Low muttering peals of thunder were now heard, the wind was rising with electric speed.

Away flew the light bark, with the swiftness of a bird, over the water; the tempest was above, around and beneath.

The hollow crash of the forest trees as they bowed to the earth could be heard, sullenly sounding from shore to shore.

And now the Indian girl, flinging back her black streaming hair from her brow, knelt at the head of the canoe, and with renewed vigour plied the paddle.

The waters, lashed into a state of turbulence by the violence of the storm, lifted the canoe up and down, but no word was spoken--they each felt the greatness of the peril, but they also knew that they were in the hands of Him who can say to the tempest-tossed waves, "Peace, be still," and they obey Him.
Every effort was made to gain the nearest island; to reach the mainland was impossible, for the rain poured down a blinding deluge; it was with difficulty the little craft was kept afloat, by baling out the water; to do this, Louis was fain to use his cap, and Catharine assisted with the old tin-pot which she had fortunately brought from the trapper's shanty.
The tempest was at its height when they reached the nearest point of the Beaver, and joyful was the grating sound of the canoe as it was vigorously pushed up on the shingly beach, beneath the friendly shelter of the overhanging trees, where, perfectly exhausted by the exertions they had made, dripping with rain and overpowered by the terrors of the storm, they threw themselves on the ground, and in safety watched its progress--thankful for an escape from such imminent peril.
Thus ended the Indian summer--so deceitful in its calmness and its beauty.