" He lifted her as one would lift a child and strove to raise the
weeping eyes from the shelter of her hands, but the small head drooped
toward him so near that it was but a step until it lay in the shelter
of his shoulder, and he was rocking a bit, unconsciously, as the
sobbing grew less pitiful.
"Sh-sh-little one," he said gently; "sh--sh."
Meanwhile Maren Le Moyne sat in the doorway of her sister's cabin with
her chin on her hands and stared into the night. Marie and Henri were
at the cabin of the Bordoux, laughing and chattering in the gay abandon
of youth. She could hear their snatches of songs, their quips and
laughter rising now and again in shrill gusts. Also the wailing fiddle
seemed a part of the warm night, and the bird that called in the
forest.
All the little homely things of the post and the woods crept into her
heart, that seemed to her to be opening to a vague knowledge, to be
looking down sweet vistas of which she had never dreamed among her other
dreams of forest and lake and plain, and, at each distant focus where
appeared a new glory of light, there was always the figure of the young
factor with his anxious eyes. Strange new thrills raced hotly through her
heart and dyed her cheeks in the darkness.
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