See you not, Maren?"
In his iron grip the girl stood still, breathing heavily. As he ceased
speaking a great sigh came from her lips, a sigh like a sob.
"Aye," she said brokenly, "I see,--I see! Mary Mother! Let me go, Prix.
I see."
Laroux loosed her, knowing that the moment was past, and went at once
about his duties of throwing the post into a state of defence.
Once more strong and quiet, Maren went to the cabin by the gate. Here
Marie knelt at her bed with a crucifix grasped in her shaking hands,
her face white as milk and prayers on her trembling lips.
"Maren!" she gasped, with the child's appeal to the stronger nature.
"Oh, Maren, what will befall? For love of God, what will befall?"
"Hush, Marie," answered Maren; "'tis but a tragedy of the wild. Naught
will befall us of the post."
"But those without? What is that roaring of many throats? Little Jean
Bleaureau but now ran past crying that the Nakonkirhirinons were
killing the factor"
"No!" Marie jumped at the word like one shot, so wild and sudden it
was. "No! No! Not yet!"
Even in the stress of the moment Marie stared open-mouthed at her
sister.
"Holy Mother! It is love,--that cry! You love the factor!"
"Hush!" whispered Maren, dry-lipped.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151