Sister Margaret, who had observed the procession from an upper window, threw open the door for us.
"How is Helen?" asked Miss Pat at once.
"She is very comfortable," replied the Sister. "I went up only a moment ago to see if she wanted anything."
Miss Pat turned and gave me her hand in her pretty fashion.
"You see, it could not have been—it was not—Helen; our eyes deceived us! Thank you very much, Mr. Donovan!"
There was no mistaking her relief; she smiled upon me beamingly as I stood before her at the door.
"Of course! On a fête night one can never trust one's eyes!"
"But it was all bewilderingly beautiful. You are most compassionate toward a poor old woman in exile, Mr. Donovan. I must go up to Helen and make her sorry for all she has missed."
I went back to the launch and sought far and near upon the lake for the canoe with the single star. I wanted to see again the face that was uplifted in the flood of colored light—the head, the erect shoulders, the arms that drove the blade so easily and certainly; for if it was not Helen Holbrook it was her shadow that the gods had sent to mock me upon the face of the waters.