the lake.
“Listen!” she cried sharply. “Can’t you hear something?”
No sound reached the others for a moment; and then Nasmyth jumped up.
“Yes,” he exclaimed; “canoe paddles.”
A measured beat stole out of the silence, increasing until it broke sharply through the tranquil lapping of the water. Then, far up the glittering lake, a dim black bar crept out into the moonlight and by degrees grew plainer.
“Of course, they may be Indians,” Bella suggested mischievously.
Carew included Millicent in his answering bow.
“No; I believe I’m beaten. You and Miss Gladwyne were right.”