A rifle hung in her arm and a pouch of bullets dangled at her knee.
Swiftly and silently she pushed a canoe into the water at the landing,
stepped in, and with one deep dip of a paddle sent the frail craft out
to midstream. She did not turn her head for a farewell glance toward
the post, but set her face toward the way that led to the Pays d'en
Haut and the man who journeyed thither.
Deep and even her paddle took the sweet waters and the current shot her
forward like a racer. The dark shores flowed by in a long black ribbon
of soft shadow, their leaning grasses and foliage playing with the
ripples in endless dip and lift. No fear was in her, scarce any thought
of what she did, only an obeying of the call which simplified all
things.
McElroy was in danger, and she followed him.
That was all she knew, save the mighty sorrow of his falseness which
never left her day or night.
He had taught her love in that one passionate embrace in the forest,
and it was for all time.
What mattered it that he had turned from her for another? That was the
sorry tangle of the threads of Fate,--she had naught to do with it.
Love was born in her and it set a new law unto her being, the law of
service.
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