"Would to God we were!" said I.
Half an hour later I hung over my dear lad's pallet, pressing his hands, and bidding him adieu, and kissing his gaunt cheeks. When at last I turned away, dashing some unexpected drops from my eyes (for I had eagerly desired his comradeship in this venture, and had dreamed of him fighting at my side), I found that Prudence and the Curé had gone down to the landing to see me off, and that Mizpah stood alone just outside the door, looking pale and tired. I think I was aggrieved that she should not take the trouble to walk down as far as the landing,—and this may have lent my voice a touch of reserve.
"Good-bye, Madame," said I, holding out my hand. "May God keep you!"
In truth it lay heavily upon my soul that she should not have one thought to spare from the child, for me. Yet I was not prepared for the way she took my farewell.
"It was 'comrade' but yesterday," she murmured, flushing, and withdrawing her hand ere I could give it an instant's pressure. But growing straightway pale again, she added with the stateliness so native to her:—
"Farewell, Monsieur. May God keep you also! My gratitude to the most gallant of gentlemen, to the bravest and truest succourer of those in need, I must ask you to believe in without words; for truly I have no words to express it." And with that she turned away, leaving me most sore at heart for something more than gratitude.
A few minutes later, when I had made my adieux to Father Fafard, and kissed Marc's lily maid, as was my right and duty, I had a surprise which sent me on my way something more happily. As our canoe (I had Giraud with me now) slipped round a little bluff below the settlement, I caught the flutter of a gown among the trees; and the next instant Mizpah appeared, waving her handkerchief. She had gone a good half-mile to wave me a last God-speed.
For an instant, as I bared my head, I had a vision of her hair all down about her, a glory that I can never think of without a trembling in my throat. I saw a speaking tenderness in her Madonna face,—and I seemed to hear in my heart a call which assuredly her lips did not utter; then my eyes blurred, so hard was it to keep from turning back. I leaned my head forward for a moment on my arms, as if I had been a soft boy, but feeling the canoe swerve instantly from its course, I rose at once and resumed my paddling.
Nevertheless I turned my head ever and anon toward the shore behind, till I could catch no more the flutter of her gown among the trees.
I have wondered many times since, how Mizpah's hair chanced then to be down about her in that fashion. Did some wanton branch undo it as she came hastily through the trees? Or did her own long fingers loosen it for me?