It was almost with a feeling of disappointment that he told himself it was possible she had not.  He wanted her on the river.  He wanted her going north and still farther north.  The thought that she was mixed up in some affair that had to do with Kedsty was displeasing to him.  If she was still in the Landing or near the Landing, it could no longer be on account of Sandy McTrigger, the man his confession had saved.  In his heart he prayed that she was many days down the Athabasca, for it was there—­and only there—­that he would ever see her again.  And his greatest desire, next to his desire for his freedom, was to find her.  He was frank with himself in making that confession.  He was more than that.  He knew that not a day or night would pass that he would not think or dream of Marette Radisson.  The wonder of her had grown more vivid for him with each hour that passed, and he was sorry now that he had not dared to touch her hair.  She would not have been offended with him, for she had kissed him—­after he had killed the impulse to lay his hand on that soft glory that had crowned her head.

And then the little bell in his watch tinkled the hour of ten!  He sat up with a jerk.  For a space he held his breath while he listened.  In the hall outside his room there was no sound.  An inch at a time he drew himself off his bed until he stood on his feet.  His clothes hung on hooks in the wall, and he groped his way to them so quietly that one listening at the crack of his door would not have heard him.  He dressed swiftly.  Then he made his way to the window, looked out, and listened.

In the brilliant starlight he saw nothing but the two white stubs of the lightning-shattered trees in which the owls lived.  And it was very still.  The air was fresh and sweet in his face.  In it he caught the scent of the distant balsams and cedars.  The world, wonderful in its night silence, waited for him.  It was impossible for him to conceive of failure or death out there, and it seemed unreal and trivial that the Law should expect to hold him, with that world reaching out its arms to him and calling him.

Assured that the moment for action was at hand, he moved quickly.  In another ten seconds he was through the window, and his feet were on the ground.  For a space he stood out clear in the starlight.  Then he hurried to the end of the building and hid himself in the shadow.  The swiftness of his movement had brought him no physical discomfort, and his blood danced with the thrill of the earth under his feet and the thought that his wound must be even more completely healed than he had supposed.  A wild exultation swept over him.  He was free!  He could see the river now, shimmering and talking to him in the starlight, urging him to hurry, telling him that only a little while ago another had gone north on the breast of it, and that if he hastened it would help him to overtake her.  He felt the throb of new life in his body.  His eyes shone strangely in the semi-gloom.