No sooner had the thought and its objection come
to him than a broad shaft of light shot with startling suddenness
athwart the blackness of the raft, darkened in another instant by
an obscuring shadow. Swift as the light itself David's eyes turned
to the source of the unexpected illumination. The door of St.
Pierre's cabin was wide open. The interior was flooded with
lampglow, and in the doorway stood St. Pierre himself.
The chief of the Boulains seemed to be measuring the weather
possibilities of the night. His subdued voice reached David,
chuckling with satisfaction, as he spoke to some one who was
behind him in the cabin.
"Pitch and brimstone, but it's black!" he cried. "You could carve
it with a knife, and stand it on end, AMANTE. But it's going west.
In a few hours the stars will be out."
He drew back into the cabin, and the door closed. David held his
breath in amazement, staring at the blackness where a moment
before the light had been. Who was it St. Pierre had called
sweetheart? AMANTE! He could not have been mistaken. The word had
come to him clearly, and there was but one guess to make. Marie-
Anne was not on the bateau.
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