Therefore, justice waits. Now has Wiskend-jac, the Great Spirit,
sent the White Doe from the forest to decide. Throw, White Woman, and
where the tomahawk strikes shall Death sit. Hi-a-wo!"
The renegade stepped back and a silence like death itself fell upon the
assembly.
Then did the colour drain out of the soft cheeks under the berry stain
and the girl from Grand Portage stand fingering the bright hatchet in
her hand. Her eyes went to McElroy's face and then to that of the
cavalier leaning forward between his swinging curls, and both men saw
the shine that was like light behind black marble, so mystic was it and
thrilling, beginning to flicker in them.
"Bravo!" cried De Courtenay, his brilliant face aglow with the splendid
hazard. "Bravo! We are akin, Ma'amselle,--both venturers, and my blood
leaps to your spirit! Throw, Sweetheart, throw! And may the gods of
Chance guide your hand!"
"Think not of me, Maren!" cried McElroy, in deadly earnest. "You owe me
naught! Throw for M'sieu, whose peril is my doing!"
For many moments she stood so, fingering the white handle of the
weapon, and there was no sound in all the vast assemblage save the
crackle of the flames.
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