"Strong, I've killed somebody," said the young man, his voice full of the distress he felt. He swept the shore with his light. It fell on the body of a young woman lying prone among the brakes. Quickly he knelt beside her and threw the light upon her face.
"My God! Come here, Strong!" he shouted, hoarsely.
His friend, alarmed by his cry, hurried to him. Master had raised the head of Miss Dun-more upon his arm and was moaning pitifully. He covered the beautiful white face with kisses.
Strong, who stood near with the lantern, had begun to stammer in an effort to express his thoughts.
"K-keep c-cool," he soon succeeded in saying.
"I switched the canoe an' ye n-never t-touched her. She's scairt—th-that's all."
Edith Dunmore had partly risen and opened her eyes. Master lifted her from the earth and held her close and kissed her. His joy overcame him so that the words he tried to utter fell half spoken from his lips. She clung to him, and their silence and their tears and the touch of their hands were full of that assurance for which both had longed.
"T-y-ty!" Strong whispered as he held the light upon them.
For a long moment the lovers stood in each other's embrace. . .
"I don't know why I came here," said she, presently, in a troubled voice.