“What do you mean?”
The master had reached them, and now laid his own hand upon Angelique’s detaining one.
“There, woman, that’s enough. The storm has shaken your nerves. If you’re afraid to stay alone, Margot shall stop with you. But let’s have no more nonsense.”
Mother Ricord stepped back—away. She had done her best. Let come what might, her conscience was clear.
A few seconds later the canoe pushed off over the now darkening water, and its inmates made all speed toward that point from which the cry had been heard, but was heard no more. However, the steersman followed a perfectly direct course, and if he were still weak from his seizure, his movements showed no signs of it, so that Margot’s fear for him was lost in the interest of their present adventure. She rhymed her own stroke to her uncle’s, and when he rested, her paddle instantly stopped.
“Halloo! hal-l-oo!” he shouted, but as no answer came, said: “Now—both together.”
The girl’s shriller treble may have had further carrying power than the man’s voice, for there was promptly returned to them an echoing halloo, coming apparently from a great distance. But it was repeated at close intervals, and each time with more distinctness.
“We’ll beach the boat just yonder, under that tamarack. Whoever it is has heard and is coming back.”
Margot’s impatience broke bounds, and she darted forward among the trees, shouting: “This way! this way! here we are—here!” Her peculiar life and training had made her absolutely fearless, and she would have been surprised by her guardian’s command to “Wait!” had she heard it, which she did not. Also, she knew the forest as other girls know their city streets, and the dimness was no hindrance to her nimble feet. In a brief time she caught the crashing of boughs, as some person, less familiar than she, blundered through the underbrush and finally came into view where a break in the timber gave a faint light.
“Here! here! this way!”