The canoe leapt out of the water, and then shot out of that swirling, awful ring into the headlong stream again.

“Houp-la, Hooray!” cried Pepin.  “Thanks be to the good God!  Courage, mon ami!”

And then the words died on his lips, and Dorothy perceived a sickly grey overspread his face as he stared ahead.  She looked and saw a great mass of rock right in the centre of the stream, as if a portion of the cliff had fallen into it, dividing the passage.  Pepin, who had somewhat relaxed his efforts, now began to ply his paddle again with redoubled vigour.  His hair stood on end, the veins swelled on his forehead, and his body was hunched forward in a grotesque fashion.  Once he turned and, looking swiftly over his shoulder, cried something to Dorothy.  But the thundering of the waters was now so great that his voice was drowned.  The canoe was heading straight for the rock, as an arrow speeds from the bow.  Dorothy closed her eyes and prayed.  There was a lurch, the canoe heeled over until the water poured in, she opened her eyes and clung to the sides for dear life, and then it shot past the menacing death, just missing it by a hand’s breadth.

But what was the matter with the river?  It had contracted until it was not more than twenty yards in width.  It flowed between smooth slimy walls of rock, the vasty heights of which shut out the light of coming day.  There was no roaring now, only the rapid, deep, tremulous flow of the sea-green waters.  Dorothy looked upwards, but all she could see was the black, pitiless cliffs, and a narrow ribbon of sky.  Pepin had ceased to ply his paddle, and was gazing fixedly down stream.  A presentiment that something was wrong took possession of Dorothy.  When the dwarf turned round, and she saw the look of pity for her upon his face, she knew he had something ghastly to tell.  His expression was not that of fear; it was that of one who, seeing death ahead, is not afraid for himself, but is strangely apprehensive about breaking the news to another.  And all the time the thin ribbon of sky was getting narrower.

The girl looked at the dwarf keenly.

“Pepin Quesnelle,” she said, “you have been a good, dear friend to me, and now you have lost your life in trying to save mine—­”

“Pardon, Mam’selle, my dear, what is it you know?  You say we go for to meet the death.  How you know that, eh?  What?”

Despite the tragedy of the situation, and the great pity for her that filled his heart, he would not have been Pepin had he not posed as the petit maitre in this the hour of the shadow.