The dance went on. Again and again, in response to applause, the swaying figure returned to the deck.
There came at last a time when neither applause nor bewitching music could lure her from her retreat.
“She is gone,” Florence thought, in a dreamy mood, “disappeared down a moonbeam.”
How true this was she was to know soon enough. The deck of the boat was all aglow, but the broad dock was in the shadows. Hidden by these shadows was a little group of onlookers—a cook from the lodge, two roustabouts, a sailor or two. With them were Dave and Rufus. Gliding along in the shadows a slender figure approached this group, whispered a question or two, received her answers, then vanished into the night.
Two minutes later, to her great astonishment, Florence heard her name called ever so softly:
“Florence! Florence! Where are you?”
The big girl thrilled to her fingertips, but did not answer at once.
“Florence!” again the low silvery voice called. “Where are you? It is I, Petite Jeanne. I have come all this way to find you!”
“Here!” The big girl’s voice was husky. She was on her feet now. Tears of joy were in her eyes. “Here. On the rock!”
“Ah!” Jeanne murmured, quoting from a very old book, “Lead me to a rock that is higher than I.” And then they who had had so many adventures together were in each other’s arms.