Did the red flower mean so
much to her, then? Had she accepted its message? And yet he knew in his
heart that the look in her eyes, the smile on her lips had told their
own tale of awakening to his touch. What but the red flower in its
birchbark case had wrought the change?
He thought swiftly of De Courtenay's beauty, of his sparkling grace,
his braided blue coat, his wide hat, and the long golden curls sweeping
his shoulder. Truly a figure to turn a woman's head. But within him
there rose a tide of rage, blind vent of the hurt of love, that boded
ill for the dashing Nor'wester on the Saskatchewan.
Sick to the very bottom of his heart, he bowed ever so slightly to the
tense figure on the step and strode away in the shadows.
So! Thus ended his one love.
For this he had kept himself from the common lot of the factors in their
lonely posts; for this he had never looked with aught save friendly
compassion upon the maids of the settlements, the half breed girls of the
wilderness, the wild daughters of the forest.
Waiting for this one princess in his small kingdom, he had thrown
himself on the out-bearing tide of love only to be stranded on some
barren beach, to see her taken from him by some reckless courtier not
fit to touch a woman's hand!
Thus they turned apart, these two meant for each other from the
beginning, and in each love worked its will of pain.
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