The long stay in the windrow served Robert well, more than atoning for the drain made upon his strength by their rapid flight.  In three or four hours he was back in his normal state, and he felt proudly that he was now as good as he had ever been.  The night, as they had expected, was cold, and he was thankful that he had hung on to the buffalo robe, in which he wrapped himself once more, while Tayoga was snug between two big blankets.

Robert dozed, but he was awakened by something stirring near them, and he sat up with his finger on the trigger of his rifle.  The Onondaga was already listening and watching, ready with his weapon.  Presently the white youth heard his companion laughing softly, and his own tension relaxed, as he knew Tayoga would not laugh without good cause.

“It is a bear,” said Tayoga, “and he has a lair in the windrow, not more than twenty feet away.  He has been out very late at night, too late for a good, honest home-keeping bear, but he is back at last, and he smells us.”

“And alarmed by the odor he does not know whether to enter his home or not.  Well, I hope he’ll conclude to take his rest.  We eat bear at times, Tayoga, but just now I wouldn’t dream of harming one.”

“Nor would I, Dagaeoga, and maybe the bear will divine that we are harmless, that is, Tododaho or Areskoui will tell him in some way of which we know nothing that his home is his own to be entered without fear.”

“I think I hear him moving now, and also puffing a little.”

“You hear aright, Dagaeoga.  Tododaho has whispered to him, even as I said, and he is going into his den which I know is snug and warm, in the very thickest part of the windrow.  Now he is lying down in it with the logs and branches about him, and soon he will be asleep, dreaming happy dreams of tender roots and wild honey with no stings of bees to torment him.”

“You grow quite poetical, Tayoga.”

“Although foes are hunting us, I feel the spirit of the forest and of peace strong upon me, Dagaeoga.  Moreover, Tododaho, as I told you, has whispered to the animals that we are not to be feared tonight.  Hark to the tiny rustling just beyond the log against which we lie!”

“Yes, I hear it, and what do you make of it, Tayoga?”

“Rabbits seeking their nests.  They, too, have snuffed about, noticing the man odor, which man himself cannot detect, and once they started away in alarm, but now they are reassured, and they have settled themselves down to sleep in comfort and security.”

“Tayoga, you talk well and fluently, but as I have told you before, you talk out of a dictionary.”

“But as I learned my English out of a dictionary I cannot talk otherwise.  That is why my language is always so much superior to yours, Dagaeoga.”

“I’ll let it be as you claim it, you boaster, but what noise is that now?  I seem to hear the light sound of hoofs.”

The Onondaga raised himself to his full height and peered over the dense masses of trunks and boughs, his keen eyes cutting the thick dusk.  Then he sank back, and, when he replied, his voice showed distinct pleasure.

“Two deer have come into a little open space, around which the arms of the windrow stretch nearly all the way, and they have crouched there, where they will rest, indifferent to the nearness of the bear.  Truly, O Dagaeoga, we have come into the midst of a happy family, and we have been accepted, for the night, as members of it.”

“It must be so, Tayoga, because I see a figure much larger than that of the deer approaching.  Look to the north and behold that shadow there under the trees.”

“I see it, Dagaeoga.  It is the great northern moose, a bull.  Perhaps he has wandered down from Canada, as they are rare here.  They are often quarrelsome, but the bull is going to take his rest, within the shelter of the windrow, and leave its other people at peace.  Now he has found a good place, and he will be quiet for the night.”

“Suppose you sleep a while, Tayoga.  You have done all the watching for a long time, and, as I’m fit and fine now, it’s right for me to take up my share of the burden.”

“Very well, but do not fail to awaken me in about three hours.  We must not be caught here in the morning by the warriors.”

He was asleep almost instantly, and Robert sat in a comfortable position with his rifle across his knees.  Responsibility brought back to him self-respect and pride.  He was now a full partner in the partnership, and will and strength together made his faculties so keen that it would have been difficult for anything about the windrow to have escaped his attention.  He heard the light rustlings of other animals coming to comfort and safety, and flutterings as birds settled on upthrust boughs, many of which were still covered with leaves.  Once he heard a faint shout deep in the forest, brought by the wind a great distance, and he was sure that it was the cry of their Indian pursuers.  Doubtless it was a signal and had connection with the search, but he felt no alarm.  Under the cover of darkness Tayoga and he were still motes in the wilderness, and, while the night lasted, Tandakora could not find them.

When he judged that the three hours had passed he awoke the Onondaga and they took their silent way north by east, covering much more distance by dawn.  But both were certain that warriors of Tandakora would pick up their traces again that day.  They would spread through the forest, and, when one of them struck the trail, a cry would be sufficient to call the others.  But they pressed on, still adopting every possible device to throw off their pursuers, and they continued their flight several days, always through an unbroken forest, over hills and across many streams, large and small.  It seemed, at times, to Robert that the pursuit must have dropped away, but Tayoga was quite positive that Tandakora still followed.  The Ojibway, he said, had divined the identity of the fugitives and every motive would make him follow, even all the way across the Province of New York and beyond, if need be.

They came at last to a lake, large, beautiful, extending many miles through the wilderness, and Tayoga, usually so calm, uttered a little cry of delight, which Robert repeated, but in fuller volume.

“I think lakes are the finest things in the world,” he said.  “They always stir me.”

“And that is why Manitou put so many and such splendid ones in the land of the Hodenosaunee,” said Tayoga.  “This is Ganoatohale, which you call in your language Oneida, and it is on its shores that I hid the canoe of which I spoke to you.  I think we shall find it just as I left it.”

“I devoutly hope so.  A canoe and paddles would give me much pleasure just now, and Ganoatohale will leave no trail.”

They walked northward along the shore of the lake, and they came to a place where many tall reeds grew thick and close in shallow water.  Tayoga plunged into the very heart of them and Robert’s heart rose with a bound, when he reappeared dragging after him a large and strong canoe, containing two paddles.

“It has rested in quiet waiting for us,” he said.  “It is a good canoe, and it knew that I would come some time to claim it.”

“Before we go upon our voyage,” said Robert, “I think we shall have to pay some attention to the question of food.  My pouch is about empty.”

“And so is mine.  We shall have to take the risk, Dagaeoga, and shoot a deer.  Tandakora may be so far behind that none of his warriors will hear the shot, but even so we cannot live without eating.  We will, however, hunt from the canoe.  Since the war began, all human beings have gone away from this lake, and the deer should be plentiful.”

They launched the canoe on the deep waters, and the two took up the paddles, sending their little craft northward, with slow, deliberate strokes.  They had the luck within the hour to find a deer drinking, and with equal luck Robert slew it at the first shot.  They would have taken the body into the canoe, but the burden was too great, and Tayoga cut it up and dressed it with great dispatch, while Robert watched.  Then they made room for the four quarters and again paddled northward.  Fearing that Tandakora had come much nearer, while they were busy with the deer, they did not dare the wide expanse of the lake, but remained for the present under cover of the overhanging forest on the western shore.

“If we put the lake between Tandakora and ourselves,” said Robert, “we ought to be safe.”

“It is likely that they, too, have canoes hidden in the reeds,” said Tayoga.  “Since the French and their allies have spread so far south they would provide for the time when they wanted to go upon the waters of Ganoatohale.  It is almost a certainty that we shall be pursued upon the lake.”

They continued northward, never leaving the dark shadow cast by the dense leafage, and, as they went slowly, they enjoyed the luxury of the canoe.  After so much walking through the wilderness it was a much pleasanter method of traveling.  But they did not forget vigilance, continually scanning the waters, and Robert’s heart gave a sudden beat as he saw a black dot appear upon the surface of the lake in the south.  It was followed in a moment by another, then another and then three more.

“It is the band of Tandakora, beyond a doubt,” said Tayoga with conviction.  “They had their canoes among the reeds even as we had ours, and now it is well for us that water leaves no trail.”

“Shall we hide the canoe again, and take to the woods?”

“I think not, Dagaeoga.  They have had no chance to see us yet.  We will withdraw among the reeds until night comes, and then under its cover cross Ganoatohale.”

Keeping almost against the bank, they moved gently until they came to a vast clump of reeds into which they pushed the canoe, while retaining their seats in it.  In the center they paused and waited.  From that point they could see upon the lake, while remaining invisible themselves, and they waited.

The six canoes or large boats, they could not tell at the distance which they were, went far out into the lake, circled around for a while, and then bore back toward the western shore, along which they passed, inspecting it carefully, and drawing steadily nearer to Robert and Tayoga.

“Now, let us give thanks to Tododaho, Areskoui and to Manitou himself,” said the Onondaga, “that they have been pleased to make the reeds grow in this particular place so thick and so tall.”

“Yes,” said Robert, “they’re fine reeds, beautiful reeds, a greater bulwark to us just now than big oaks could be.  Think you, Tayoga, that you recognize the large man in the first boat?”

“Aye, Dagaeoga, I know him, as you do also.  How could we mistake our great enemy, Tandakora?  It is a formidable fleet, too strong for us to resist, and, like the wise man, we hide when we cannot fight.”

Robert’s pulses beat so hard they hurt, but he would not show any uneasiness in the presence of Tayoga, and he sat immovable in the canoe.  Nearer and nearer came the Indian fleet, partly of canoes and partly of boats, and he counted in them sixteen warriors, all armed heavily.  Now he prayed to Manitou, and to his own God who was the same as Manitou, that no thought of pushing among the reeds would enter Tandakora’s head.  The fleet soon came abreast of them, but his prayers were answered, as Tandakora led ahead, evidently thinking the fugitives would not dare to hide and lie in waiting, but would press on in flight up the western shore.

“I could pick him off from here with a bullet,” said Robert, looking at the huge, painted chest of the Ojibway chief.

“But our lives would be the forfeit,” the Onondaga whispered back.

“I had no intention of doing it.”

“Now they have passed us, and for the while we are safe.  They will go on up the lake, until they find no trace of us there, and then Tandakora will come back.”

“But how does he know we have a canoe?”

“He does not know it, but he feels sure of it because our trail led straight to the lake, and we would not purposely come up against such a barrier, unless we knew of a way to cross it.”

“That sounds like good logic.  Of course when they return they’ll make a much more thorough search of the lake’s edge, and then they’d be likely to find us if we remained here.”

“It is so, but perhaps the night will come before Tandakora, and then we’ll take flight upon the lake.”

They pushed their canoe back to the edge of the reeds, and watched the Indian boats passing in single file northward, becoming smaller and smaller until they almost blended with the water, but both knew they would return, and in that lay their great danger.  The afternoon was well advanced, but the sun was very brilliant, and it was hot within the reeds.  Great quantities of wild fowl whirred about them and along the edges of the lake.

“No warriors are in hiding near us,” said Tayoga, “or the wild fowl would fly away.  We can feel sure that we have only Tandakora and his band to fear.”

Robert had never watched the sun with more impatience.  It was already going down the western arch, but it seemed to him to travel with incredible slowness.  Far in the north the Indian boats were mere black dots on the water, but they were turning.  Beyond a doubt Tandakora was now coming back.

“Suppose we go slowly south, still keeping in the shadow of the trees,” he said.  “We can gain at least that much advantage.”

Fortunately the scattered fringe of reeds and bushes, growing in the water, extended far to the south, and they were able to keep in their protecting shadow a full hour, although their rate of progress was not more than one-third that of the Indians, who were coming without obstruction in open water.  Nevertheless, it was a distinct gain, and, meanwhile, they awaited the coming of the night with the deepest anxiety.  They recognized that their fate turned upon a matter of a half hour or so.  If only the night would arrive before Tandakora!  Robert glanced at the low sun, and, although at all times, it was beautiful, he had never before prayed so earnestly that it would go over the other side of the world, and leave their own side to darkness.

The splendor of the great yellow star deepened as it sank.  It poured showers of rays upon the broad surface of the lake, and the silver of the waters turned to orange and gold.  Everything there was enlarged and made more vivid, standing out twofold against the burning western background.  Nothing beyond the shadow could escape the observation of the Indians in the boats, and they themselves in Robert’s intense imagination changed from a line of six light craft into a great fleet.

Nevertheless the sun, lingering as if it preferred their side of the world to any other, was bound to go at last.  The deep colors in the water faded.  The orange and gold changed back to silver, and the silver, in its turn, gave way to gray, twilight began to draw a heavy veil over the east, and Tayoga said in deep tones: 

“Lo, the Sun God has decided that we may escape!  He will let the night come before Tandakora!”

Then the sun departed all at once, and the brilliant afterglow soon faded.  Night settled down, thick and dark, with the waters, ruffled by a light wind, showing but dimly.  The line of Tandakora became invisible, and the two youths felt intense relief.

“Now we will start toward the northeastern end of the lake,” said Tayoga.  “It will be wiser than to seek the shortest road across, because Tandakora will think naturally that we have gone that way, and he will take it also.”

“And it’s paddling all night for us,” said Robert “Well, I welcome it.”

They were interrupted by the whirring of the wild fowl again, though on a much greater scale than before.  The twilight was filled with feathered bodies.  Tayoga, in an instant, was all attention.

“Something has frightened them,” he said.

“Perhaps a bear or a deer,” said Robert.

“I think not.  They are used to wild animals, and would not be startled at their approach.  There is only one being that everything in the forest generally fears.”

“Man?”

“Even so, Dagaeoga.”

“Perhaps we’d better pull in close to the bank and look.”

“It would be wise.”

Robert saw that the Onondaga, with his acute instincts, was deeply alarmed, and he too felt that the wild fowl had given warning.  They sent the canoe with a few silent strokes through the shallow water almost to the edge of the land, and, as it nearly struck bottom, two dusky figures rising among the bushes threw their weight upon them.  The light craft sank almost to the edges with the weight, but did not overturn, and both attackers and attacked fell out of it into the lake.

Robert for a moment saw a dusky face above him, and instinctively he clasped the body of a warrior in his arms.  Then the two went down together in the water.  The Indian was about to strike at him with a knife, but the lake saved him.  As the water rushed into eye, mouth and nostril the two fell apart, but Robert was able to keep his presence of mind in that terrible moment, and, as he came up again, he snatched out his own knife and struck almost blindly.

He felt the blade encounter resistance, and then pass through it.  He heard a choked cry and he shuddered violently.  All his instincts were for civilization and against the taking of human life, and he had struck merely to save his own, but almost articulate words of thankfulness bubbled to his lips as he saw the dark figure that had hovered so mercilessly over him disappear.  Then a second figure took the place of the first and he drew back the fatal blade again, but a soft voice said: 

“Do not strike, Dagaeoga.  I also have accounted for one of the warriors who attacked us, and no more have yet come.  We may thank the wild fowl.  Had they not warned us we should have perished.”

“And even then we had luck, or your Tododaho is still watching over us.  I struck at random, but the blade was guided to its mark.”

“And so was mine.  What you say is also proved to be true by the fact that the canoe did not overturn, when they threw themselves upon us.  The chances were at least ninety-nine out of a hundred that it would do so.”

“And our arms and ammunition and our deer?”

“All in the canoe, except the weapons that are in our belts.”

“Then, Tayoga, it is quite sure that your Tododaho has been watching over us.  But where is the canoe?”

Robert was filled with alarm and horror.  They were standing above their knees in the water, and they no longer saw the little craft, which had become a veritable ship of refuge to them.  They peered about frantically in the dusk and then Tayoga said: 

“There is a strong breeze blowing from the land and waves are beginning to run on the water.  They have taken the canoe out into the lake.  We must swim in search of it.”

“And if we don’t find it?”

“Then we drown, but O Dagaeoga, death in the water is better than death in the fires that Tandakora will kindle.”

“We might escape into the woods.”

“Warriors who have come upon our trail are there, and would fall upon us at once.  The attack by the two who failed proves their presence.”

“Then, Tayoga, we must take the perilous chance and swim for the canoe.”

“It is so, Dagaeoga.”

Both were splendid swimmers, even with their clothes on, and, wading out until the water was above their waists, they began to swim with strong and steady strokes toward the middle of the lake, following with exactness the course of the wind.  All the time they sought with anxious eyes through the dusk for a darker shadow that might be the canoe.  The wind rose rapidly, and now and then the crest of a wave dashed over them.  Less expert swimmers would have sunk, but their muscles were hardened by years of forest life ­all Robert’s strength had come back to him ­and an immense vitality made the love of life overwhelming in them.  They fought with all the powers of mind and body for the single chance of overtaking the canoe.

“I hope you see it, Tayoga,” said Robert.

“Not yet,” replied the Onondaga.  “The darkness is heavy over the lake, and the mists and vapors, rising from the water, increase it.”

“It was a fine canoe, Tayoga, and it holds our rifles, our ammunition, our deer, my buffalo robe, and all our precious belongings.  We have to find it.”

“It is so, Dagaeoga.  We have no other choice.  We truly swim for life.  One could pray at this time to have all the powers of a great fish.  Do you see anything behind us?”

Robert twisted his head and looked over his shoulder.

“I see no pursuit,” he replied.  “I cannot even see the shore, as the mists and vapors have settled down between.  In a sense we’re out at sea, Tayoga.”

“And Ganoatohale is large.  The canoe, too, is afloat upon its bosom and is, as you say, out at sea.  We and it must meet or we are lost.  Are you weary, Dagaeoga?”

“Not yet.  I can still swim for quite a while.”

“Then float a little, and we can take the exact course of the wind again.  The canoe, of course, will continue to go the way the wind goes.”

“Unless it’s deflected by currents which do not always follow the wind.”

“I do not notice any current, and to follow the wind is our only hope.  The mists and vapors will hide the canoe from us until we are very close to it”

“And you may thank Tododaho that they will hide something else also.  Unless I make a great mistake, Tayoga, I hear the swish of paddles.”

“You make no mistake, Dagaeoga.  I too hear paddles, ten, a dozen, or more of them.  It is the fleet of Tandakora coming back and it will soon be passing between us and the shore.  Truly we may be thankful, as you say, for the mists and vapors which, while they hide the canoe from us, also hide us from our enemies.”

“I shall lie flat upon my back and float, and I’ll blend with the water.”

“It is a wise plan, Dagaeoga.  So shall I. Then Tandakora himself would not see us, even if he passed within twenty feet of us.”

“He is passing now, and I can see the outlines of their boats.”

The two were silent as the fish themselves, sustained by imperceptible strokes, and Robert saw the fleet of Tandakora pass in a ghostly line.  They looked unreal, a shadow following shadows, the huge figure of the Ojibway chief in the first boat a shadow itself.  Robert’s blood chilled, and it was not from the cold of the water.  He was in a mystic and unreal world, but a world in which danger pressed in on every side.  He felt like one living back in a primeval time.  The swish of the paddles was doubled and tripled by his imagination, and the canoes seemed to be almost on him.

The questing eyes of Tandakora and his warriors swept the waters as far as the night, surcharged with mists and vapors, would allow, but they did not see the two human figures, so near them and almost submerged in the lake.  The sound of the swishing paddles moved southward, and the line of ghostly canoes melted again, one by one, into the darkness.

“They’re gone, Tayoga,” whispered Robert in a tone of immense relief.

“So they are, Dagaeoga, and they will seek us long elsewhere.  Are you yet weary?”

“I might be at another time, but with my life at stake I can’t afford to grow tired.  Let us follow the wind once more.”

They swam anew with powerful strokes, despite the long time they had been in the water, and no sailors, dying of thirst, ever scanned the sea more eagerly for a sail than they searched through the heavy dusk for their lost canoe.  The wind continued to rise, and the waves with it.  Foam was often dashed over their heads, the water grew cold to their bodies, now and then they floated on their backs to rest themselves and thus the singular chase, with the wind their only guide, was maintained.

Robert was the first to see a dim shape, but he would not say anything until it grew in substance and solidity.  Nevertheless hope flooded his heart, and then he said: 

“The wind has guided us aright, Tayoga.  Unless some evil spirit has taught my eyes to lie to me that is our canoe straight ahead.”

“It has all the appearance of a canoe, Dagaeoga, and since the only canoe on this part of the lake is our canoe, then our canoe it is.”

“And none too soon.  I’m not yet worn out, but the cold of the water is entering my bones.  I can see very clearly now that it’s the canoe, our canoe.  It stands up like a ship, the strongest canoe, the finest canoe, the friendliest canoe that ever floated on a lake or anywhere else.  I can hear it saying to us:  ’I have been waiting for you.  Why didn’t you come sooner?’”

“Truly when Dagaeoga is an old, old man, nearly a hundred, and the angel of death comes for him, he will rise up in his bed and with the rounded words pouring from his lips he will say to the angel:  ’Let me make a speech only an hour long and then I will go with you without trouble, else I stay here and refuse to die.’”

“I’m using words to express my gratitude, Tayoga.  Look, the canoe is moving slowly toward the center of the lake, but it stays back as much as the wind will let it and keeps beckoning to us.  A few more long, swift strokes, Tayoga, and we’re beside it.”

“Aye, Dagaeoga, and we must be careful how we climb into it.  It is no light task to board a canoe in the middle of a lake.  Since Tododaho would not let it be overturned, when we fell out of it, we must not overturn it ourselves when we get back into it, else we lose all our arms, ammunition and other supplies.”

The canoe was now not more than fifty feet in front of them, moving steadily farther and farther from land before the wind that blew out of the west, but, sitting upright on the waters like a thing of life, bearing its precious freight.  The mists and vapors had closed in so much now that their chance of seeing it had been only one in a thousand, and yet that lone chance had happened.  The devout soul of Tayoga was filled with gratitude.  Even while swimming he looked up at the great star that he could not see beyond the thick veil of cloud, but, knowing it was there, he returned thanks to the mighty Onondaga chieftain who had saved them so often.

“The canoe retreats before us, Dagaeoga,” he said, “but it is not to escape us, it is to beckon us on, out of the path of Tandakora’s boats which soon may be returning again and which will now come farther out into the lake, thinking that we may possibly have made a dash under the cover of the mists.”

“What you predict is already coming true, Tayoga,” said Robert, “because I hear the first faint dip of their paddles once more, and they can’t be more than two hundred yards behind us.”

The regular swishing grew louder and came closer, but the courage of the two youths was still high.  They had been drawn on so steadily by the canoe, apparently in a predestined course, and they had been victors over so many dangers, that they were confident the boats of Tandakora would pass once more and leave them unseen.

“They’re almost abreast of us now, Tayoga,” said Robert.

“Aye, Dagaeoga,” said the Onondaga, looking back.  “They do not appear through the mist and we hear only the paddles, but we know the threat is there, and we can follow them as well with ear as with eye.  They keep straight on, going back toward the north.  Nothing tells them we are here, as our canoe beckons to us, nothing guides them to that for which they are looking.  Now the sound of their paddles becomes less, now it is faint and now it is gone wholly.  They have missed us once more!  Let us summon up the last of our strength and overtake the canoe.”

They put all their energy into a final effort and presently drew up by the side of the canoe.  Tayoga steadied it with his hands while Robert was the first to climb into it.  The Onondaga followed and the two lay for a few minutes exhausted on the bottom.  Then Tayoga sat up and said in a full voice: 

“Lo, Dagaeoga, let us give thanks to Manitou for our wonderful escape, because we have looked into the face of death.”

Robert, awed by time and circumstance, shared fully the belief of Tayoga that their escape was a miracle.  His nature contained much that was devout and spiritual and he, too, with his impressionable imagination, peopled earth and air almost unconsciously with spirits, good and bad.  The good and bad often fought together, and sometimes the good prevailed as they had just done.  There lay in the canoe the paddles, which they had lifted out of the water in their surprise at the sudden attack, and beside them were the rifles and everything else they needed.

They were content to let the canoe travel its own course for a long time, and that course was definite and certain, as if guided by the hand of man.  The wind always carried it toward the northeast and farther and farther away from the fleet of Tandakora.  But they took off their clothing, wrung out as much water as they could, and wrapped themselves in the dry blankets from their packs.  Robert’s spirits, stimulated by the reaction, bubbled up in a wonderful manner.

“We’ll see no more of Tandakora for a long time, at least,” he exclaimed, “and now, ho! for our wonderful voyage!”

They drew the wet charges from their pistols and reloaded them, they polished anew their hatchets and knives and then, these tasks done, they still sat for a long time in the canoe, idle and content.  Their little boat needed no help or guidance from their hands.  That favoring wind always carried it away from their enemies and in the direction in which they wished it to go.  And yet the wind did not blow away the mists and vapors, that grew thicker and thicker around them, until they could not see twenty feet away.

Robert’s feeling that they were protected, his sense of the spiritual and mystic, grew, and he saw that the mind of Tayoga was under the same spell.  The waters of the lake were friendly now.  As they lapped around the canoe they made a soothing sound, and the wind that guided and propelled them sang a low but pleasant song.

“We are in the arms of Tododaho,” said Tayoga in a reverential tone, “and Hayowentha, the great Mohawk, also looks on and smiles.  What need for us to strive when the gods themselves take us in their keeping?”

Hours passed before they spoke again.  They had been at the uttermost verge of exhaustion when they climbed into the canoe, and perhaps physical weakness had made their minds more receptive to the belief that they were in hands mightier than their own, but even as strength came back the conviction remained in all its primitive force.  Warmth returned to their bodies, wrapped in the blankets, and they felt an immense peace.  Midnight passed and the boat bore steadily on with its two silent occupants.