The mellow voice of the priest was lifted in a solemn Latin hymn.
His song carried far over the darkening waters, and Paul, under its influence, felt more deeply than ever the immense majesty of the scene.
Red light from the sunken sun still lingered over the longest of rivers, but the shadows now covered all the eastern shore.

Through the increasing night the firelight on the little island twinkled like a beacon, but for the time being, they were careless who saw it.
The hymn died away in a last long echo, the red light was wholly gone, darkness was over everything, and they prepared for a long night of sleep.
The next morning they started together, the big boat and the little canoe.
Every one of the five offered to paddle the canoe for Father Montigny as far as they were going together, but he smilingly declined.
"No," he said, "my good canoe and I have been closely associated too long to be separated now, nor must I be spoiled.

I see that you have put fresh stores in the canoe, and I accept them.

You have good hearts, as I knew when I first saw you." The five would not put up their sail while they were in company, and "The Galleon" and the canoe drifted together until they reached the mouth of the river up which the peaceful Indian village lay.

There Father Montigny gave them his blessing and bade them farewell.