Little
was left for them to do and they still luxuriated in rest. Like all
woodsmen in those times who were compelled to endure long and most
strenuous periods of toil and danger, they knew how to do nothing when the
time came, and let Nature recuperate the tired faculties.
The brilliant sun shone on the river, the muddy waters were gilded with
gold. The east turned to rose, then to red, and after that came the
shadows. 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.
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