What am I to do in the midst of this general debacle?"

"Marcia," he stopped short, turned to face me, "remember that now and hereafter when you need a friend you will find one in me. Don't hesitate to come to me, to call on me whenever there may be need, or when there is no need. I had once, many years ago, not only a son but a darling daughter. She would have been about your age--a year younger."

I could not thank him, grateful as I was, for I was inwardly rebellious that he should feel called upon to offer me the protection of his friendship, when he must see that his friend was the only one to give me the needed shelter---and that in Lamoral, because he loved me. For a moment his words seemed almost an insult to Mr. Ewart.

Suddenly he laughed out--his hearty kindly laugh. It put new heart into me.

"What is it?" I asked quickly, ready to respond to a little cheer.

"Ewart is having his surprise too, but domestically. He had word in the mail from Cale last night, and according to his account everything is going to the dogs at Lamoral. Angelique has elected to fall in love with Widower Pierre and he with her. They are to postpone the marriage until the seignior returns, but beg he will consider the state of their affections and be considerate."

I laughed with him. There was humor in this situation at Lamoral, for I had warned Cale before I left how this affair would terminate, and he had sniffed at my clairvoyance.

"The truth is, Cale is homesick for the whole household."

"Poor Cale! He is having a hard time. I ought to be at home to help him, to comfort him. Our new relationship means that I have found another friend."

"And a faithful one."

"You think we shall break camp very soon?"

"Yes. I have to be off to-morrow--"

"To-morrow! Why, you were to stay into the second week of September."

"I have to leave sooner than I planned. The Montagnais brought up a telegram with the mail, and my answer goes back with me to-morrow. I 've kept the Montagnais for guide, although I should not fear to risk it alone, now that I have been over the route so many times."

"Then, if Mrs. Macleod and Jamie are to sail soon, I must go, too, I suppose."

"Yes, Cale needs you; the whole household needs you. I proposed to Ewart that we all go together, then there will be no heart-breaking goodbys, except to Andre."

I bit my lip to keep back any inquiry about Mr. Ewart's going with us, and was thankful I held my peace for the Doctor continued, tramping steadily on ahead of me:

"But now Ewart will remain to the end--"

"But has it come to this?" I cried. I was depressed at the turn of events.

The Doctor stopped, turned and faced me, saying gravely:

"It has, Marcia; I read the signs. We shall know when we get back. I was with him all last night; there is no help. But Ewart and I did not want you and Jamie and Mrs. Macleod to know it--not till morning. You thought he was out fishing when we left; so did Jamie. Ewart asked me to tell you on our way back."

"Andre--"

I could not speak another word. The old Canadian had so endeared himself to me during the many weeks in the wilds. Added to this was the thought of his probable connection with my mother's short-lived joy. It was all too sudden.

"It _is_ the debacle, no mistake about that," I said stolidly, and set my teeth together that they should not chatter and betray my weakness of spirit.

"Can't I stay and help to nurse him?"

"No, Marcia, that won't do. Andre lies in a lethargy; his condition may not change for days, for weeks, although I doubt this. His son and Ewart will do all that is necessary. Ewart will never leave the two here alone. You would be an extra care for them. It is now exceptionally cold for the season in this lat.i.tude; the fall rains may set in any time. Don't propose such a thing to Ewart, I beg of you.

But Ewart remains--that is the kind of friend Ewart is."

The request was too earnest for me not to accede to it with as good a grace as possible.

On our return we found that it was as the Doctor had predicted: the old guide was unconscious.

Mr. Ewart decided the matter of breaking camp. We were to leave the next morning with the Montagnais and Andre the Second for guides.

Andre's son was to accompany us only to the fourth portage. The Doctor, with the other Montagnais, was sufficient for the rest of the way. The camp belongings were to follow later with Mr. Ewart, whenever that should be.

I remember that day as one of dreary confusion--packing, sorting, shivering a little in the chill air. The sun shone pale; it failed to warm the earth or our bodies. All the forest stirred at times uneasily. Andre's son declared it foretold long cold rains followed by sharp frost. And amid all the confusion of the day we could hear the undertone of our thought: "Old Andre is dying". Mr. Ewart would not permit us to see him.

"It is better to carry with you only the memory of him as he has looked to us during all these weeks--young in his heart, joyful in our companionship."

I saw the relief in Mr. Ewart's face when we were ready. He spoke cheerily to me who failed to respond with anything resembling cheerfulness.

"It's a bad business in camp during the fall rains, and they are setting in early this year. I shall know you are safely housed--and there is so much to look forward to. Home will be a pleasant place for us, won't it?"

"I thought this, also, was home to you--"

"Only so long as you are here; my home henceforth is where you are."

And, hearing those words, despite the chill air, despite the lack of warm sunshine, despite the fact that old Andre lay dying in his tent just beyond the camp, despite the fact that Jamie and Mrs. Macleod were to leave me alone in Lamoral, that the Doctor was going away for an indefinite time, my happiness was at the flood.

For a moment only, we stood there on the sh.o.r.e of the little cove, together and alone--and glad to be! We stood there, man and woman facing each other, as primeval man and woman may have stood thousands of years ago on this oldest piece of the known earth, there in the heart of the Canadian wilderness. Something primeval entered into the expression of our love for each other; our souls were naked, the one to the other; our eyes promised all, the one to the other; our lips were ready for their seal of sacrament when the time should come that we might give it each to the other without witness.

And no word was spoken, for no word was needed.

The Doctor joined us rather inopportunely and, accounting for the situation, made no end of a pother with his traps and his canoe.

Once more Jamie and I asked if we might not take one look at old Andre, but the Doctor put his foot down.

"Better not. Remember him as you last saw him; it will be a memory to dwell with--this would not be."

Jamie put on a brave face, but I knew he was ready for a good cry.

"I am not reconciled to say goodby to you here, Gordon," he said.

The two clasped hands.

"Oh, I shall be running over to see you and Mrs. Macleod before long.

Be sure, Mrs. Macleod, to have my room ready for me next summer in Crieff--and don't forget the green canopy over my bed. I have n't forgotten it."

She smiled. "I shall never forget your kindness, never; but I can't help the longing for home."

"There, there, no more you can't," said the Doctor brusquely. "No more leave-takings; they don't set well on my breakfast. We shall all be together again soon, please G.o.d. The ocean is but a pond and the crossing a five days' picnic now-a-days. You may follow us in a few days, Ewart. Meanwhile, I 'll see that your household is safely landed at Lamoral--if only the rain will hold off, we shall have cause for thankfulness," he added fervently. We all knew the Doctor was talking against time and parting. "Raincoats all in readiness?" And then, not waiting for an answer:

"I shall run up to Lamoral after I get back from San Francisco, Gordon; I 'm not sure I shan't return by the Canadian Pacific."

"Good luck, John, and goodby till then," said Mr. Ewart. "Bon voyage, Mrs. Macleod. Miss Farrell, I give you carte blanche for all wedding preparations. Tell Pierre to order from his tailor, and charge to me.