“Possibly it might be done,” I admitted slowly. “’T is scarce farther than I swam just now, and he is neither weary nor wounded.”

We all realised it was a useless peril to remain there longer, and I sat at the helm and watched, while Burns, who developed considerable knowledge in such matters, fitted the heavy sail in place.  With the North Star over the water for our guidance, I headed the blunt nose of the boat due eastward into the untracked waters.

I confess that my memory was still lingering upon De Croix, and my eyes turned often enough along our foam-flecked wake in vague wonderment at his fate.  It was Mademoiselle who laid hand softly on my knee at last, and aroused my attention to her.

“Why did you tell Sister Celeste that you came to Dearborn seeking Elsa Matherson?” she questioned, her clear eyes intently reading my face.

“I had even forgotten that I mentioned it,” I answered, surprised at this query at such a time.  “But it is strictly true.  While upon his death-bed Elsa Matherson’s father wrote to mine,—­they were old comrades in the great war,—­and I was sent hither to bring the orphan girl eastward.  I sought her as a brother might seek a sister he had never seen, Mademoiselle; yet have failed most miserably in my mission.”

“How failed?”

“In that I have found no trace of the girl, and beyond doubt she perished in the massacre.  I know not how, but I have been strangely baffled and misled from the first in my search for her, and it was all to no purpose.”

For the first time since I had fallen dripping into the boat, a slight smile was visible in the dark eyes fronting me.

“Why hid you from me with such care the object of your search?”

“I hid nothing, Mademoiselle.  We spoke together about it often.”

“Ay, indeed you told me you sought a young girl, and your words led me to think at first it must be Josette, and later still the Indian missionary.  But not once did you breathe the name of the girl in my ears.  The dwellers at Dearborn were neither so many nor so strange to me that I could not have aided you in your search.”

“You knew this Elsa Matherson?”

“I am not so sure of that, Master Wayland.” she returned gravely, her eyes wandering into the night.  “Once I thought I did, but she has changed so greatly in the last few days that I am hardly sure.  A young girl’s life is often filled with mystery, and there are happenings that turn girlhood to womanhood in a single hour.  Love has power to change the nature as by magic, and sorrow also has a like rare gift.  Do you still greatly wish to find this Elsa Matherson?”

“To find her?” and I gazed about me incredulously into those flitting shadows where the waves raced by.  “Ay, for I have dreamed of her as of a lost sister, and it will sadly grieve those at home to have me return thus empty-handed.  Yet the thought is foolishness, Mademoiselle, and I understand not why you should mock me so.”