And so we floated, swinging like dead leaves on the long swells. The
stars came out, the gulls went shoreward for the night, and we were as
alone as if on the sea. The woman's slender figure, wrapped in her
white cloak, became a silent, shining wraith. She was within touch of
my hand, yet unreachably remote. I lost my glib speech. The gray
loneliness that one feels in a crowd came over me. If I had been alone
with my men, I should have felt well accompanied, master of my craft,
and in tune with my condition. It was the presence of this alien
woman, whom I must protect, but not approach, that made me realize that
I was thousands of leagues from my own kind, and that I must depend on
my own judgment--with which I felt much out of conceit--to carry this
expedition safely through the barbarous wilderness. I shook myself,
and told my men to pick up their paddles.

But we were to travel no more toward the southwest that night. My plan
was to turn back, paddle due east, and reach the peninsula before the
late moonrise. This doubling on my track was to cheat Pemaou if he
were indeed pursuing. Then I was planning to make the peninsula my
headquarters for a time. I had left word at the islands that I was on
my way to confer with the Malhominis, but I had not committed myself as
to where I should make my permanent camp. I hoped, in this game of
hide and seek, to shake off the Huron, and leave the woman in safe
hiding, while I went on my mission from tribe to tribe.

And so I told the men to work with muffled paddles. I thought the
precaution somewhat unnecessary, but took it as a matter of form. Now
that I was in action again, I felt in command of the situation. And
then, from some shadowy distance, I heard the splash of a pursuing oar.