The scene that her eyes beheld in that last little instant in which the boat seemed to hang, shuddering, at the crest of the descent was branded indelibly on her memory.  She saw Ben’s face, set like iron, the muscles bunching beneath his flannel sleeves as he set his paddle.  He was leaning forward, aware of nothing in the world but the forthcoming crisis.  And in that swift flash of vision she saw not only the steel determination and the brutal savagery of the avenger.  A little glimpse of the truth went home to her, and she beheld something of the misdirected idealism of the man, the intensity and steadfastness that were the dominant traits of his nature.  She could not doubt his belief in the reality of his cause.  Whether fancied or real the injury, deep wells of emotion in his heart had broken their seals and flowed forth.

The wolf crouched on the heap of supplies, fearful to the depths of his wild heart of this mighty stream, yet still putting his faith in his master in the stern.  Beatrice saw his wild, frightened eyes as he gazed down into the frightful whirlpools.  The banks seemed to whip past.

Then the rushing waters caught the craft and seemed to fling it into the air.  There was the swift sense of lightning and incredible movement, of such incalculable speed as that with which a meteor blazes through the sky, and then a mighty surging, struggle; an interminable instant of ineffable and stupendous conflict.  The bow dipped, split the foam; then the raging waters seized the craft again, and with one great impulse hurled it through the clouds of spray, down between the narrow portals of rocks.

Beatrice came to herself with the realization that she had uttered a shrill cry.  Part of the impulse behind it was simply terror; but it was also the expression of an intensity of sensation never before experienced.  She could have understood, now, the lure of the rapids to experienced canoeists.  She forced herself to look into the wild cataract.

The boat sped at an unbelievable pace.  Ben held his paddle like iron, yet with a touch as delicate as that of a great musician upon piano keys, and he steered his craft to the last inch.  His face was still like metal, but the eyes, steely, vivid, and magnetic, had a look of triumph.  The first of the great tests had been passed.

Sudden confidence in Ben’s ability to guide her through to safety began to warm the girl’s frozen heart.  There were no places more dangerous than that just past; and he had handled his craft like a master.  He was a voyageur:  as long as his iron control was sustained, as long as his nerve was strong and his eye true she had every chance of coming out alive.  But they had irremediably cast their fortunes upon the river, now.  They could not turn back.  She was in his whole charge, an agent of vengeance against her own father and his confederates.

Hot, blinding tears suddenly filled her eyes.  Her frantic fear of the river had held them back for a time; but they flowed freely enough now the first crisis was past.  In utter misery and despair her head bowed in her hands; and her brown hair, disheveled, dropped down.