"
"Why, what plainer? Life would die in me, M'sieu, did I leave him to
death by torture. I can do no less."
Mr. Mowbray sat in silence, amazed beyond speech.
When he rose an hour later to go to his camp he laid a hand on the
beaded shoulder wet with the night dew.
"Ma'amselle," he said, "I have seen a glimpse of God through the blind
eyes of a woman. May Destiny reward you."
Thus it came that before the dawn reddened the east the camp of the
brigade broke up for the start to the south and west, and one big canoe
with six men waited at the shore for one woman, who held both the hands
of Mr. Mowbray in her own and thanked him without words.
As the lone craft shot forth upon the steel-blue waters the leader of
the Hudson's Bay brigade looked after the figure in the bow, glimmering
whitely in the mists, and an unaccustomed tightness gripped his throat.
He had two daughters of his own, sheltered safe in London,--two maids
as far from this woman of the wild as darkness from the light, soft,
gentle creatures, and yet he wondered if either were half so gentle, so
truly tender.
Ere the paddles dipped, the men in the canoes with one accord, touched
off by some quick-blooded French adventurer, set up a chanson,--a
beating rhythmic song of Love going into Battle,--and every throat took
it up.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204