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The rescue and the race were still fresh with her, though there were strange lapses, here and there, of which she remembered little. The struggle by the fissure was immeasurable; she knew not how long it lasted; and the race down Split-up to Roubeau Island was a thing of which her reason convinced her, but of which she recollected nothing.
One day, however, and innocently, he ran foul of him. Two Swedes, hunting tree-squirrels from the other end of Roubeau Island, had stopped to ask for matches and to yarn a while in the warm sunshine of the clearing. St. Vincent and Borg were accommodating them, the latter for the most part in meditative monosyllables. Just to the rear, by the cabin-door, Bella was washing clothes.
Though it hurt him, gazing into the frank, earnest face of his fellow countryman, he replied inconsequentially on the state of the trail. Then he espied Father Roubeau, who could not lie. 'A quarter of an hour ago, the priest answered; 'but he had four hours' rest for himself and dogs. 'Fifteen minutes' start, and he's fresh!
Even the priest, Father Roubeau, had been known to confess to him, while the men and women of the Northland were ever knocking at his door a door from which the latch-string hung always out. To Madeline, he could do no wrong, make no mistake.
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