Who thinks of sins while the red blood runs? Rather
have I dreamed dreams of,--memories. Ah, no, M'sieu, it has not been a
weary day to me, but one of swift emotions, of riots of colour in a
strip of racing sky when the sun turned his palette for a gorgeous
spread. The sunset was stupendous at its beginning. Now the darker
greys come with so much forest."
McElroy fell silent, biting his lip.
Sorry as he felt for the plight of his rival, the old anger was close
to his heart, and it seemed that the rascal knew it and probed for a
weak spot with his smiling allusions to his memories. Memories of what
but of the red lips of a girl?
The young factor, too, had memories of those red lips, though they gave
him only a pain so bitter as not to be borne.
Almost it forced from his heart the gentle justice he had striven so
hard to keep in sight.
As he sat thinking and staring at the twilight river rippling below, a
man came from the forest at the back of the camp and passed near on his
way to the fires.
It was Bois DesCaut, and he did not lift his evil eyes.
The white lack on his temple gleamed with a sinister distinctness amid
his black hair.
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