“But did you ever see her face, Massawippa? What did she cover herself with?” inquired Claire, uncomfortably thinking of the recluse on St. Bernard.
“Far up the mountain I saw her face like a dot. She was covered, head and all, in a blanket the color of gray rock. And that is all I know about her, madame.”
“Yet you count on getting a boat from her?”
“If she be a holy woman, madame, and sees us in trouble, will she not help us?”
The rosiness of glowing embers tinted the walls of Jouaneaux’s house, and perfectly the smoke sought its flue.
Lying quite still in weariness, and holding each other for warmth and comfort, the two young creatures felt such thoughts rise and rush to speech as semi-darkness fosters when we are on the edge of great perils.
“Madame,” said Massawippa, “do you understand how it will seem to be dead?”
“I was just thinking of it, Massawippa, and that we shall soon know. There is no imagining such a change; yet it may be no stranger than stripping off a glove of kid-skin and leaving the naked hand, which is, after all, the natural hand. Do you think it possible that anything has happened to the expedition yet? They are three days out from Montreal.”
“They cannot be far up the Ottawa, madame. No, I think they have not met the Iroquois.”