"This lad's tongue and heart are true," said I, looking at Mizpah. "We may trust him."
"I know it!" said she. Whereupon he reached out, grasped a hand of each, and kissed them with a freedom of emotion which I have seldom seen in the full blood Indian.
"You may trust me," he said, in a low voice, being by this something wearied. "You give me my life. And I will help you find your child."
And the manner of his speech, as if he considered the child our child, though it was but accident, stirred me sweetly at the heart,—and I durst not trust myself to meet Mizpah's eyes.
Thus it came about that, after all, we crossed not the narrow strait, nor set foot in Ile Royale. But when, three days later, I judged our patient sufficiently recovered, we set our faces again toward the Shubenacadie.
The journey was exceeding slow, but to me very far from tedious, for in rain or shine, or dark or bright, the light shone on me of my mistress's face.
And at last, after many days of toilsome wandering, we struck the head waters of the Shubenacadie.
From this point forward we went with more caution. When we were come within an hour of the Indian village, Xavier parted company with us. The river here making a long loop, so to speak, we were to cross behind the village at a safe distance, strike the tide again, and hide at a certain point covered with willows till Xavier should bring us a canoe.
We reached the point, hid ourselves among the willows, and waited close upon two hours. The shadows were falling long across the river, and our anxieties rising with more than proportioned speed, when, at last, a canoe shot around a bend of the river, and made swiftly for the point. We saw Xavier in the bow, but there was a tall, powerful warrior in the stern. As the canoe drew near, Mizpah caught me anxiously by the arm.
"That man was one of the band that captured us at Annapolis," she whispered. "What does it mean? Could Xavier mean to—?"