“Mam’selle, my dear,” he cried, “the good God has heard our prayer.  He has guided us through.  Have heart of courage, and all will be well.”

Dorothy raised herself on to her hands and knees.  It was as if she had been dead and had come to life again.  The stream opened out.  Suddenly there came a break in the roof.

“Courage, mon ami!” cried Pepin, and he was just in time to turn them from a rock that threatened destruction.

Then all at once they shot out into the great isle-studded bosom of the broad river, and the sweet sunshine of the coming day.

Half-an-hour later, and the canoe was gliding past the banks where the ash and the wolf-willow grew, and the great cliffs were left behind.  They knew that they were safe, and in their hearts was thanksgiving.  Suddenly Pepin cried—­

“Ah, Mam’selle, you Douglas female, look—­don’t you see it?  There it is—­Croisettes, and look—­look, there is the good mother, and your father, and there your Pasmore, your pudding-head, Pasmore!  Look, they run.  Do not you see them?”

But Dorothy could not see, for her eyes were full of tears—­like Pepin’s.

END