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“Think what thochts ye may, Mr Milne, but they’re far astray. The lad is naething to me nor me to him. I am going to Oka because nae man-body is allowed to leave the camp, and I couldna stay at hame gin it was in my power to save a fellow-creature’s life.”

“An what can I do to help you to save him?”

“Help me to reach Oka and find Hemlock.”

“Were it no for thae stoury war-times I wad get out my boat and gang mysel’, and there’s naebody to send wi’ you. My lass, gif ye’ll no turn hame again, ye’ll have to walk the road your lane.”

“I hae set my face to the task an’ I’ll no gang hame.”

“Weel, then, ye’ll hae a snack wi’ me an’ I’ll direct ye as well as may be.”

A few rods up the St Louis, in the centre of the stream, where it trickled over a series of rocky shelves, stood a small mill, and on the adjoining bank the house of the miller, and thither they went and had something to eat. The miller’s wife, a good-looking woman, could not speak English, but made up her lack in lively gesticulations, while Maggie helped the common understanding with odd words and phrases in French. Justice done to the food hurriedly spread before them, Maggie walked back with Milne until they stood in front of the house.