CHAPTER XXI.
A slow illumination filled the cabin, first the yellow flare of a match and then the light of a lamp, and as Father John's waxen face grew out of the darkness Peter whimpered and whined and scratched with, his paws at the closed door.
Oosimisk, the Leaf Bud, stood like a statue, with her wide, dark eyes staring at Father John, but scarcely seeming to breathe.
In the old Missioner's face came a trembling smile and a look of triumph as he read the fear-written question in her steady gaze, "All is well, Oosimisk," he said quietly, speaking in Cree.

"They are safely away, and will not be caught.

Continue with your duties and let no one see that anything unusual has happened.

Breault will come very soon." He straightened his shoulders, as if to give himself confidence and strength, and then he called Peter, and comforted the dog whose master and mistress were fleeing through the dark.
"They have reached the pool," he said, seating himself and holding Peter's shaggy head between his hands.

"They have just about reached the pool, and Breault must be entering the clearing on the other side.