I made no effort to say more; I could only lie in silence and gaze up at her, pressing the hands resting so frankly within my own.  Indeed, we needed no words in that hour; our hearts had spoken, and thenceforward we were one.

Suddenly the heavy boat lurched beneath us, to some quick impetus that sent a shudder through every inch of it; and I heard a heavy splash alongside, which instantly brought me upright, anxiously grasping the rail.

“May Heaven help him!” cried Burns excitedly, and pointing out at the black waters.  “The Frenchman has gone overboard!”

“Overboard?” I echoed, striving to regain my feet.  “Did he fall?”

“Fall?  No; it was a dive off the back seat here.  Save me! but he went into it like a gull.”

We sought for him long and vainly, peering over those dark swirling waters, calling his name aloud, and striking flint on steel in hope to guide him by the spark.  Nothing appeared along the rolling surface, no answering cry came from the black void; De Croix had disappeared into the depths, as desperate men go down to death.  Suddenly, as I leaned over, sick at heart, peering into the dimness, Toinette drew near and touched me softly.

“Let us not mourn,” she said, in strange quietness.  “No doubt ’t is better so.”

“How?” I questioned, shocked at her seemingly heartless words.  “Surely you cannot rejoice at such a loss?”

“’T is not a loss,” she answered firmly, and the soft moon-rays were white upon her face.  “He has only gone back to her we left behind; it was the beckoning hand of love that called him through the waters.  Now it is only ours to pray that he may find her.”

CHAPTER XXXVI

IN THE NEW GRAY DAWN

My anxious glance wandered from the face I so dearly loved, out where those dark restless waters merged into the brooding mystery of the black night.  How unspeakably dreary, lonely, hopeless it all was!  Into what tragic unknown fate had this earliest comrade of my manhood been remorselessly swept?  Was all indeed well with him? or had the Nemesis of a wrong once done dealt its fatal stroke at last?  The voices of the night were silent; the chambers of the great tossing sea hid their secret well.  Had this gallant and reckless young soldier of France, this petted courtier of the gayest court in Europe, whose very name and rank I knew not, succeeded in his desperate deed?  Had he reached yonder blood-stained shore, lined with infuriated savages, and found safe passage through them to the side of the woman he had once called wife, and then forgotten?  Or had he found, instead, the solemn peace of death, amid the swirling waters of this vast inland sea, so many leagues to the westward of that sunny land he loved?  These were the thoughts that shook me, as I leaned out above the rail, her dear hand always on my shoulder.  Never have the circling years found voice, nor the redeemed wilderness made answer.