They were close to the island’s ribbed side when a bubbling and roaring confusion overtook Claire’s ears, and she was drenched, strangled, and still gulping in her death until all sensation passed away.
Life returned through hearing; her head was filled with humming noises, she was giving back the water which had been forced upon her, and lying across a rock supported by Massawippa. In the midst of her chill misery she noted that shadow was settling on the river, and all the cheerful ruddiness of western light was gone.
“Madame, are you able to get up the rocks now?” anxiously spoke Massawippa. “We must hide on this island to-night.”
“How did we reach it?” Claire gasped.
“I swam, and dragged you.”
“Then here had been the end of my expedition but for you, Massawippa.”
“There was the end of our supplies. All gone, madame, except the ropes I put around my waist, and they would have drowned me with their weight if the island had not been almost under our feet. It is well we ate and filled ourselves, for the saints alone know where we shall get breakfast.”
Claire turned her face on the rock.
“My packet of linen and clean comforts, Massawippa!” she regretted.