And Jack answered with a distant "Ess." Then he tried to go on with it.

"Who pums idder, all booted an' spur-r-rd," he chanted, straining his little lungs to the utmost, so that his auntie should hear him.

The tears poured down Eve's cheeks as she heard the baby voice; she knew he could not see them. For an instant, she thought of trying to swim out to him herself. "I can swim. It isn't very far." She began to unb.u.t.ton her boots. But should she have the strength to bring him in, either in the canoe or in her arms? And if she should sink, there would be no one to save Jack. She reb.u.t.toned her boots and ran to Porley. "Go to the beach, and walk up and down where Jack can see you. Call to him once in a while, but not too often; call gayly, don't let him see that you are frightened; if he thinks you are frightened, he will become frightened himself and move about; then he will upset the boat. Do you understand what I mean? I am going back to the camp for another canoe. Keep him in sight; and try--do try to be sensible."

She was off. Without much hope she began her race. Before she pa.s.sed beyond hearing, Porley's voice came to her: "Hi-yi, Jack! Yo're kyar'in on now, ain't yer? Splendid fun, sho! Wisht I was 'long!" And then followed a high chuckle, which Porley intended as a laugh. At least the girl had understood.

Eve could run very swiftly; her light figure, with its long step, made running easy to her. Yet each minute was now so precious that instinctively she used every precaution: she let her arms hang lifelessly, so that no energy should be spent in poising them; she kept her lips apart, and her eyes fixed on the beach about two yards in advance of her, so that she could select as she ran the best places for her feet, and avoid the loose stones. Her slender feet, too (undressed they were models for a sculptor), aided her by their elasticity; she wore a light boot, longer than her foot, and the silken web of her stocking was longer, so that her step was never cramped. But she could not run as rapidly as her canoe had skimmed the water under her strong strokes when it had brought her here; and that voyage had lasted twenty minutes; she remembered this with dread. For a while she ran rapidly--too rapidly; then, feeling that her breath was labored, she forced herself to slacken her pace and make it more regular; as much as possible like a machine. Thus she ran on. Once she was obliged to stop.

Then she fell into a long swinging step, throwing her body forward a little from right to left as her weight fell now upon one foot, now upon the other, and this change was such a relief that she felt as if she could run the remaining distance with comparative ease. But before she reached the camp, she had come to the end of all her arrangements and experiments; she was desperate, panting.

"If I can only keep on until they see me!"

The camp had an unusually quiet look; so far as her eyes, injected with red by the effort she had made, could see, there were no moving figures anywhere; no one sitting on the benches; no one on the beach. Where were all the people?--what could have become of them? Hollis and the judge?--even the cook and the Irishmen? Nothing stirred; it seemed to her as if the very leaves on the trees and the waters of the lake had been struck by an unnatural calm. She came to the first stakes, where the nets were sometimes spread out. The nets were not there now. Then she came to the cistern--a sunken cask to which water was brought from an ice-cold spring; still no sound. Then the wood-pile; the Irishmen had evidently been adding to it that day, for an axe remained in a severed trunk; but no one was there. Though she had kept up her pace without break as she ran past these familiar objects, there was now a singing in her ears, and she could scarcely see, everything being rimmed by the hot, red blur which seemed to exhale from her own eyes. She reached the line of lodges at last; leaving the beach, and going through the wood, she went straight to Cicely's door. It was closed. She opened it.

"Cicely!" she said, or rather her lips formed the name without a sound.

"What is the matter? Where is Jack?" cried Cicely, springing up as soon as she saw Eve's face.

They met, grasping each other's hands.

"Where is he? What have you done with him?" Cicely repeated, holding Eve with a grasp of iron.

Eve could not talk. But she felt the agony in the mother's cry. "Safe,"

she articulated.

Cicely relaxed her hold. Eve sank to her knees; thence to the floor.

Cicely seemed to understand; she brought a pillow with business-like swiftness, and placed it under Eve's head; then she waited. Eve's eyes were closed; her throat and chest labored so, as she lay with her head thrown back, that Cicely bent down and quickly took out the little arrow-pin, and unb.u.t.toned the top b.u.t.tons of her dress. This relieved Eve; the convulsive panting grew quiet.

But with her first long breath she was on her feet again. "Come!" she said. She opened the door and left the lodge, hurrying down to the beach; thence she ran westward along the sh.o.r.e to the point where the canoes were kept. Cicely ran by her side without speaking; they had no need of words.

Reaching the boats, Eve began to push one of them towards the water.

"Call Mr. Hollis;--go up to the edge of the wood and call," she said to Cicely, briefly.

"Gone fishing," Cicely responded, helping to push the boat on the other side.

At this moment some one appeared--one of the Irishmen.

"Take him and follow in that other canoe," said Eve. "We want all the help we can get."

As they pushed off rapidly--three minutes had not pa.s.sed since they left the lodge--Priscilla Mile came hurrying down to the sh.o.r.e; she had been taking her daily exercise--a brisk walk of half an hour, timed by her watch. "Mrs. Morrison, Mrs. Morrison, where are you going? Take me with you."

Cicely did not even look at her. "Go on," she said to the man.

Eve was paddling rapidly; the second canoe followed hers.

When Mrs. Mile found that the two boats kept on their course, she went back to the lodge, put on her bonnet and shawl, and set off down the beach in the direction in which they were going, walking with steady steps, the shawl compactly pinned with two strong shawl-pins representing beetles.

As soon as they were fairly afloat, Cicely called: "Where is Jack? Tell me about it."

"Presently," answered Eve, without turning her head.

"No. _Now_!" said the mother, peremptorily.

"He is out on the lake, in the canoe."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"Oh! and it's getting towards night! Row faster; what is the matter with you?" (This to the Irishman.) "Eve, wait; how far out is he?"

"It's very calm," Eve answered.

"But in the dark we can never find him," wailed the mother, in a broken voice.

Eve made swift, tireless strokes. The Irishman could not keep up with her.

It was growing towards night, as Cicely had said; the days were shorter now; clouds were gathering too, though the air and water remained strangely still; the night would be dark.

"Your arms are like willow twigs, you have no strength," said Cicely to the Irishman. "Hurry!"

The man had plenty of strength, and was exerting every atom of it. Still Eve kept ahead of him. "Oh, Jack!" she said to herself, "let me be in time!" It was her brother to whom she was appealing.

She reached the spot where she had left Porley; but there was no Porley there. Without stopping, she paddled on eastward; Cicely's canoe was now some distance behind. Fifteen minutes more and she saw Porley, she rowed in rapidly. "Where is he?"

"Dair!" answered Porley, pointing over the darkening water with a gesture that was tragic in its despair.

At first Eve saw nothing; then she distinguished a black speck, she pointed towards it with her paddle.

"Ya.s.s'm, dat's him. I 'ain't nebber take my yies off 'em," said the girl, crying.

"Tell Mrs. Morrison. She's coming," said Eve. She turned her boat and paddled out rapidly towards the speck.

"If I only had matches--why didn't I bring some? It will be dark soon.

But it's so calm that nothing can have happened to him; he will be asleep." In spite of her pretended certainty, however, dread held her heart as in a vise. "I won't think--only row." She tried to keep her mind a blank, resorting to the device of counting her strokes with great interest. On the light craft sped, with the peculiar skimming motion of the Indian canoe, as if it were gliding on the surface of the water. The twilight grew deeper.

There came a little gust, lightning showed itself for an instant in the bank of clouds across the southern sky. "There is going to be a storm."

She stopped; the other boat, which had been following her swiftly, came up.

"Have you ever been out in a canoe in a storm?" she called to the Irishman, keeping her own boat well away from Cicely's.

"No, mum."

"Take Mrs. Morrison back to sh.o.r.e, then, as fast as you can."

"Go on!" commanded Cicely, with flashing eyes.

There came another gust. The man, perplexed by the contrary orders, made wrong strokes; the boat careened, then righted itself.

"Take her back," called Eve, starting onward again.