At that moment, as if the show were ended, the bits of burning wood crumbled into a heap. The chasm of fire was no more.
But what had she seen there? It was strange. She had seen quite plainly there at the center of the fiery circle the form of her companion, Florence.
“Florence.” She said the word softly. “Of course she was not there, not even her image was there. And yet—
“I wonder if it is truly possible to hear another think when she is far away? There are cases on record when this has seemed to be true. Mental telepathy they call it.
“I wonder if that vision could have been a warning?
“This place—” she shuddered. “It haunts me. Let me get out into the sunlight!
“Surely,” she told herself soberly, “if we may not listen to our friends’ thoughts when they are far away, at least God can whisper them in our ear. With Him all things are possible. I must try to find Florence.”
With that she walked some distance along the slope to at last vanish down a narrow moose trail that passed between two black old spruce trees.
* * * * * * * *
Bihari and his band, with Petite Jeanne in their midst, were having their breakfast coffee on deck that morning, when a white-haired youth came rowing alongside in a roughly made fishing boat. Two small children rode in the stern.