She pointed to the great black archway looming up ahead under which their canoe must shoot in another minute.  It was the dread subterranean passage, which meant for them the end of all things.  It was a tragic ending to all her hopes and dreams, the trials and the triumphs of her young life.  It was, indeed, bitter to think that just when love, the crowning experience of womanhood, had come to her, its sweetness should have been untasted.  Even the lover’s kiss—­that seal upon the compact of souls—­had been denied her.  Her fate had been a hard one, but Dorothy was no fair-weather Christian.  Was it not a great triumph that in the dark end she should have bowed to the higher will, and been strong?  And her love, if it had experienced no earthly close, might it not live again in the mysterious Hereafter?  She thanked God for the comfort of the thought.  She had been face to face with death before, but now here surely was the end.  She would be brave and true to all that was best and truest in her, and she felt that somehow those who were left behind must know.

The dwarf faced her, and his hands were clasped as in prayer.  His face was transfigured.  There was no fear there—­only a look of trust in a higher power, and of compassion.

“Pepin,” cried Dorothy, “you have been a good, dear friend to me, and I want to thank you before—­”

“Bah !” interrupted the dwarf.  “What foolishness is it you will talk about thanks!  But, my dear, I will say this to you now, although you are a woman, there is no one in this wide world—­save, of course, the good mother—­that I would more gladly have laid down my life to serve than you!  I am sure your Pasmore would forgive me if he heard that Good-bye, my dear child, and if it is the Lord’s will that together we go to knock at the gates of the great Beyond, then I will thank Heaven that I have been sent in such good company.  Now, let us thank the good God that He has put the love of Him in our hearts.”

And then the darkness swallowed them up.

Back from the land of dreams and shadows—­back from the
Valley of the Shadow and the realms of unconsciousness.

Dorothy opened her eyes.  At first she could see nothing.  Then there fell upon her view the shadowy form of a human figure bending over her, and a slimy roof of rock that seemed to rush past at racehorse speed.  It seemed to grow lighter.  The canoe swayed; she heard the rush of water; then there was darkness again.

It was the splash of cold water on her face from a little wave that dashed over the side of the canoe that roused her.  She opened her eyes.  In the bow she could see Pepin kneeling; his hands were clasped before him; his deep voice ran above the surge of the current, and she knew that he was praying aloud.

The roof over her head seemed to recede.  It grew higher.  Pepin turned and seized the paddle.  He dipped it into the water and headed the canoe into the centre of the stream.