"
Laroux was worth his word.
Forty-eight hours later there stood at the portal of Fort de Seviere,
ready for the trail, that small band of wanderers who had come into it
in the early spring.
They were fuller of hope, more eager to face the wilderness than on
that day, for joy after sorrow sat blithely on their faces, turned to
the tall young woman at their head. And they were fully equipped for
travel. Three canoes held wealth of supplies, while six huskies whined
in leash, nervous under new masters, touched with the knowledge of
coming change.
Not a man in De Seviere who had not given gladly, nay, vied with his
neighbour to give, to the helping of this woman.
Had they not their factor back from death and its torments?
There was God-speed and hearty handclasp from the men, and Maren smiled
into their faces, reading their simple hearts.
With the women it was different. They hung, gazing, on the outskirts,
calling farewell to Marie, who wept a little at sight of her deserted
cabin, to Anon and Mora and Ninette, but there was no reflection of the
feeling of their masters for this girl with her weary beauty, her
steady, half-tragic eyes.
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