But you're overtired to-night, Joan, like the rest of us. A few
days in this air will set you above all fears of the kind you mention." Then, after a moment's silence, I added, feeling I should estrange her
confidence altogether if I blundered any more and treated her like a
child--

"I think, perhaps, the true explanation is that you pity him for loving
you, and at the same time you feel the repulsion of the healthy,
vigorous animal for what is weak and timid. If he came up boldly and
took you by the throat and shouted that he would force you to love
him--well, then you would feel no fear at all. You would know exactly
how to deal with him. Isn't it, perhaps, something of that kind?" The girl made no reply, and when I took her hand I felt that it trembled
a little and was cold. "It's not his love that I'm afraid of," she said hurriedly, for at this
moment we heard the dip of a paddle in the water, "it's something in his
very soul that terrifies me in a way I have never been terrified
before,--yet fascinates me. In town I was hardly conscious of his
presence. But the moment we got away from civilisation, it began to
come. He seems so--so _real_ up here. I dread being alone with him. It
makes me feel that something must burst and tear its way out--that he
would do something--or I should do something--I don't know exactly what
I mean, probably,--but that I should let myself go and scream--"

"Joan!" "Don't be alarmed," she laughed shortly; "I shan't do anything silly,
but I wanted to tell you my feelings in case I needed your help. When I
have intuitions as strong as this they are never wrong, only I don't
know yet what it means exactly." "You must hold out for the month, at any rate," I said in as
matter-of-fact a voice as I could manage, for her manner had somehow
changed my surprise to a subtle sense of alarm. "Sangree only stays the
month, you know. And, anyhow, you are such an odd creature yourself that
you should feel generously towards other odd creatures," I ended lamely,
with a forced laugh. She gave my hand a sudden pressure. "I'm glad I've told you at any
rate," she said quickly under her breath, for the canoe was now gliding
up silently like a ghost to our feet, "and I'm glad you're here, too,"
she added as we moved down towards the water to meet it. I made Sangree change into the bows and got into the steering seat
myself, putting the girl between us so that I could watch them both by
keeping their outlines against the sea and stars. For the intuitions of
certain folk--women and children usually, I confess--I have always felt
a great respect that has more often than not been justified by
experience; and now the curious emotion stirred in me by the girl's
words remained somewhat vividly in my consciousness. I explained it in
some measure by the fact that the girl, tired out by the fatigue of many
days' travel, had suffered a vigorous reaction of some kind from the
strong, desolate scenery, and further, perhaps, that she had been
treated to my own experience of seeing the members of the party in a new
light--the Canadian, being partly a stranger, more vividly than the rest
of us. But, at the same time, I felt it was quite possible that she had
sensed some subtle link between his personality and her own, some
quality that she had hitherto ignored and that the routine of town life
had kept buried out of sight. The only thing that seemed difficult to
explain was the fear she had spoken of, and this I hoped the wholesome
effects of camp-life and exercise would sweep away naturally in the
course of time. We made the tour of the island without speaking. It was all too
beautiful for speech. The trees crowded down to the shore to hear us
pass. We saw their fine dark heads, bowed low with splendid dignity to
watch us, forgetting for a moment that the stars were caught in the
needled network of their hair. Against the sky in the west, where still
lingered the sunset gold, we saw the wild toss of the horizon, shaggy
with forest and cliff, gripping the heart like the motive in a symphony,
and sending the sense of beauty all a-shiver through the mind--all these
surrounding islands standing above the water like low clouds, and like
them seeming to post along silently into the engulfing night. We heard
the musical drip-drip of the paddle, and the little wash of our waves on
the shore, and then suddenly we found ourselves at the opening of the
lagoon again, having made the complete circuit of our home. The Reverend Timothy had awakened from sleep and was singing to himself;
and the sound of his voice as we glided down the fifty yards of enclosed
water was pleasant to hear and undeniably wholesome. We saw the glow of
the fire up among the trees on the ridge, and his shadow moving about as
he threw on more wood. "There you are!" he called aloud. "Good again! Been setting the
night-lines, eh? Capital! And your mother's still fast asleep, Joan." His cheery laugh floated across the water; he had not been in the least
disturbed by our absence, for old campers are not easily alarmed. "Now, remember," he went on, after we had told our little tale of travel
by the fire, and Mrs. Maloney had asked for the fourth time exactly
where her tent was and whether the door faced east or south, "every one
takes their turn at cooking breakfast, and one of the men is always out
at sunrise to catch it first. Hubbard, I'll toss you which you do in the
morning and which I do!" He lost the toss. "Then I'll catch it," I said,
laughing at his discomfiture, for I knew he loathed stirring porridge. "And mind you don't burn it as you did every blessed time last year on
the Volga," I added by way of reminder. Mrs. Maloney's fifth interruption about the door of her tent, and her
further pointed observation that it was past nine o'clock, set us
lighting lanterns and putting the fire out for safety. But before we separated for the night the clergyman had a time-honoured
little ritual of his own to go through that no one had the heart to deny
him. He always did this. It was a relic of his pulpit habits. He glanced
briefly from one to the other of us, his face grave and earnest, his
hands lifted to the stars and his eyes all closed and puckered up
beneath a momentary frown. Then he offered up a short, almost inaudible
prayer, thanking Heaven for our safe arrival, begging for good weather,
no illness or accidents, plenty of fish, and strong sailing winds. And then, unexpectedly--no one knew why exactly--he ended up with an
abrupt request that nothing from the kingdom of darkness should be
allowed to afflict our peace, and no evil thing come near to disturb us
in the night-time. And while he uttered these last surprising words, so strangely unlike
his usual ending, it chanced that I looked up and let my eyes wander
round the group assembled about the dying fire. And it certainly seemed
to me that Sangree's face underwent a sudden and visible alteration.