He was not dead. The heart was beating, though not strongly; the body
was warm.

"Father, father." She shook him gently.

The answer was a groan, very feeble. It told her at once that the man
before her was stricken with some physical ill that made him incapable
of responding to her.

And now what was she to do? It was necessary by some means to get her
father into the canoe. To that she did not give a second thought, but
while he still lived it seemed to her monstrous to take him either back
to Fentown Falls or down to The Mills. Her horror of prison and of
judgment for him had grown to be wholly morbid and unreasonable, just
because his terror of it had been so extreme. Only one course remained.
She had the chart that David Brown had given her. He had told her that
at that northern edge of the swamp, which could be reached by the way he
had marked out, a small farmhouse stood. Possibly the people in this
house might not yet have heard of Markham the murderer; or possibly, if
they had heard, they might be won for pity's sake to let him regain
strength there and go in peace. It was her only chance. The moon was
rising now, and she would find the way. She felt strength to do anything
when she had realised that the heart beneath her hand was still beating.

Ann moved the canoe under the fallen log, and moving down it upon her
knees, she took the rope from the prow, secured it round the log from
which the sick man must descend, and fastened it again to the other end
of the boat. This at least was a guarantee that they could not all sink
together. Even yet the danger of upsetting the canoe sideways was very
great. It was only necessity that enabled her to accomplish her task.