"To-morrow," he said, "we shall have time for a long chat; to-night you must be tired. I hope Mrs. Hall has done what she could to make you comfortable."

There could be no doubt about that. For two or three days nothing had occupied the good woman's thoughts but this strange and wonderful arrival of strangers--of ladies, too--at the house where so few strangers ever came; and she had exerted all her backwoods' ingenuity to repair what deficiency of comfort there might be.

They were in no humour either to be critical; and Lucia was soon asleep, while her mother lay listening to the sound of the river, and thinking of the many things which this very room brought so freshly to her mind.

CHAPTER XXIII.

It was late when Mrs. Costello fell asleep, and very early when she woke, startled out of her dreams by a long wailing sound. She listened, and in the dark winter morning could hear the wind sweeping through the pines and round the house with loud intermittent gusts, like moans and outcries of pain. The moments of silence between these gusts had something weird and awful, and she could not resist the desire to get up and look out at the weather. But just as she drew aside the blind, a cloud of frozen snow was dashed against the glass, rattling sharply, while the wind again passed on with its ominous wail. Nothing whatever could be seen; the pale dim dawn was veiled by mist and snow, and each time the icy particles were driven against the window, they left behind them a thicker curtain of frost. Mrs. Costello went shivering back to bed, but she did not sleep again. She began to consider anxiously how far the boat that was carrying her dead could have come before the storm commenced. At midnight it had been quite calm, probably indeed till four or five o'clock; and if the sailors had foreseen the change, they would most likely have made all possible speed. If they did so, the wind and current both being in their favour, they ought to be here now; but if, as was quite equally likely, they had stopped last night at some port, would they venture out in this storm?

She began to regret that she had not caused the body to be sent by land, so as to have only to cross the narrow current which divided the island from the Canadian shore. She had decided against this plan on account of the greater distance and the difficulty of transport, but now these seemed less formidable than the uncertainty and possible danger of the route she had chosen.

She was glad when Lucia awoke, and she could speak of her uneasiness. By this time the wind had grown more violent, and blew continuously, and the rattling of snow like frozen dust against the window seemed never to cease. A dim daylight had begun to creep into the room, but it was even colder and more cheerless than the darkness. Presently a young Indian girl, whom Mrs. Hall had trained for service, came softly into the room and began to coax the still burning embers of the fire into a blaze. She went about her work with a silent deftness which would have done credit to the best of housemaids, and yet in all her motions there was something of that free natural grace which belongs to her people.

When she had done, and was standing for a moment to see if the fire 'drew' properly, Mrs. Costello spoke to her. She understood no English, however, or at least she understood none addressed to her by a strange voice, and said so in her own soft musical language. When the question was repeated in Ojibway, however, her face brightened, and she was perfectly ready to answer all Mrs. Costello chose to ask.

She said the weather had only changed towards six o'clock. No boat, however, had arrived, but it might be on the other side of the island, where the passage was broader and safer than on this, the Canadian side.

As soon as she was gone the two women, anxious and uneasy, rose and dressed that they might be ready. Ready for what they scarcely knew; but they had the feeling common enough when nothing can possibly be done, that it would be a comfort to be prepared to do something.

They found Mrs. Hall superintending the laying of the breakfast-table, and Mr. Strafford hearing their voices came out of his study and joined them. He had not the least inclination to sympathise with the fears in which Mrs. Costello was a little disposed to indulge, with regard to the safety of the boat; but he confessed a doubt as to its arrival before the hour named, or indeed that day at all. This uncertainty threw a shadow over the whole party. It was impossible to avoid making pauses in their conversation whenever the wind seemed either to rise more fiercely, or to be lulled into a momentary calm; and after breakfast was over, and Mrs. Hall in cloak and hood had started for her school, they began to make frequent journeys to the windows, and interrupt their talk to say to each other,

"There is less drift, I think."

"Yes; certainly it is clearer. I can see the water." Or,

"The wind is surely higher than ever, and it will be against them."

"On the contrary, it is almost directly favourable, but the question is whether they would venture out at all in such a storm."

At last, however, towards twelve o'clock the wind did unmistakably begin to abate. Mr. Strafford had been out, and on his return affirmed that the storm was almost over. It might return again towards night, but if the boatmen knew their business, they should be able to take advantage of the next few hours and reach the island while the calm lasted.

"There is no sign of their arrival at present then?" Mrs. Costello asked anxiously.

"I have not been round the island," Mr. Strafford answered. "No one seems to have seen anything of a boat at all. However, they would need to be close in shore to be distinguishable through the drift."

"But it seems that there is very little chance of their being here by three o'clock. Would not it be better to decide that in any case the funeral will not be till to-morrow?"

"I think it would. I intend going by-and-by up the island, and will take care to arrange that first, and also about the reception of the boat when it does arrive."

Mrs. Costello looked up anxiously.

"Are you going quite to the other end of the island?" she asked.

"Yes; to your old house. The woman who lives there is very ill, and, you know, I am doctor and parson both in one."

"Will you take me with you?"

"You! Impossible! You would be frozen to death."

"It would not hurt me; and I confess I have so little control of myself to-day that sitting here quietly by the fire is just the hardest thing I could have to do."

Mr. Strafford examined her face, and perceived that she had really grown painfully nervous and excited. He turned to Lucia.

"What do you think?" he asked. "Ought I to say yes or no?"

"Say yes, please, and let me go too."

"But, my dear friends, what good can you possibly do? If the drift and mist clear away, you may be able to see a little way up the river, but your doing so will not bring the boat one bit faster."

"That is true; but it may end our uncertainty a little sooner."

"I doubt even that. One cannot calculate on having more than an hour or two of clear daylight between the subsiding of the storm and sunset; and even if it were possible for you to stand watching all that time, I do not believe the boat would come while there was daylight enough to see it."

"Who is the sick woman? Did I ever know her?"

"No; she came to the island after you left."

"Don't you think she would let us sit for a while in her outer room? It has a window looking right up the river, and she, I suppose, is in the inner one, so that we need not disturb her."

"You seem to have decided," Mr. Strafford said, smiling, "so I give up.

Yes, poor Martha has not been out of the inner room for weeks, and you can sit by the window you speak of as long as you please. I am sure you will be welcome; only, remember I do not approve of your going at all."

However, they remained obstinate. As soon as dinner was over they wrapped themselves warmly, and started with Mr. Strafford for the house on the promontory. Mrs. Costello felt her heart beat faster and faster as they followed the well-remembered paths, which, now that a veil of snow covered all the improvements made under Mr. Strafford's teaching, seemed quite unchanged since she traversed them last. She recalled the sensations of that night, the bitter cold, and clear starlight round her, and the tumult of fear, anger, and hope within. To-day what a difference! Then she was flying from her husband's tyranny, now she was going to meet his corpse, and to receive it with tenderness and honour.

Her heart was too full for her to speak. Her companions guessed it, and left her in peace.

Mr. Strafford had a thousand things to explain and describe to Lucia.

The island was his kingdom; its prosperity his own work; and it was one of his greatest pleasures to find a stranger who was interested in all he could tell him. This young girl, too, whom he had known from her birth, whom he had seen so many times in his wife's arms, who had been the baby-playfellow of his daughter, had a claim, stronger than she herself could understand, on the solitary and childless man. He would have liked to keep her with him always, and see her devote her life, as he had devoted his, to the cause of her father's people. Her frank and yet modest manner, joined to what he knew of her conduct lately, pleased and satisfied him. He took a certain speculative delight in examining her character, and deciding that, after all, the union of the Indian and Anglo-Saxon races would be favourable to both. Talking, therefore, in the most friendly humour with each other, they pursued their way through the loose and uneven snow, sometimes stumbling into a deep drift, sometimes crossing a space swept almost bare by the wind. Mrs. Costello leaned on her old friend's arm. Scarcely half the distance was passed when she began to be conscious of a feeling of exhaustion from cold and fatigue, but her determination to go on sustained her; she kept her veil closely over her face that the others might not see her paleness, and exerted all her energies to overcome her fatigue. At length they approached the shore. The sky had lightened considerably, and they could see some distance up the river. Both sky and water were of a leaden dulness; only the effects of the morning storm could be seen in the great waves, tipped with foam, which still rolled sullenly upon the beach. But there was no sail in sight. A small canoe, which was labouring to make its way from the island to the American shore, was the only speck upon the broad, swift-flowing stream; and the party, after pausing for a moment to make quite certain that it was so, turned towards the house on the point, where they meant to keep their watch.

They had been seen from within; and as they came to the gate of the small enclosure in front, a little girl opened the door to admit them.

They passed immediately into the room where, on the evening of her flight, Mrs. Costello had found Christian and his companions. Its aspect was very little changed. The house and furniture, such as it was, had been sold years ago to its present occupants; Mr. Strafford had rescued such small articles as the fugitive wife's desk, workbox, and various trifles which had been in her possession before her marriage, but other things remained just as they had been. Two children, girls of ten and twelve, were the only occupants of the room, and they cast curious glances at the two ladies who followed the clergyman into their domains.

He spoke to them in Ojibway, asking first for their mother, and then why the younger sister was not at school?

"It was so stormy this morning," the elder answered. "She is going this afternoon."

"It is quite time she was gone, then. These ladies will stay with you, Sunflower, while I go in to see your mother. Tell her I am here."

"Sunflower"--always thus called instead of by her baptismal name of Julia--obeyed; and while she was away, Mr. Strafford placed a chair for Mrs. Costello in front of a window which commanded the long reach of the river towards Cacouna. She sat down, and commenced her watch, which a glance at the American clock hanging on the wall told her would not be a very long one.

The younger girl had wrapped herself in a great shawl, and hurried off to school; the elder one was occupied at the further end of the room, making bread of Indian meal, and baking it in thin cakes upon the stove.

Mr. Strafford was with the invalid, and the mother and daughter sat silently at the window and watched. The afternoon advanced. The American clock struck one quarter after another. It was already half-past four.

Mr. Strafford came back; but, seeing the absorbed attitude of Mrs.

Costello, he would not disturb her, and the silence continued. At last she moved. She had been looking, with intense eagerness, at one point far away in the distance. She turned round to Mr. Strafford.

"Look!" she said; "it _is_ a sail."