appealed [Pg 17]to the distracted islander who faced the west and shook her hand in impotent rage toward it. [Pg 17] “Shine, will you? With the harm all done and nothin’ left but me, old Angelique! Pouf! I turn my back on you!” Then she ran shoreward with all speed, dreading what she might find yet eager to know the worst, if there it might be learned. With her apron over her head she saw only what lay straight before her and so passed the point of rocks without observing her master lying behind it. But a few steps further she paused, arrested by a sight which turned her numb with superstitious terror. What was that coming over the water? A ghost! a spirit! Did spirits paddle canoes and sing as this one was singing? “The boatman’s song is borne along far over the water so blue, And loud and clear, the voice we hear of the boatman so honest and true; He’s rowing, rowing, rowing along, He’s rowing, rowing, rowing along— He’s rowing and singing his song.” and true; He’s rowing, rowing, rowing along, He’s rowing, rowing, rowing along— He’s rowing and singing his song.” [Pg 18] [Pg 18] Ghosts should sing hymns, not jolly little ballads like this, in which one could catch the very rhythm and dip of oar or paddle. Still, it was as well to wait and see if this were flesh or apparition before pronouncing judgment. It was certainly a canoe, snowy white and most familiar—so familiar that the watcher began to lose her first terror. A girl knelt in it, Indian fashion, gracefully and evenly dipping her paddle to the melody of her lips. Her bare head was thrown back and her fair hair floated loose. Her face was lighted by the western glow, on which she fixed her eyes with such intentness that she did not perceive the woman who awaited her with now such mixed emotions. But Tom saw. Tom, the eagle, perched in the bow, keen of vision and of prejudice. Between him and old Angelique was a grudge of long standing. Whenever they met, even after a brief separation, he
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