Be strong in that as in the courage of the lone trail. Speak!"
"Speak?" said Maren, with her old calmness; "of a surety, M'sieu.
Though I have thrilled at your careless bravery, your laughing daring
which, as you say truly, is kin of my heart,--though I have taken your
red flowers, yet there is in me no spark of love for you, no thought
beyond the admiration of a true son of fortune. That alone, M'sieu."
De Courtenay was staring at her in the blackness of the lodge, his arm
fallen loose about her shoulders.
"Name of God!" he whispered wonderingly, "it is not love? Then what, in
the living world, has brought you over the waste to this camp of
hostile savages?"
"This," said Maren, and she reached a hand to the body of McElroy.
"Sancta Maria! This factor? This heavy-blooded man?.... But he did
speak of half-requited--Oh, Saints of Heaven! What a jest of the world!
The threads of tragedy are tangled into a farce!"
De Courtenay threw up his head and took a silent laugh at the ways of
Fate.
"Three fools together! And the riddle's key too late! At least I can
set it straight for one--"
He broke his laughing whisper to listen to new sounds without, a dull
blow, muffled and heavy, the slight whisper of garments sliding against
garments, the crunch and rustle of a body eased down to earth,--nay,
two blows, coming at a little interval, and from either end the beat
walked by the two guards, and from the southern end there came a grunt,
a cry choked in the throat that uttered it.
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