Philip had recovered
his self-possession by the time he reached the turn. He assured
himself that Jeanne was unharmed as yet, and that when he saw her
she had probably fainted from excitement and terror. Her fate
still lay before her, somewhere in the deep and undisturbed
forests up the Churchill. His one hope was to remain undiscovered
and to rescue her at the last moment when she was taken ashore by
her captors.
He followed, close up against the reeds, never trusting himself
out of the shadows. After a little he heard voices, and a second
canoe appeared. There was a short pause, and the two canoes
continued side by side up the channel. A quarter of an hour
brought both the pursuers and the pursued into the main stream,
which lay in black gloom between forest walls that cut out all
light but the shimmer of the stars.
No longer could Philip see those ahead of him, but he guided
himself by occasional voices and the dip of paddles. At times,
when the stream narrowed and the forest walls gave him deeper
shelter, he drew perilously near with the hope of overhearing what
was said, but he caught only an occasional word or two. He
listened in vain for Jeanne's voice. Once he heard her name
spoken, and it was followed by a low laugh from some one in the
canoe that had waited at the mouth of the Churchill.
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