The long Canadian twilight advanced stage by stage. First, all Magog
flushed, as if a repetition of the old miracle had turned it to wine.
Then innumerable night-hawks uttered their four musical notes in endless
succession, upon the heights, down in the woods, from the mainland
mountain. The north star became discernible almost overhead. Then, with
slow and irregular strokes, Adam pulled away from the cliff, and brought
his keel to grate the sand in front of his tent.

Eva was sitting there on a rock, huddling a shawl around her.

"Oh, Adam Macgregor!" she began, in a low voice, "and do you condescend
to bring your wraith back to me at last?"

"It's nothing but my wraith," said Adam, lifting his eggs and butter and
milk, and stepping from the boat. "The mon in me died aboot noon."

Eva walked along by his side to the cool-box, where he deposited his
load.

"What is the matter with you, laddie, that you look and talk so
strangely?"

"Oh, naught," said Adam, turning and facing her. "I but saw you kissing
Louis Satanette on the hill to-day."




III.