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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Conjuror's House + A Romance of the Free Forest + +Author: Stewart Edward White + +Release Date: April 11, 2006 [EBook #18149] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONJUROR'S HOUSE *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + + +<h1>CONJUROR'S HOUSE</h1> + + +<div class="blockquot"><i>Beyond the butternut, beyond the maple,</i><br /> + +<i>beyond the white pine and the red, beyond</i><br /> + +<i>the oak, the cedar, and the beech, beyond</i><br /> + +<i>even the white and yellow birches lies a</i><br /> + +<i>Land, and in that Land the shadows fall</i><br /> + +<i>crimson across the snow.</i></div> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="400" height="618" alt="Paul Gilmore, +in "The Call of the North"—The dramatic +version of "Conjuror's House."" title="Paul Gilmore, +in "The Call of the North"—The dramatic +version of "Conjuror's House."" /> +<span class="caption">Paul Gilmore, +in "The Call of the North"—The dramatic +version of "Conjuror's House."</span> +</div> + + +<p> </p> + + +<h1>CONJUROR'S HOUSE</h1> +<h1><i>A Romance of the Free Forest</i></h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3><span class="smcap">BY</span></h3> +<h2>Stewart Edward White</h2> +<h4><span class="smcap">AUTHOR OF THE WESTERNERS,<br /> + + THE BLAZED TRAIL,<br /> + + ETC.</span></h4> + <p> </p> +<div class="center"><img src="images/image_001.jpg" alt="Seal" width="150" height="142" /></div> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="sp">GROSSET & DUNLAP</h3> + +<h3 class="sp">PUBLISHERS : NEW YORK</h3> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1903, <span class="smcap">by</span></p> + +<p class="center">STEWART EDWARD WHITE</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1902, by Curtis Publishing Company</span></p> + +<p class="center">Published, March, 1903. R. +</p> + + +<hr style="width:65%" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONJUROR'S HOUSE</h2> +<hr style="width:65%" /> +<h2><i>Chapter One</i></h2> +<p>The girl stood on a bank above a river flowing north. At her back +crouched a dozen clean whitewashed buildings. Before her in +interminable journey, day after day, league on league into remoteness, +stretched the stern Northern wilderness, untrodden save by the +trappers, the Indians, and the beasts. Close about the little +settlement crept the balsams and spruce, the birch and poplar, behind +which lurked vast dreary muskegs, a chaos of bowlder-splits, the +forest. The girl had known nothing different for many years. Once a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>summer the sailing ship from England felt its frozen way through the +Hudson Straits, down the Hudson Bay, to drop anchor in the mighty +River of the Moose. Once a summer a six-fathom canoe manned by a dozen +paddles struggled down the waters of the broken Abítibi. Once a year a +little band of red-sashed <i>voyageurs</i> forced their exhausted +sledge-dogs across the ice from some unseen wilderness trail. That was +all.</p> + +<p>Before her eyes the seasons changed, all grim, but one by the very +pathos of brevity sad. In the brief luxuriant summer came the Indians +to trade their pelts, came the keepers of the winter posts to rest, +came the ship from England bringing the articles of use or ornament +she had ordered a full year before. Within a short time all were gone, +into the wilderness, into the great unknown world. The snow fell; the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>river and the bay froze. Strange men from the North glided silently +to the Factor's door, bearing the meat and pelts of the seal. Bitter +iron cold shackled the northland, the abode of desolation. Armies of +caribou drifted by, ghostly under the aurora, moose, lordly and +scornful, stalked majestically along the shore; wolves howled +invisible, or trotted dog-like in organized packs along the river +banks. Day and night the ice artillery thundered. Night and day the +fireplaces roared defiance to a frost they could not subdue, while the +people of desolation crouched beneath the tyranny of winter.</p> + +<p>Then the upheaval of spring with the ice-jams and terrors, the Moose +roaring by untamable, the torrents rising, rising foot by foot to the +very dooryard of her father's house. Strange spirits were abroad at +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>night, howling, shrieking, cracking and groaning in voices of ice and +flood. Her Indian nurse told her of them all—of Maunabosho, the good; +of Nenaubosho the evil—in her lisping Ojibway dialect that sounded +like the softer voices of the forest.</p> + +<p>At last the sudden subsidence of the waters; the splendid eager +blossoming of the land into new leaves, lush grasses, an abandon of +sweetbrier and hepatica. The air blew soft, a thousand singing birds +sprang from the soil, the wild goose cried in triumph. Overhead shone +the hot sun of the Northern summer.</p> + +<p>From the wilderness came the <i>brigades</i> bearing their pelts, the hardy +traders of the winter posts, striking hot the imagination through the +mysterious and lonely allurement of their callings. For a brief +season, transient as the flash of a loon's wing on the shadow of a +lake, the post was bri<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>ght with the thronging of many people. The +Indians pitched their wigwams on the broad meadows below the bend; the +half-breeds sauntered about, flashing bright teeth and wicked dark +eyes at whom it might concern; the traders gazed stolidily over their +little black pipes, and uttered brief sentences through their thick +black beards. Everywhere was gay sound—the fiddle, the laugh, the +song; everywhere was gay color—the red sashes of the <i>voyageurs</i>, the +beaded moccasins and leggings of the <i>mètis</i>, the capotes of the +<i>brigade</i>, the variegated costumes of the Crees and Ojibways. Like the +wild roses around the edge of the muskegs, this brief flowering of the +year passed. Again the nights were long, again the frost crept down +from the eternal snow, again the wolves howled across barren wastes. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>Just now the girl stood ankle-deep in green grasses, a bath of +sunlight falling about her, a tingle of salt wind humming up the river +from the bay's offing. She was clad in gray wool, and wore no hat. Her +soft hair, the color of ripe wheat, blew about her temples, shadowing +eyes of fathomless black. The wind had brought to the light and +delicate brown of her complexion a trace of color to match her lips, +whose scarlet did not fade after the ordinary and imperceptible manner +into the tinge of her skin, but continued vivid to the very edge; her +eyes were wide and unseeing. One hand rested idly on the breech of an +ornamented bronze field-gun.</p> + +<p>McDonald, the chief trader, passed from the house to the store where +his bartering with the Indians was daily carried on; the other +Scotchman in the Post, Galen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>Albret, her father, and the head Factor +of all this region, paced back and forth across the veranda of the +factory, caressing his white beard; up by the stockade, young Achille +Picard tuned his whistle to the note of the curlew; across the meadow +from the church wandered Crane, the little Church of England +missionary, peering from short-sighted pale blue eyes; beyond the +coulee, Sarnier and his Indians <i>chock-chock-chocked</i> away at the +seams of the long coast-trading bateau. The girl saw nothing, heard +nothing. She was dreaming, she was trying to remember.</p> + +<p>In the lines of her slight figure, in its pose there by the old gun +over the old, old river, was the grace of gentle blood, the pride of +caste. Of all this region her father was the absolute lord, feared, +loved, obeyed by all its human creatures. When he went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> abroad, he +travelled in a state almost mediæval in its magnificence; when he +stopped at home, men came to him from the Albany, the Kenógami, the +Missináibe, the Mattágami, the Abítibi—from all the rivers of the +North—to receive his commands. Way was made for him, his lightest +word was attended. In his house dwelt ceremony, and of his house she +was the princess. Unconsciously she had taken the gracious habit of +command. She had come to value her smile, her word, to value herself. +The lady of a realm greater than the countries of Europe, she moved +serene, pure, lofty amid dependants.</p> + +<p>And as the lady of this realm she did honor to her father's +guests—sitting stately behind the beautiful silver service, below the +portrait of the Company's greate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>st explorer, Sir George Simpson, +dispensing crude fare in gracious manner, listening silently to the +conversation, finally withdrawing at the last with a sweeping courtesy +to play soft, melancholy, and world-forgotten airs on the old piano, +brought over years before by the <i>Lady Head</i>, while the guests made +merry with the mellow port and ripe Manila cigars which the Company +supplied its servants. Then coffee, still with her natural Old World +charm of the <i>grande dame</i>. Such guests were not many, nor came often. +There was McTavish of Rupert's House, a three days' journey to the +northeast; Rand of Fort Albany, a week's travel to the northwest; +Mault of Fort George, ten days beyond either, all grizzled in the +Company's service. With them came their clerks, mostly English and +Scotch younger sons, with a vast re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>spect for the Company, and a +vaster for their Factor's daughter. Once in two or three years +appeared the inspectors from Winnipeg, true lords of the North, with +their six-fathom canoes, their luxurious furs, their red banners +trailing like gonfalons in the water. Then this post of Conjuror's +House feasted and danced, undertook gay excursions, discussed in +public or private conclave weighty matters, grave and reverend +advices, cautions, and commands. They went. Desolation again crept in.</p> + +<p>The girl dreamed. She was trying to remember. Far-off, half-forgotten +visions of brave, courtly men, of gracious, beautiful women, peopled +the clouds of her imaginings. She heard them again, as voices beneath +the roar of rapids, like far-away bells tinkling faintly through a +wind, pitying her, exclaiming over her; she saw them di<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>m and +changing, as wraiths of a fog, as shadow pictures in a mist beneath +the moon, leaning to her with bright, shining eyes full of compassion +for the little girl who was to go so far away into an unknown land; +she felt them, as the touch of a breeze when the night is still, +fondling her, clasping her, tossing her aloft in farewell. One she +felt plainly—a gallant youth who held her up for all to see. One she +saw clearly—a dewy-eyed, lovely woman who murmured loving, broken +words. One she heard distinctly—a gentle voice that said, "God's love +be with you, little one, for you have far to go, and many days to pass +before you see Quebec again." And the girl's eyes suddenly swam +bright, for the northland was very dreary. She threw her palms out in +a gesture of weariness.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p><p>Then her arms dropped, her eyes widened, her head bent forward in the +attitude of listening.</p> + +<p>"Achille!" she called, "Achille! Come here!"</p> + +<p>The young fellow approached respectfully.</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Don't you hear?" she said.</p> + +<p>Faint, between intermittent silences, came the singing of men's voices +from the south.</p> + +<p>"<i>Grace à Dieu</i>!" cried Achille. "Eet is so. Eet is dat <i>brigade</i>!"</p> + +<p>He ran shouting toward the factory.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Two" id="Chapter_Two"></a><i>Chapter Two</i></h2> + + +<p>Men, women, dogs, children sprang into sight from nowhere, and ran +pell-mell to the two cannon. Galen Albret, reappearing from the +factory, began to issue orders. Two men set about hoisting on the tall +flag-staff the blood-red banner of the Company. Speculation, excited +and earnest, arose among the men as to which of the branches of the +Moose this <i>brigade</i> had hunted—the Abítibi, the Mattágami, or the +Missináibie. The half-breed women shaded their eyes. Mrs. Cockburn, +the doctor's wife, and the only other white woman in the settlement, +came and stood by Virginia <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>Albret's side. Wishkobun, the Ojibway +woman from the south country, and Virginia's devoted familiar, took +her half-jealous stand on the other.</p> + +<p>"It is the same every year. We always like to see them come," said +Mrs. Cockburn, in her monotonous low voice of resignation.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Virginia, moving a little impatiently, for she +anticipated eagerly the picturesque coming of these men of the Silent +Places, and wished to savor the pleasure undistracted.</p> + +<p>"Mi-di-mo-yay ka'-win-ni-shi-shin," said Wishkobun, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Ae," replied Virginia, with a little laugh, patting the woman's brown +hand.</p> + +<p>A shout arose. Around the bend shot a canoe. At once every paddle in +it was raised to a perpendicular salute, t<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>hen all together dashed +into the water with the full strength of the <i>voyageurs</i> wielding +them. The canoe fairly leaped through the cloud of spray. Another +rounded the bend, another double row of paddles flashed in the +sunlight, another crew, broke into a tumult of rapid exertion as they +raced the last quarter mile of the long journey. A third burst into +view, a fourth, a fifth. The silent river was alive with motion, +glittering with color. The canoes swept onward, like race-horses +straining against the rider. Now the spectators could make out plainly +the boatmen. It could be seen that they had decked themselves out for +the occasion. Their heads were bound with bright-colored fillets, +their necks with gay scarves. The paddles were adorned with gaudy +woollen streamers. New leggings, of holiday pattern, were +intermittently visible <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>on the bowsmen and steersmen as they half rose +to give added force to their efforts.</p> + +<p>At first the men sang their canoe songs, but as the swift rush of the +birch-barks brought them almost to their journey's end, they burst +into wild shrieks and whoops of delight.</p> + +<p>All at once they were close to hand. The steersman rose to throw his +entire weight on the paddle. The canoe swung abruptly for the shore. +Those in it did not relax their exertions, but continued their +vigorous strokes until within a few yards of apparent destruction.</p> + +<p>"Holá! holá!" they cried, thrusting their paddles straight down into +the water with a strong backward twist. The stout wood bent and +cracked. The canoe stopped short and the <i>voyageurs</i> leaped ashore to +be swallowed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>up in the crowd that swarmed down upon them.</p> + +<p>The races were about equally divided, and each acted after its +instincts—the Indian greeting his people quietly, and stalking away +to the privacy of his wigwam; the more volatile white catching his +wife or his sweetheart or his child to his arms. A swarm of Indian +women and half-grown children set about unloading the canoes.</p> + +<p>Virginia's eyes ran over the crews of the various craft. She +recognized them all, of course, to the last Indian packer, for in so +small a community the personality and doings of even the humblest +members are well known to everyone. Long since she had identified the +<i>brigade</i>. It was of the Missináibie, the great river whose +head-waters rise a scant hundred feet from those that flow as many +miles south into Lake <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>Superior. It drains a wild and rugged country +whose forests cling to bowlder hills, whose streams issue from +deep-riven gorges, where for many years the big gray wolves had +gathered in unusual abundance. She knew by heart the winter posts, +although she had never seen them. She could imagine the isolation of +such a place, and the intense loneliness of the solitary man condemned +to live through the dark Northern winters, seeing no one but the rare +Indians who might come in to trade with him for their pelts. She could +appreciate the wild joy of a return for a brief season to the company +of fellow-men.</p> + +<p>When her glance fell upon the last of the canoes, it rested with a +flash of surprise. The craft was still floating idly, its bow barely +caught against the bank. The crew <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>had deserted, but amidships, among +the packages of pelts and duffel, sat a stranger. The canoe was that +of the post at Kettle Portage.</p> + +<p>She saw the stranger to be a young man with a clean-cut face, a trim +athletic figure dressed in the complete costume of the <i>voyageurs</i>, +and thin brown and muscular hands. When the canoe touched the bank he +had taken no part in the scramble to shore, and so had sat forgotten +and unnoticed save by the girl, his figure erect with something of the +Indian's stoical indifference. Then when, for a moment, he imagined +himself free from observation, his expression abruptly changed. His +hands clenched tense between his buckskin knees, his eyes glanced here +and there restlessly, and an indefinable shadow of something which +Virginia felt herself obtuse in labelling desperation, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>yet to +which she discovered it impossible to fit a name, descended on his +features, darkening them. Twice he glanced away to the south. Twice he +ran his eye over the vociferating crowd on the narrow beach.</p> + +<p>Absorbed in the silent drama of a man's unguarded expression, Virginia +leaned forward eagerly. In some vague manner it was borne in on her +that once before she had experienced the same emotion, had come into +contact with someone, something, that had affected her emotionally +just as this man did now. But she could not place it. Over and over +again she forced her mind to the very point of recollection, but +always it slipped back again from the verge of attainment. Then a +little movement, some thrust forward of the head, some nervous, rapid +shifting of the hands or feet, some unconscious poise of the +shoulders, brought the scene flashing before her—the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> white snow, the +still forest, the little square pen-trap, the wolverine, desperate but +cool, thrusting its blunt nose quickly here and there in baffled hope +of an orifice of escape. Somehow the man reminded her of the animal, +the fierce little woods marauder, trapped and hopeless, but scorning +to cower as would the gentler creatures of the forest.</p> + +<p>Abruptly his expression changed again. His figure stiffened, the +muscles of his face turned iron. Virginia saw that someone on the +beach had pointed toward him. His mask was on.</p> + +<p>The first burst of greeting was over. Here and there one or another of +the <i>brigade</i> members jerked their heads in the stranger's direction, +explaining low-voiced to their companions. Soon all eyes turned +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>curiously toward the canoe. A hum of low-voiced comment took the +place of louder delight.</p> + +<p>The stranger, finding himself generally observed, rose slowly to his +feet, picked his way with a certain exaggerated deliberation of +movement over the duffel lying in the bottom of the canoe, until he +reached the bow, where he paused, one foot lifted to the gunwale just +above the emblem of the painted star. Immediately a dead silence fell. +Groups shifted, drew apart, and together again, like the slow +agglomeration of sawdust on the surface of water, until at last they +formed in a semicircle of staring, whose centre was the bow of the +canoe and the stranger from Kettle Portage. The men scowled, the women +regarded him with a half-fearful curiosity.</p> + +<p>Virginia Albret shivered in the shock of this sudden electric +polarity. T<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>he man seemed alone against a sullen, unexplained +hostility. The desperation she had thought to read but a moment before +had vanished utterly, leaving in its place a scornful indifference and +perhaps more than a trace of recklessness. He was ripe for an +outbreak. She did not in the least understand, but she knew it from +the depths of her woman's instinct, and unconsciously her sympathies +flowed out to this man, alone without a greeting where all others came +to their own.</p> + +<p>For perhaps a full sixty seconds the new-comer stood uncertain what he +should do, or perhaps waiting for some word or act to tip the balance +of his decision. One after another those on shore felt the insolence +of his stare, and shifted uneasily. Then his deliberate scrutiny rose +to the group by the cannon. Virginia caught her breath sharply. In +spite of herself sh<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>e could not turn away. The stranger's eye crossed +her own. She saw the hard look fade into pleased surprise. Instantly +his hat swept the gunwale of the canoe. He stepped magnificently +ashore. The crisis was over. Not a word had been spoken.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Three" id="Chapter_Three"></a><i>Chapter Three</i></h2> + + +<p>Galen Albret sat in his rough-hewn arm-chair at the head of the table, +receiving the reports of his captains. The long, narrow room opened +before him, heavy raftered, massive, white, with a cavernous fireplace +at either end. Above him frowned Sir George's portrait, at his right +hand and his left stretched the row of home-made heavy chairs, +finished smooth and dull by two centuries of use.</p> + +<p>His arms were laid along the arms of his seat; his shaggy head was +sunk forward until his beard swept the curve of his big chest; the +heavy tufts of hair above h<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>is eyes were drawn steadily together in a +frown of attention. One after another the men arose and spoke. He made +no movement, gave no sign, his short, powerful form blotted against +the lighter silhouette of his chair, only his eyes and the white of +his beard gleaming out of the dusk.</p> + +<p>Kern of Old Brunswick House, Achard of New; Ki-wa-nee, the Indian of +Flying Post—these and others told briefly of many things, each in his +own language. To all Galen Albret listened in silence. Finally Louis +Placide from the post at Kettle Portage got to his feet. He too +reported of the trade,—so many "beaver" of tobacco, of powder, of +lead, of pork, of flour, of tea, given in exchange; so many mink, +otter, beaver, ermine, marten, and fisher pelts taken in return. Then +he paused and went on at greater length<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> in regard to the stranger, +speaking evenly but with emphasis. When he had finished, Galen Albret +struck a bell at his elbow. Me-en-gan, the bowsman of the Factor's +canoe, entered, followed closely by the young man who had that +afternoon arrived.</p> + +<p>He was dressed still in his costume of the <i>voyageur</i>—the loose +blouse shirt, the buckskin leggings and moccasins, the long tasselled +red sash. His head was as high and his glance as free, but now the +steel blue of his eye had become steady and wary, and two faint lines +had traced themselves between his brows. At his entrance a hush of +expectation fell. Galen Albret did not stir, but the others hitched +nearer the long, narrow table, and two or three leaned both elbows on +it the better to catch what should ensue.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p><p>Me-en-gan stopped by the door, but the stranger walked steadily the +length of the room until he faced the Factor. Then he paused and +waited collectedly for the other to speak.</p> + +<p>This the Factor did not at once begin to do, but sat +impassive—apparently without thought—while the heavy breathing of +the men in the room marked off the seconds of time. Finally abruptly +Galen Albret's cavernous voice boomed forth. Something there was +strangely mysterious, cryptic, in the virile tones issuing from a bulk +so massive and inert. Galen Albret did not move, did not even raise +the heavy-lidded, dull stare of his eyes to the young man who stood +before him; hardly did his broad arched chest seem to rise and fall +with the respiration of speech; and yet each separate word leaped +forth alive, instinct with authority.</p> + +<p>"Once at Leftfoot Lake, two Indian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>s caught you asleep," he +pronounced. "They took your pelts and arms, and escorted you to +Sudbury. They were my Indians. Once on the upper Abítibi you were +stopped by a man named Herbert, who warned you from the country, after +relieving you of your entire outfit. He told you on parting what you +might expect if you should repeat the attempt—severe measures, the +severest. Herbert was my man. Now Louis Placide surprises you in a +rapids near Kettle Portage and brings you here."</p> + +<p>During the slow delivering of these accurately spaced words, the +attitude of the men about the long, narrow table gradually changed. +Their curiosity had been great before, but now their intellectual +interest was awakened, for these were facts of which Louis Placide's +statement had given <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>no inkling. Before them, for the dealing, was a +problem of the sort whose solution had earned for Galen Albret a +reputation in the north country. They glanced at one another to obtain +the sympathy of attention, then back toward their chief in anxious +expectation of his next words. The stranger, however, remained +unmoved. A faint smile had sketched the outline of his lips when first +the Factor began to speak. This smile he maintained to the end. As the +older man paused, he shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"All of that is quite true," he admitted.</p> + +<p>Even the unimaginative men of the Silent Places started at these +simple words, and vouchsafed to their speaker a more sympathetic +attention. For the tones in which they were delivered possessed that +deep, rich throat timbre which so of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>ten means power—personal +magnetism—deep, from the chest, with vibrant throat tones suggesting +a volume of sound which may in fact be only hinted by the loudness the +man at the moment sees fit to employ. Such a voice is a responsive +instrument on which emotion and mood play wonderfully seductive +strains.</p> + +<p>"All of that is quite true," he repeated after a second's pause; "but +what has it to do with me? Why am I stopped and sent out from the free +forest? I am really curious to know your excuse."</p> + +<p>"This," replied Galen Albret, weightily, "is my domain. I tolerate no +rivalry here."</p> + +<p>"Your right?" demanded the young man, briefly.</p> + +<p>"I have made the trade, and I intend to keep it."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p><p>"In other words, the strength of your good right arm," supplemented +the stranger, with the faintest hint of a sneer.</p> + +<p>"That is neither here nor there," rejoined Galen Albret, "the point is +that I intend to keep it. I've had you sent out, but you have been too +stupid or too obstinate to take the hint. Now I have to warn you in +person. I shall send you out once more, but this time you must promise +me not to meddle with the trade again."</p> + +<p>He paused for a response. The young man's smile merely became +accentuated.</p> + +<p>"I have means of making my wishes felt," warned the Factor.</p> + +<p>"Quite so," replied the young man, deliberately, "<i>La Longue +Traverse</i>."</p> + +<p>At this unexpected pronouncement of that dread name two of the men +swore violently; the others thrust back their chairs and sat, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>their +arms rigidly braced against the table's edge, staring wide-eyed and +open-mouthed at the speaker. Only Galen Albret remained unmoved.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?" he asked, calmly.</p> + +<p>"It amuses you to be ignorant," replied the stranger, with some +contempt. "Don't you think this farce is about played out? I do. If +you think you're deceiving me any with this show of formality, you're +mightily mistaken. Don't you suppose I knew what I was about when I +came into this country? Don't you suppose I had weighed the risks and +had made up my mind to take my medicine if I should be caught? Your +methods are not quite so secret as you imagine. I know perfectly well +what happens to Free Traders in Rupert's Land."</p> + +<p>"You seem very certain of your information." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your men seem equally so," pointed out the stranger.</p> + +<p>Galen Albret, at the beginning of the young man's longer speech, had +sunk almost immediately into his passive calm—the calm of great +elemental bodies, the calm of a force so vast as to rest motionless by +the very static power of its mass. When he spoke again, it was in the +tentative manner of his earlier interrogatory, committing himself not +at all, seeking to plumb his opponent's knowledge.</p> + +<p>"Why, if you have realized the gravity of your situation have you +persisted after having been twice warned?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Because you're not the boss of creation," replied the young man, +bluntly.</p> + +<p>Galen Albret merely raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><span class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/image_043_1.jpg"><img src="images/image_043.jpg" width="600" height="372" alt="The arrival of the free-trader. Scene from the play." title="The arrival of the free-trader. Scene from the play." /></a></span><br /> +<span class="caption">The arrival of the free-trader. + +<br /> +Scene from the play.</span></div> +<p class="center">Click on the Image for larger Image.</p> + +<p>"I've got as much business in this country <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>as you have," continued +the young man, his tone becoming more incisive. "You don't seem to +realize that your charter of monopoly has expired. If the government +was worth a damn it would see to you fellows. You have no more right +to order me out of here than I would have to order you out. Suppose +some old Husky up on Whale River should send you word that you weren't +to trap in the Whale River district next winter. I'll bet you'd be +there. You Hudson Bay men tried the same game out west. It didn't +work. You ask your western men if they ever heard of Ned Trent."</p> + +<p>"Your success does not seem to have followed you here," suggested the +Factor, ironically.</p> + +<p>The young man smiled.</p> + +<p>"This <i>Longue Traverse</i>," went on Albret, "what is your idea there? I +have heard <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>something of it. What is your information?"</p> + +<p>Ned Trent laughed outright. "You don't imagine there is any secret +about that!" he marvelled. "Why, every child north of the Line knows +that. You will send me away without arms, and with but a handful of +provisions. If the wilderness and starvation fail, your runners will +not. I shall never reach the Temiscamingues alive."</p> + +<p>"The same old legend," commented Galen Albret in apparent amusement, +"I heard it when I first came to this country. You'll find a dozen +such in every Indian camp."</p> + +<p>"Jo Bagneau, Morris Proctor, John May, William Jarvis," checked off +the young man on his fingers.</p> + +<p>"Personal enmity," replied the Factor.</p> + +<p>He glanced up to meet the young man's steady, sceptical smile. </p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p><p>"You do not believe me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if it amuses you," conceded the stranger.</p> + +<p>"The thing is not even worth discussion."</p> + +<p>"Remarkable sensation among our friends here for so idle a tale."</p> + +<p>Galen Albret considered.</p> + +<p>"You will remember that throughout you have forced this interview," he +pointed out. "Now I must ask your definite promise to get out of this +country and to stay out."</p> + +<p>"No," replied Ned Trent.</p> + +<p>"Then a means shall be found to make you!" threatened the Factor, his +anger blazing at last.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said the stranger softly.</p> + +<p>Galen Albret raised his hand and let it fall. The bronzed and gaudily +bedecked men filed out.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Four" id="Chapter_Four"></a><i>Chapter Four</i></h2> + + +<p>In the open air the men separated in quest of their various families +or friends. The stranger lingered undecided for a moment on the top +step of the veranda, and then wandered down the little street, if +street it could be called where horses there were none. On the left +ranged the square whitewashed houses with their dooryards, the old +church, the workshop. To the right was a broad grass-plot, and then +the Moose, slipping by to the distant offing. Over a little bridge the +stranger idled, looking curiously about him. The great trading-house +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>attracted his attention, with its narrow picket lane leading to the +door; the storehouse surrounded by a protective log fence; the fort +itself, a medley of heavy-timbered stockades and square block-houses. +After a moment he resumed his strolling. Everywhere he went the people +looked at him, ceasing their varied occupations. No one spoke to him, +no one hindered him. To all intents and purposes he was as free as the +air. But all about the island flowed the barrier of the Moose, and +beyond frowned the wilderness—strong as iron bars to an unarmed man.</p> + +<p>Brooding on his imprisonment the Free Trader forgot his surroundings. +The post, the river, the forest, the distant bay faded from his sight, +and he fell into deep reflection. There remained nothing of physical +consciousness but a sense of the grateful spring warmth from the +declining sun. At length he became vaguely aware of something <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>else. +He glanced up. Right by him he saw a handsome French half-breed +sprawled out in the sun against a building, looking him straight in +the face and flashing up at him a friendly smile.</p> + +<p>"Hullo," said Achille Picard, "you mus' been 'sleep. I call you two +t'ree tam."</p> + +<p>The prisoner seemed to find something grateful in the greeting even +from the enemy's camp. Perhaps it merely happened upon the +psychological moment for a response.</p> + +<p>"Hullo," he returned, and seated himself by the man's side, lazily +stretching himself in enjoyment of the reflected heat.</p> + +<p>"You is come off Kettle Portage, eh," said Achille, "I t'ink so. You +is come trade dose fur? Eet is bad beez-ness, dis Conjur' House. Ole' +man he no lak' dat you trade dose fur. He's very hard, dat ole man." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the stranger, "he has got to be, I suppose. This is the +country of <i>la Longue Traverse</i>."</p> + +<p>"I beleef you," responded Achille, cheerfully; "w'at you call heem +your nam'?"</p> + +<p>"Ned Trent."</p> + +<p>"Me Achille—Achille Picard. I capitaine of dose dogs on dat winter +<i>brigade</i>."</p> + +<p>"It is a hard post. The winter travel is pretty tough."</p> + +<p>"I beleef you."</p> + +<p>"Better to take <i>la Longue Traverse</i> in summer, eh?"</p> + +<p>"<i>La Longue Traverse</i>—hees not mattaire w'en yo tak' heem."</p> + +<p>"Right you are. Have there been men sent out since you came here?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Bâ oui</i>. Wan, two, t'ree. I don' remember. I t'ink Jo Bagneau. +Nobodee he don' know, but dat ole man an' hees <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span><i>coureurs du bois</i>. He +ees wan ver' great man. Nobodee is know w'at he will do."</p> + +<p>"I'm due to hit that trail myself, I suppose," said Ned Trent.</p> + +<p>"I have t'ink so," acknowledged Achille, still with a tone of most +engaging cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>"Shall I be sent out at once, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"I don' know. Sometam' dat ole man ver' queek. Sometam' he ver' slow. +One day Injun mak' heem ver' mad; he let heem go, and shot dat Injun +right off. Noder tam he get mad on one <i>voyageur</i>, but he don' keel +heem queek; he bring heem here, mak' heem stay in dose warm room, feed +heem dose plaintee grub. Purty soon dose <i>voyageur</i> is get fat, is go +sof; he no good for dose trail. Ole man he mak' heem go ver' far off, +mos' to Whale Reever. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>Eet is plaintee cole. Dat <i>voyageur</i>, he freeze +to hees inside. Dey tell me he feex heem like dat."</p> + +<p>"Achille, you haven't anything against me—do you want me to die?"</p> + +<p>The half-breed flashed his white teeth.</p> + +<p>"<i>Bâ non</i>," he replied, carelessly. "For w'at I want dat you die? I +t'ink you bus' up bad; <i>vous avez la mauvaise fortune</i>."</p> + +<p>"Listen. I have nothing with me; but out at the front I am very rich. +I will give you a hundred dollars, if you will help me to get away."</p> + +<p>"I can' do eet," smiled Picard.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Ole man he fin' dat out. He is wan devil, dat ole man. I lak +firs'-rate help you; I lak' dat hundred dollar. On Ojibway countree +dey make hees nam' <i>Wagosh</i>—dat mean fox. He know everyt'ing." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll make it two hundred—three hundred—five hundred."</p> + +<p>"W'at you wan' me do?" hesitated Achille Picard at the last figure.</p> + +<p>"Get me a rifle and some cartridges."</p> + +<p>The half-breed rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and inhaled a deep +breath.</p> + +<p>"I can' do eet," he declared. "I can' do eet for t'ousand dollar—ten +t'ousand. I don't t'ink you fin' anywan on dis settlement w'at can +dare do eet. He is wan devil. He's count all de carabine on dis pos', +an' w'en he is mees wan, he fin' out purty queek who is tak' heem."</p> + +<p>"Steal one from someone else," suggested Trent.</p> + +<p>"He fin' out jess sam'," objected the half-breed, obstinately. "You +don' know heem. He mak' you geev yourself away, when he lak' do dat." +The smile had left the man's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>face. This was evidently too serious a +matter to be taken lightly.</p> + +<p>"Well, come with me, then," urged Ned Trent, with some impatience. "A +thousand dollars I'll give you. With that you can be rich somewhere +else."</p> + +<p>But the man was becoming more and more uneasy, glancing furtively from +left to right and back again, in an evident panic lest the +conversation be overheard, although the nearest dwelling-house was a +score of yards distant.</p> + +<p>"Hush," he whispered. "You mustn't talk lak' dat. Dose ole man fin' +you out. You can' hide away from heem. Ole tam long ago, Pierre +Cadotte is stole feefteen skin of de otter—de sea-otter—and he is +sol' dem on Winnipeg. He is get 'bout t'ousand beaver—five hunder' +dollar. Den he is mak' dose longue voyage wes'—ver' far wes'—<i>on +dit</i> Peace Reeve<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>r. He is mak' heem dose cabane, w'ere he is leev long +tam wid wan man of Mackenzie. He is call it hees nam' Dick Henderson. +I is meet Dick Henderson on Winnipeg las' year, w'en I mak' paddle on +dem Factor Brigade, an' dose High Commissionaire. He is tol' me wan +night pret' late he wake up all de queeck he can w'en he is hear wan +noise in dose cabane, an' he is see wan Injun, lak' phantome 'gainst +de moon to de door. Dick Henderson he is 'sleep, he don' know w'at he +mus' do. Does Injun is step ver' sof' an' go on bunk of Pierre +Cadotte. Pierre Cadotte is mak' de beeg cry. Dick Henderson say he no +see dose Injun no more, an' he fin' de door shut. <i>Bâ</i> Pierre Cadotte, +she's go dead. He is mak' wan beeg hole in hees ches'."</p> + +<p>"Some enemy, some robber frightened <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>away because the Henderson man +woke up, probably," suggested Ned Trent.</p> + +<p>The half-breed laid his hand impressively on the other's arm and +leaned forward until his bright black eyes were within a foot of the +other's face.</p> + +<p>"W'en dose Injun is stan' heem in de moonlight, Dick Henderson is see +hees face. Dick Henderson is know all dose Injun. He is tole me dat +Injun is not Peace Reever Injun. Dick Henderson is say dose Injun is +Ojibway Injun—Ojibway Injun two t'ousand mile wes'—on Peace Reever! +Dat's curi's!"</p> + +<p>"I was tell you nodder story—" went on Achille, after a moment.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," interrupted the Trader. "I believe you."</p> + +<p>"Maybee," said Achille cheerfully, "you stan' some show—not +moche—eef he sen' you out pr<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>et' queeck. Does small <i>perdrix</i> is +yonge, an' dose duck. Maybee you is catch dem, maybee you is keel dem +wit' bow an' arrow. Dat's not beeg chance. You mus' geev dose +<i>coureurs de bois</i> de sleep w'en you arrive. <i>Voilà</i>, I geev you my +knife!"</p> + +<p>He glanced rapidly to right and left, then slipped a small object into +the stranger's hand.</p> + +<p>"<i>Bâ</i>, I t'ink does ole man is know dat. I t'ink he kip you here till +tam w'en dose <i>perdrix</i> and duck is all grow up beeg' nuff so he can +fly."</p> + +<p>"I'm not watched," said the young man in eager tones; "I'll slip away +to-night."</p> + +<p>"Dat no good," objected Picard. "W'at you do? S'pose you do dat, dose +<i>coureurs</i> keel you <i>toute suite</i>. Dey is have good excuse, an' you is +have nothing to mak' de fight. You sleep away, and dose ole ma<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>n is +sen' out plaintee Injun. Dey is fine you sure. <i>Bâ</i>, eef he <i>sen'</i> you +out, den he sen' onlee two Injun. Maybee you fight dem; I don' know. +<i>Non, mon ami</i>, eef you is wan' get away w'en dose ole man he don' +know eet, you mus' have dose carabine. Den you is have wan leetle +chance. <i>Bâ</i>, eef you is not have heem dose carabine, you mus' need +dose leetle grub he geev you, and not plaintee Injun follow you, onlee +two."</p> + +<p>"And I cannot get the rifle."</p> + +<p>"An' dose ole man is don' sen' you out till eet is too late for mak' +de grub on de fores'. Dat's w'at I t'ink. Dat ees not fonny for you."</p> + +<p>Ned Trent's eyes were almost black with thought. Suddenly he threw his +head up.</p> + +<p>"I'll make him send me out now," he asserted confidently. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How you mak' eet him?"</p> + +<p>"I'll talk turkey to him till he's so mad he can't see straight. Then +maybe he'll send me out right away."</p> + +<p>"How you mak' eet him so mad?" inquired Picard, with mild curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Never you mind—I'll do it."</p> + +<p>"<i>Bâ oui</i>," ruminated Picard, "He is get mad pret' queeck. I t'ink +p'raps dat plan he go all right. You was get heem mad plaintee easy. +Den maybee he is sen' you out <i>toute suite</i>—maybee he is shoot you."</p> + +<p>"I'll take the chances—my friend."</p> + +<p>"<i>Bâ oui</i>," shrugged Achille Picard, "eet is wan chance."</p> + +<p>He commenced to roll another cigarette.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Five" id="Chapter_Five"></a><i>Chapter Five</i></h2> + + +<p>Having sat buried in thought for a full five minutes after the traders +of the winter posts had left him, Galen Albret thrust back his chair +and walked into a room, long, low, and heavily raftered, strikingly +unlike the Council Room. Its floor was overlaid with dark rugs; a +piano of ancient model filled one corner; pictures and books broke the +wall; the lamps and the windows were shaded; a woman's work-basket and +a tea-set occupied a large table. Only a certain barbaric profusion of +furs, the huge fireplace, and the rough rafters of the ceiling +differentiated the place from the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>drawing-room of a well-to-do family +anywhere.</p> + +<p>Galen Albret sank heavily into a chair and struck a bell. A tall, +slightly stooped English servant, with correct side whiskers and +incompetent, watery blue eyes, answered. To him said the Factor:</p> + +<p>"I wish to see Miss Albret."</p> + +<p>A moment later Virginia entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Let us have some tea, O-mi-mi," requested her father.</p> + +<p>The girl moved gently about, preparing and lighting the lamp, +measuring the tea, her fair head bowed gracefully over her task, her +dark eyes pensive and but half following what she did. Finally with a +certain air of decision she seated herself on the arm of a chair.</p> + +<p>"Father," said she.</p> + +<p>"Yes." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A stranger came to-day with Louis Placide of Kettle Portage."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"He was treated strangely by our people, and he treated them strangely +in return. Why is that?"</p> + +<p>"Who can tell?"</p> + +<p>"What is his station? Is he a common trader? He does not look it."</p> + +<p>"He is a man of intelligence and daring."</p> + +<p>"Then why is he not our guest?"</p> + +<p>Galen Albret did not answer. After a moment's pause he asked again for +his tea. The girl turned away impatiently. Here was a puzzle, neither +the <i>voyageurs</i>, nor Wishkobun her nurse, nor her father would explain +to her. The first had grinned stupidly; the second had drawn her shawl +across her face, the third asked for tea!</p> + +<p>She handed her father the cup, hesitated, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>then ventured to inquire +whether she was forbidden to greet the stranger should the occasion +arise.</p> + +<p>"He is a gentleman," replied her father.</p> + +<p>She sipped her tea thoughtfully, her imagination stirring. Again her +recollection lingered over the clear bronze lines of the stranger's +face. Something vaguely familiar seemed to touch her consciousness +with ghostly fingers. She closed her eyes and tried to clutch them. At +once they were withdrawn. And then again, when her attention wandered, +they stole back, plucking appealingly at the hem of her recollections.</p> + +<p>The room was heavy-curtained, deep embrasured, for the house, beneath +its clap-boards, was of logs. Although out of doors the clear spring +sunshine still flooded the valley of the Moose; within, the shadows +had begun with velvet fingers to extinguish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>the brighter lights. +Virginia threw herself back on a chair in the corner.</p> + +<p>"Virginia," said Galen Albret, suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, father."</p> + +<p>"You are no longer a child, but a woman. Would you like to go to +Quebec?"</p> + +<p>She did not answer him at once, but pondered beneath close-knit brows.</p> + +<p>"Do you wish me to go, father?" she asked at length.</p> + +<p>"You are eighteen. It is time you saw the world, time you learned the +ways of other people. But the journey is hard. I may not see you again +for some years. You go among strangers."</p> + +<p>He fell silent again. Motionless he had been, except for the mumbling +of his lips beneath his beard.</p> + +<p>"It shall be just as you wish," he added a moment later. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>At once a conflict arose in the girl's mind between her restless +dreams and her affections. But beneath all the glitter of the question +there was really nothing to take her out. Here was her father, here +were the things she loved; yonder was novelty—and loneliness.</p> + +<p>Her existence at Conjuror's House was perhaps a little complex, but it +was familiar. She knew the people, and she took a daily and unwearying +delight in the kindness and simplicity of their bearing toward +herself. Each detail of life came to her in the round of habit, +wearing the garment of accustomed use. But of the world she knew +nothing except what she had been able to body forth from her reading, +and that had merely given her imagination something tangible with +which to feed her self-distrust. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Must I decide at once?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"If you go this year, it must be with the Abítibi <i>brigade</i>. You have +until then."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, father," said the girl, sweetly.</p> + +<p>The shadows stole their surroundings one by one, until only the bright +silver of the tea-service, and the glitter of polished wood, and the +square of the open door remained. Galen Albret became an inert dark +mass. Virginia's gray was lost in that of the twilight.</p> + +<p>Time passed. The clock ticked on. Faintly sounds penetrated from the +kitchen, and still more faintly from out of doors. Then the rectangle +of the doorway was darkened by a man peering uncertainly. The man wore +his hat, from which slanted a slender heron's plume; his shoulders +were square; his thighs slim and graceful. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>Against the light, one +caught the outline of the sash's tassel and the fringe of his +leggings.</p> + +<p>"Are you there, Galen Albret?" he challenged.</p> + +<p>The spell of twilight mystery broke. It seemed as if suddenly the air +had become surcharged with the vitality of opposition.</p> + +<p>"What then?" countered the Factor's heavy, deliberate tones.</p> + +<p>"True, I see you now," rejoined the visitor carelessly, as he flung +himself across the arm of a chair and swung one foot. "I do not doubt +you are convinced by this time of my intention."</p> + +<p>"My recollection does not tell me what messenger I sent to ask this +interview."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/image_069_1.jpg"><img src="images/image_069.jpg" width="600" height="377" alt=""What you want doesn't concern me in the least." Scene from the play." title=""What you want doesn't concern me in the least." Scene from the play." /></a><br /> + +<span class="caption">"What you want doesn't concern me in the +least." + +<br /> +Scene from the play.</span></div> +<p class="center">Click on the Image for larger Image.</p> + +<p>"Correct," laughed the young man a little hardly. "You <i>didn't</i> ask +it. I attended to that myself. What <i>you</i> want doesn't concern me in +the least. What do you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>suppose I care what, or what not, any of this +crew wants? I'm master of my own ideas, anyway, thank God. If you +don't like what I do, you can always stop me." In the tone of his +voice was a distinct challenge. Galen Albret, it seemed, chose to +pass it by.</p> + +<p>"True," he replied sombrely, after a barely perceptible pause to mark +his tacit displeasure. "It is your hour. Say on."</p> + +<p>"I should like to know the date at which I take <i>la Longue Traverse</i>".</p> + +<p>"You persist in that nonsense?"</p> + +<p>"Call my departure whatever you want to—I have the name for it. When +do I leave?"</p> + +<p>"I have not decided."</p> + +<p>"And in the meantime?"</p> + +<p>"Do as you please." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah, thanks for this generosity," cried the young man, in a tone of +declamatory sarcasm so artificial as fairly to scent the elocutionary. +"To do as I please—here—now there's a blessed privilege! I may walk +around where I want to, talk to such as have a good word for me, +punish those who have not! But do I err in concluding that the state +of your game law is such that it would be useless to reclaim my rifle +from the engaging Placide?"</p> + +<p>"You have a fine instinct," approved the Factor.</p> + +<p>"It is one of my valued possessions," rejoined the young man, +insolently. He struck a match, and by its light selected a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"I do not myself use tobacco in this room," suggested the older +speaker.</p> + +<p>"I am curious to learn the limits of your <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>forbearance," replied the +younger, proceeding to smoke.</p> + +<p>He threw back his head and regarded his opponent with an open +challenge, daring him to become angry. The match went out.</p> + +<p>Virginia, who had listened in growing anger and astonishment, unable +longer to refrain from defending the dignity of her usually autocratic +father, although he seemed little disposed to defend himself, now +intervened from her dark corner on the divan.</p> + +<p>"Is the journey then so long, sir," she asked composedly, "that it at +once inspires such anticipations—and such bitterness?"</p> + +<p>In an instant the man was on his feet, hat in hand, and the cigarette +had described a fiery curve into the empty hearth.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, sincerely," he cried, "I did not know you were +here!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p><p>"You might better apologize to my father," replied Virginia.</p> + +<p>The young man stepped forward and, without asking permission, lighted +one of the tall lamps.</p> + +<p>"The lady of the guns!" he marvelled softly to himself.</p> + +<p>He moved across the room, looking down on her inscrutably, while she +looked up at him in composed expectation of an apology—and Galen +Albret sat motionless, in the shadow of his great arm-chair. But after +a moment her calm attention broke down. Something there was about this +man that stirred her emotions—whether of curiosity, pity, +indignation, or a slight defensive fear she was not introspective +enough to care to inquire. And yet the sensation was not altogether +unpleasant, and, as at the guns that afternoon, a certain portion of +he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>r consciousness remained in sympathy with whatever it was of +mysterious attraction he represented to her. In him she felt the +dominant, as a wild creature of the woods instinctively senses the +master and drops its eyes. Resentment did not leave her, but over it +spread a film of confusion that robbed it of its potency. In him, in +his mood, in his words, in his manner, was something that called out +in direct appeal the more primitive instincts hitherto dormant beneath +her sense of maidenhood, so that even at this vexed moment of +conscious opposition, her heart was ranging itself on his side. +Overpoweringly the feeling swept her that she was not acting in +accordance with her sense of fitness. She knew she should strike, but +was unable to give due force to the blow. In the confusion of such a +discovery, her eyelids fluttered and fell. And he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>saw, and, +understanding his power, dropped swiftly beside her on the broad +divan.</p> + +<p>"You must pardon me, mademoiselle," he begun, his voice sinking to a +depth of rich music singularly caressing. "To you I may seem to have +small excuses, but when a man is vouchsafed a glimpse of heaven only +to be cast out the next instant into hell, he is not always particular +in the choice of words."</p> + +<p>All the time his eyes sought hers, which avoided the challenge, and +the strong masculine charm of magnetism which he possessed in such +vital abundance overwhelmed her unaccustomed consciousness. Galen +Albret shifted uneasily, and shot a glance in their direction. The +stranger, perceiving this, lowered his voice in register and tone, and +went on with almost exaggerated earnestness. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Surely you can forgive me, a desperate man, almost anything?"</p> + +<p>"I do not understand," said Virginia, with a palpable effort.</p> + +<p>Ned Trent leaned forward until his eager face was almost at her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," he urged; "I cannot ask you to try. But suppose, +mademoiselle, you were in my case. Suppose your eyes—like mine—have +rested on nothing but a howling wilderness for dear heaven knows how +long; you come at last in sight of real houses, real grass, real +dooryard gardens just ready to blossom in the spring, real food, real +beds, real books, real men with whom to exchange the sensible word, +and something more, mademoiselle—a woman such as one dreams of in the +long forest nights under the stars. And you know that while others, +the lucky ones, may stay to enjoy it all, you, the unfortunate, are +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>condemned to leave it at any moment for <i>la Longue Traverse</i>. Would +not you, too, be bitter, mademoiselle? Would not you too mock and +sneer? Think, mademoiselle, I have not even the little satisfaction of +rousing men's anger. I can insult them as I will, but they turn aside +in pity, saying one to another: 'Let us pleasure him in this, poor +fellow, for he is about to take <i>la Longue Traverse</i>.' That is why +your father accepts calmly from me what he would not from another."</p> + +<p>Virginia sat bolt upright on the divan, her hands clasped in her lap, +her wonderful black eyes looking straight out before her, trying to +avoid her companion's insistent gaze. His attention was fixed on her +mobile and changing countenance, but he marked with evident +satisfaction Galen Albret's growing uneasiness. This was evidenced +only by a shifting of the fee<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>t, a tapping of the fingers, a turning +of the shaggy head—in such a man slight tokens are significant. The +silence deepened with the shadows drawing about the single lamp, while +Virginia attempted to maintain a breathing advantage above the flood +of strange emotions which the personality of this man had swept down +upon her.</p> + +<p>"It does not seem—" objected the girl in bewilderment, "I do not +know—men are often out in this country for years at a time. Long +journeys are not unknown among us. We are used to undertaking them."</p> + +<p>"But not <i>la Longue Traverse</i>," insisted the young man, sombrely.</p> + +<p>"<i>La Longue Traverse</i>," she repeated in sweet perplexity.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes called the Journey of Death," he explained. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<p>She turned to look him in the eyes, a vague expression of puzzled fear +on her face.</p> + +<p>"She has never heard of it," said Ned Trent to himself, and aloud: +"Men who undertake it leave comfort behind. They embrace hunger and +weariness, cold and disease. At the last they embrace death, and are +glad of his coming."</p> + +<p>Something in his tone compelled belief; something in his face told her +that he was a man by whom the inevitable hardships of winter and +summer travel, fearful as they are, would be lightly endured. She +shuddered.</p> + +<p>"This dreadful thing is necessary?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Alas, yes."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand—"</p> + +<p>"In the North few of us understand," <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>agreed the young man with a hint +of bitterness seeping through his voice. "The mighty order, and so we +obey. But that is beside the point. I have not told you these things +to harrow you; I have tried to excuse myself for my actions. Does it +touch you a little? Am I forgiven?"</p> + +<p>"I do not understand how such things can be," she objected in some +confusion, "why such journeys must exist. My mind cannot comprehend +your explanations."</p> + +<p>The stranger leaned forward abruptly, his eyes blazing with the +magnetic personality of the man.</p> + +<p>"But your heart?" he breathed.</p> + +<p>It was the moment. "My heart—" she repeated, as though bewildered by +the intensity of his eyes, "my heart—ah—yes!"</p> + +<p>Immediately the blood rushed over her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> face and throat in a torrent. +She snatched her eyes away, and cowered back in the corner, going red +and white by turns, now angry, now frightened, now bewildered, until +his gaze, half masterful, half pleading, again conquered hers. Galen +Albret had ceased tapping his chair. In the dim light he sat, staring +straight before him, massive, inert, grim.</p> + +<p>"I believe you—" she murmured hurriedly at last. "I pity you!"</p> + +<p>She rose. Quick as light he barred her passage.</p> + +<p>"Don't! don't!" she pleaded. "I must go—you have shaken me—I—I do +not understand myself—"</p> + +<p>"I must see you again," he whispered eagerly. "To-night—by the guns."</p> + +<p>"No, no!"</p> + +<p>"To-night," he insisted. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>She raised her eyes to his, this time naked of defence, so that the +man saw down through their depths into her very soul.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she begged, quivering, "let me pass. Don't you see—I'm going to +cry!"</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Six" id="Chapter_Six"></a><i>Chapter Six</i></h2> + + +<p>For a moment Ned Trent stared through the darkness into which Virginia +had disappeared. Then he turned a troubled face to the task he had set +himself, for the unexpectedly pathetic results of his fantastic +attempt had shaken him. Twice he half turned as though to follow her. +Then shaking his shoulders he bent his attention to the old man in the +shadow of the chair.</p> + +<p>He was given no opportunity for further speech, however, for at the +sound of the closing door Galen Albret's impassivity had fallen from +him. He sprang to his feet. The whole aspect of the man suddenly +became electr<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>ic, terrible. His eyes blazed; his heavy brows drew +spasmodically toward each other; his jaws worked, twisting his beard +into strange contortions; his massive frame straightened formidably; +and his voice rumbled from the arch of his deep chest in a torrent of +passionate sound.</p> + +<p>"By God, young man!" he thundered, "you go too far! Take heed! I will +not stand this! Do not you presume to make love to my daughter before +my eyes!"</p> + +<p>And Ned Trent, just within the dusky circle of lamplight, where the +bold, sneering lines of his face stood out in relief against the +twilight of the room, threw back his head and laughed. It was a clear +laugh, but low, and in it were all the devils of triumph, and of +insolence. Where the studied insult of words had failed, this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>single +cachinnation succeeded. The Trader saw his opponent's eyes narrow. For +a moment he thought the Factor was about to spring on him.</p> + +<p>Then, with an effort that blackened his face with blood, Galen Albret +controlled himself, and fell to striking the call-bell violently and +repeatedly with the palm of his hand. After a moment Matthews, the +English servant, came running in. To him the Factor was at first +physically unable to utter a syllable. Then finally he managed to +ejaculate the name of his bowsman with such violence of gesture that +the frightened servant comprehended by sheer force of terror and ran +out again in search of Me-en-gan.</p> + +<p>This supreme effort seemed to clear the way for speech. Galen Albret +began to address his opponent hoarsely in quick, disjointed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>sentences, a gasp for breath between each.</p> + +<p>"You revived an old legend—<i>la Longue Traverse</i>—the myth. It shall +be real—to—you—I will make it so. By God, you shall not defy +me—"</p> + +<p>Ned Trent smiled. "You do not deceive me," he rejoined, coolly.</p> + +<p>"Silence!" cried the Factor. "Silence!—You shall speak no more!—You +have said enough—"</p> + +<p>Me-en-gan glided into the room. Galen Albret at once addressed him in +the Ojibway language, gaining control of himself as he went on.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me well," he commanded. "You shall make a count of all +rifles in this place—at once. Let no one furnish this man with food +or arms. You know the story of <i>la Longue Traverse</i>. This <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>man shall +take it. So inform my people. I, the Factor, decree it so. Prepare all +things at once—understand, <i>at once</i>!"</p> + +<p>Ned Trent waited to hear no more, but sauntered from the room +whistling gayly a boatman's song. His point was gained.</p> + +<p>Outside, the long Northern twilight with its beautiful shadows of +crimson was descending from the upper regions of the east. A light +wind breathed up-river from the bay. The Free Trader drew his lungs +full of the evening air.</p> + +<p>"Just the same, I think she will come," said he to himself. "<i>La +Longue Traverse</i>, even at once, is a pretty slim chance. But this +second string to my bow is better. I believe I'll get the rifle—if +she comes!"</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Seven" id="Chapter_Seven"></a><i>Chapter Seven</i></h2> + + +<p>Virginia ran quickly up the narrow stairs to her own room, where she +threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillows.</p> + +<p>As she had said, she was very much shaken. And, too, she was afraid.</p> + +<p>She could not understand. Heretofore she had moved among the men +around her, pure, lofty, serene. Now at one blow all this crumbled. +The stranger had outraged her finer feelings. He had insulted her +father in her very presence;—for this she was angry. He had insulted +herself;—for this she was afraid. He had demanded that she meet him +again; but this—at least in the m<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>anner he had suggested—should not +happen. And yet she confessed to herself a delicious wonder as to what +he would do next, and a vague desire to see him again in order to find +out. That she could not successfully combat this feeling made her +angry at herself. And so in mingled fear, pride, anger, and longing +she remained until Wishkobun, the Indian woman, glided in to dress her +for the dinner whose formality she and her father consistently +maintained. She fell to talking the soft Ojibway dialect, and in the +conversation forgot some of her emotion and regained some of her calm.</p> + +<p>Her surface thoughts, at least, were compelled for the moment to +occupy themselves with other things. The Indian woman had to tell her +of the silver fox brought in by Mu-hi-ken, an Indian of her own tribe; +of the retort Achille Picard had made <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>when MacLane had taunted him; +of the forest fire that had declared itself far to the east, and of +the theories to account for it where no campers had been. Yet +underneath the rambling chatter Virginia was aware of something new in +her consciousness, something delicious but as yet vague. In the gayest +moment of her half-jesting, half-affectionate gossip with the Indian +woman, she felt its uplift catching her breath from beneath, so that +for the tiniest instant she would pause as though in readiness for +some message which nevertheless delayed. A fresh delight in the +present moment held her, a fresh anticipation of the immediate future, +though both delight and anticipation were based on something without +her knowledge. That would come later.</p> + +<p>The sound of rapid footsteps echoed across t<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>he lower hall, a whistle +ran into an air, sung gayly, with spirit:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"J'ai perdu ma maîtresse,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Sans l'avoir merité,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Pour un bouquet de roses</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Que je lui refusai.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Li ya longtemps que je t'aime,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She fell abruptly silent, and spoke no more until she descended to the +council-room where the table was now spread for dinner.</p> + +<p>Two silver candlesticks lit the place. The men were waiting for her +when she entered, and at once took their seats in the worn, rude +chairs. White linen and glittering silver adorned the service, Galen +Albret occupied one end of the table, Virginia the other. On either +side were Doctor and Mrs. Cockburn; McDonald, the Chief Trader; +Richardson, the clerk, and Crane, the missionary of the Church of +England. Matthews<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> served with rigid precision in the order of +importance, first the Factor, then Virginia, then the doctor, his +wife, McDonald, the clerk, and Crane in due order. On entering a room +the same precedence would have held good. Thus these people, six +hundred miles as the crow flies from the nearest settlement, +maintained their shadowy hold on civilization.</p> + +<p>The glass was fine, the silver massive, the linen dainty, Matthews +waited faultlessly: but overhead hung the rough timbers of the +wilderness post, across the river faintly could be heard the howling +of wolves. The fare was rice, curry, salt pork, potatoes, and beans; +for at this season the game was poor, and the fish hardly yet running +with regularity.</p> + +<p>Throughout the meal Virginia sat in a singular abstraction. No +consc<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>ious thoughts took shape in her mind, but nevertheless she +seemed to herself to be occupied in considering weighty matters. When +directly addressed, she answered sweetly. Much of the time she studied +her father's face. She found it old. Those lines were already evident +which, when first noted, bring a stab of surprised pain to the breast +of a child—the droop of the mouth, the wrinkling of the temples, the +patient weariness of the eyes. Virginia's own eyes filled with tears. +The subjective passive state into which a newly born but not yet +recognized love had cast her, inclined her to gentleness. She accepted +facts as they came to her. For the moment she forgot the mere +happenings of the day, and lived only in the resulting mood of them +all. The new-comer inspired her no longer with anger nor sorrow, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>attraction nor fear. Her active emotions in abeyance, she floated +dreamily on the clouds of a new estate.</p> + +<p>This very aloofness of spirit disinclined her for the company of the +others after the meal was finished. The Factor closeted himself with +Richardson. The doctor, lighting a cheroot, took his way across to his +infirmary. McDonald, Crane, and Mrs. Cockburn entered the drawing-room +and seated themselves near the piano. Virginia hesitated, then threw a +shawl over her head and stepped out on the broad veranda.</p> + +<p>At once the vast, splendid beauty of the Northern night broke over her +soul. Straight before her gleamed and flashed and ebbed and palpitated +the aurora. One moment its long arms shot beyond the zenith; the next +it had broken and rippled back like a brook of light to its arch over +the Great <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>Bear. Never for an instant was it still. Its restlessness +stole away the quiet of the evening; but left it magnificent.</p> + +<p>In comparison with this coruscating dome of the infinite the earth had +shrunken to a narrow black band of velvet, in which was nothing +distinguishable until suddenly the sky-line broke in calm silhouettes +of spruce and firs. And always the mighty River of the Moose, +gleaming, jewelled, barbaric in its reflections, slipped by to the +sea.</p> + +<p>So rapid and bewildering was the motion of these two great powers—the +river and the sky—that the imagination could not believe in silence. +It was as though the earth were full of shoutings and of tumults. And +yet in reality the night was as still as a tropical evening. The +wolves and the sledge-dogs answered each other undisturbed; the +beautiful songs of the white-throats <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>stole from the forest as +divinely instinct as ever with the spirit of peace.</p> + +<p>Virginia leaned against the railing and looked upon it all. Her heart +was big with emotions, many of which she could not name; her eyes were +full of tears. Something had changed in her since yesterday, but she +did not know what it was. The faint wise stars, the pale moon just +sinking, the gentle south breeze could have told her, for they are +old, old in the world's affairs. Occasionally a flash more than +ordinarily brilliant would glint one of the bronze guns beneath the +flag-staff. Then Virginia's heart would glint too. She imagined the +reflection startled her.</p> + +<p>She stretched her arms out to the night, embracing its glories, +sighing in sympathy with its meaning, which she did not know. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>She +felt the desire of restlessness; yet she could not bear to go. But no +thought of the stranger touched her, for you see as yet she did not +understand.</p> + +<p>Then, quite naturally, she heard his voice in the darkness close to +her knee. It seemed inevitable that he should be there; part of the +restless, glorious night, part of her mood. She gave no start of +surprise, but half closed her eyes and leaned her fair head against a +pillar of the veranda. He sang in a sweet undertone an old <i>chanson</i> +of voyage.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Par derrièr' chez mon père,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Vole, mon cœur, vole!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Par derrièr' chez mon père</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Li-ya-t-un pommier doux."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Ah lady, lady mine," broke in the voice softly, "the night too is +sweet, soft as thine eyes. Will you not greet me?" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>The girl made no sign. After a moment the song went on.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Trois filles d'un prince,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Vole, mon cœur, vole!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Trois filles d'un prince</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Sont endormies dessous."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Will not the princess leave her sisters of dreams?" whispered the +voice, fantastically. "Will she not come?"</p> + +<p>Virginia shivered, and half-opened her eyes, but did not stir. It +seemed that the darkness sighed, then became musical again.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"La plus jeun' se réveille,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Vole, mon cœur, vole!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>La plus jeun' se réveille</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>—Ma Sœur, voilà le jour!"</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The song broke this time without a word of pleading. The girl opened +her eyes wide and stared breathlessly straight before her at the +singer. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"—Non, ce n'est qu'une étoile,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Vole, mon cœur, vole!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Non, ce n'est qu'une étoile</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Qu'éclaire nos amours!"</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The last word rolled out through its passionate throat tones and died +into silence.</p> + +<p>"Come!" repeated the man again, this time almost in the accents of +command.</p> + +<p>She turned slowly and went to him, her eyes childlike and frightened, +her lips wide, her face pale. When she stood face to face with him she +swayed and almost fell.</p> + +<p>"What do you want with me?" she faltered, with a little sob.</p> + +<p>The man looked at her keenly, laughed, and exclaimed in an every-day, +matter-of-fact voice:</p> + +<p>"Why, I really believe my song frightened you. It is only a boating +song. Come, let us go and sit on the gun-carriages and talk." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh!" she gasped, a trifle hysterically. "Don't do that again! Please +don't. I do not understand it! You must not!"</p> + +<p>He laughed again, but with a note of tenderness in his voice, and took +her hand to lead her away, humming in an undertone the last couplet of +his song:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Non, ce n'est qu'une étoile,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Qu'éclaire nos amours!"</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>Chapter Eight</i></h2> + + +<p>Virginia went with this man passively—to an appointment which, but an +hour ago, she had promised herself she would not keep. Her inmost soul +was stirred, just as before. Then it had been few words, now it was a +little common song. But the strange power of the man held her close, +so she realized that for the moment at least she would do as he +desired. In the amazement and consternation of this thought she found +time to offer up a little prayer: "Dear God, make him kind to me."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/image_103_1.jpg"><img src="images/image_103.jpg" width="600" height="370" alt="The half-breed seeks to avenge her father. Scene from the play." title="The half-breed seeks to avenge her father. Scene from the play." /></a><br /> + +<span class="caption">The half-breed seeks to avenge her father. + +<br /> +Scene from the play.</span></div> +<p class="center">Click on the Image for larger Image.</p> + +<p>They leaned against the old bronze guns, facing the river. He pulled +her shawl about her, masterfully yet with gent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>leness, and then, as +though it was the most natural thing in the world, he drew her to him +until she rested against his shoulder. And she remained there, +trembling, in suspense, glancing at him quickly, in birdlike, pleading +glances, as though praying him to be kind. He took no notice after +that, so the act seemed less like a caress than a matter of course. He +began to talk, half-humorously, and little by little, as he went on, +she forgot her fears, even her feeling of strangeness, and fell +completely under the spell of his power. </p> + +<p>"My name is Ned Trent," he told her, "and I am from Quebec. I am a +woods runner. I have journeyed far. I have been to the uttermost ends +of the North, even up beyond the Hills of Silence."</p> + +<p>And then, in his gay, half-m<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>ocking, yet musical voice he touched +lightly on vast and distant things. He talked of the great +Saskatchewan, of Peace River, and the delta of the Mackenzie, of the +winter journeys beyond Great Bear Lake into the Land of the Little +Sticks, and the half-mythical lake of Yamba Tooh. He spoke of life +with the Dog Ribs and Yellow Knives, where the snow falls in +midsummer. Before her eyes slowly spread, like a panorama, the whole +extent of the great North, with its fierce, hardy men, its dreadful +journeys by canoe and sledge, its frozen barrens, its mighty forests, +its solemn charm. All at once this post of Conjuror's House, a month +in the wilderness as it was, seemed very small and tame and civilized +for the simple reason that Death did not always compass it about.</p> + +<p>"It was very cold then," said Ned <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>Trent, "and very hard. <i>Le grand +frête</i><a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> of winter had come. At night we had no other shelter than +our blankets, and we could not keep a fire because the spruce burned +too fast and threw too many coals. For a long time we shivered, curled +up on our snow-shoes; then fell heavily asleep, so that even the dogs +fighting over us did not awaken us. Two or three times in the night we +boiled tea. We had to thaw our moccasins each morning by thrusting +them inside our shirts. Even the Indians were shivering and saying, +'Ed-sa, yazzi ed-sa'—'it is cold, very cold.' And when we came to Rae +it was not much better. A roaring fire in the fireplace could not +prevent the ink from freezing on the pen. This went on for five +months."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> <i>Froid</i>—cold.</p></div> + +<p>Thus he spoke, as one who says common things. He said little of +himself, but as he went <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>on in short, curt sentences the picture grew +more distinct, and to Virginia the man became more and more prominent +in it. She saw the dying and exhausted dogs, the frost-rimed, weary +men; she heard the quick <i>crunch, crunch, crunch</i> of the snow-shoes +hurrying ahead to break the trail; she felt the cruel torture of the +<i>mal de raquette</i>, the shrivelling bite of the frost, the pain of snow +blindness, the hunger that yet could not stomach the frozen fish nor +the hairy, black caribou meat. One thing she could not conceive—the +indomitable spirit of the men. She glanced timidly up at her +companion's face.</p> + +<p>"The Company is a cruel master," she sighed at last, standing upright, +then leaning against the carriage of the gun. He let her go without +protest, almost without thought, it seemed. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But not mine," said he.</p> + +<p>She exclaimed, in astonishment, "Are you not of the Company?"</p> + +<p>"I am no man's man but my own," he answered, simply.</p> + +<p>"Then why do you stay in this dreadful North?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Because I love it. It is my life. I want to go where no man has set +foot before me; I want to stand alone under the sky; I want to show +myself that nothing is too big for me—no difficulty, no +hardship—nothing!"</p> + +<p>"Why did you come here, then? Here at least are forests so that you +can keep warm. This is not so dreadful as the Coppermine, and the +country of the Yellow Knives. Did you come here to try <i>la Longue +Traverse</i> of which you spoke to-day?" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>He fell suddenly sombre, biting in reflection at his lip.</p> + +<p>"No—yes—why not?" he said, at length.</p> + +<p>"I know you will come out of it safely," said she; "I feel it. You are +brave and used to travel. Won't you tell me about it?"</p> + +<p>He did not reply. After a moment she looked up in surprise. His brows +were knit in reflection. He turned to her again, his eyes glowing into +hers. Once more the fascination of the man grew big, overwhelmed her. +She felt her heart flutter, her consciousness swim, her old terror +returning.</p> + +<p>"Listen," said he. "I may come to you to-morrow and ask you to choose +between your divine pity and what you might think to be your duty. +Then I will tell you all there is to know of <i>la Longue Traverse</i>. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>Now it is a secret of the Company. You are a Factor's daughter; you +know what that means." He dropped his head. "Ah, I am tired—tired +with it all!" he cried, in a voice strangely unhappy. "But yesterday I +played the game with all my old spirit; to-day the zest is gone! I no +longer care." He felt the pressure of her hand. "Are you just a little +sorry for me?" he asked. "Sorry for a weakness you do not understand? +You must think me a fool."</p> + +<p>"I know you are unhappy," replied Virginia, gently. "I am truly sorry +for that."</p> + +<p>"Are you? Are you, indeed?" he cried. "Unhappiness is worth such pity +as yours." He brooded for a moment, then threw his hands out with what +might have been a gesture of desperate indifference. Suddenly his mood +changed in the whimsical, bewildering fashion of the man. "Ah, a star +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>shoots!" he exclaimed, gayly. "That means a kiss!"</p> + +<p>Still laughing, he attempted to draw her to him. Angry, mortified, +outraged, she fought herself free and leaped to her feet.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried, in insulted anger.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried, in a red shame.</p> + +<p>"<i>Oh!</i>" she cried, in sorrow.</p> + +<p>Her calm broke. She burst into the violent sobbing of a child, and +turned and ran hurriedly to the factory.</p> + +<p>Ned Trent stared after her a minute from beneath scowling brows. He +stamped his moccasined foot impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Like a rat in a trap!" he jeered at himself. "Like a rat in a trap, +Ned Trent! The fates are drawing around you close. You need just one +little thing, and you cannot get it. Bribery is useless! Force is +useless! Craft is useless! This aftern<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>oon I thought I saw another +way. What I could get no other way I might get from this little girl. +She is only a child. I believe I could touch her pity—ah, Ned Trent, +Ned Trent, can you ever forget her frightened, white face begging you +to be kind?" He paced back and forth between the two bronze guns with +long, straight strides, like a panther in a cage. "Her aid is mine for +the asking—but she makes it impossible to ask! I could not do it. +Better try <i>la Longue Traverse</i> than take advantage of her pity—she'd +surely get into trouble. What wonderful eyes she has. She thinks I am +a brute—how she sobbed, as though her little heart had broken. Well, +it was the only way to destroy her interest in me. I had to do it. Now +she will despise me and forget me. It is better that she should think +me a brute than that I should be always haunted by <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>those pleading +eyes." The door of the distant church house opened and closed. He +smiled bitterly. "To be sure, I haven't tried that," he acknowledged. +"Their teachings are singularly apropos to my case—mercy, justice, +humanity—yes, and love of man. I'll try it. I'll call for help on the +love of man, since I cannot on the love of woman. The love of +woman—ah—yes."</p> + +<p>He set his feet reflectively toward the chapel.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Nine" id="Chapter_Nine"></a><i>Chapter Nine</i></h2> + + +<p>After a moment he pushed open the door without ceremony, and entered. +He bent his brows, studying the Reverend Archibald Crane, while the +latter, looking up startled, turned pink.</p> + +<p>He was a pink little man, anyway, the Reverend Archibald Crane, and +why, in the inscrutability of its wisdom, the Church had sent him out +to influence strong, grim men, the Church in its inscrutable wisdom +only knows. He wore at the moment a cambric English boating-hat to +protect his bald head from the draught, a full clerical costume as far +as the trousers, which were of lavender, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>and a pair of beaded +moccasins faced with red. His weak little face was pink, and two tufts +of side-whiskers were nearly so. A heavy gold-headed cane stood at his +hand. When he heard the door open he exclaimed, before raising his +head, "My, these first flies of the season do bother me so!" and then +looked startled.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening," greeted Ned Trent, stopping squarely in the centre of +the room.</p> + +<p>The clergyman spread his arms along the desk's edge in embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening," he returned, reluctantly. "Is there anything I can do +for you?" The visitor puzzled him, but was dressed as a <i>voyageur</i>. +The Reverend Archibald immediately resolved to treat him as such.</p> + +<p>"I wish to introduce myself as Ned Trent," went on the Free Trader +with composure, "and I have broken in on your privacy this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>evening +only because I need your ministrations cruelly."</p> + +<p>"I am rejoiced that in your difficulties you turn to the consolations +of the Church," replied the other in the cordial tones of the man who +is always ready. "Pray be seated. He whose soul thirsteth need offer +no apology to the keeper of the spiritual fountains."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," replied the stranger dryly, seating himself as suggested, +"only in this case my wants are temporal rather than spiritual. They, +however, seem to me fully within the province of the Church."</p> + +<p>"The Church attempts within limits to aid those who are materially in +want," assured Crane, with official dignity. "Our resources are small, +but to the truly deserving we are always ready to give in the spirit +of true giving." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am rejoiced to hear it," returned the young man, grimly; "you will +then have no difficulty in getting me so small a matter as a rifle and +about forty or fifty rounds of ammunition."</p> + +<p>A pause of astonishment ensued.</p> + +<p>"Why, really," ejaculated Crane, "I fail to see how that falls within +my jurisdiction in the slightest. You should see our Trader, Mr. +McDonald, in regard to all such things. Your request addressed to me +becomes extraordinary."</p> + +<p>"Not so much so when you know who I am. I told you my name is Ned +Trent, but I neglected to inform you further that I am a captured Free +Trader, condemned to <i>la Longue Traverse</i>, and that I have in vain +tried to procure elsewhere the means of escape."</p> + +<p>Then the clergyman understood. The full <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>significance of the +intruder's presence flashed over his little pink face in a trouble of +uneasiness. The probable consequences of such a bit of charity as his +visitor proposed almost turned him sick with excitement.</p> + +<p>"You expect to have them of me!" he cried, getting his voice at last.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," assured his interlocutor, crossing his legs comfortably. +"Don't you see the logic of events forces me to think so? What other +course is open to you? I am in this country entirely within my legal +rights as a citizen of the Canadian Commonwealth. Unjustly, I am +seized by a stronger power and condemned unjustly to death. Surely you +admit the injustice?"</p> + +<p>"Well, of course you know—the customs of the country—it is hardly an +abstract question—" stammered Crane, still without grasp on the logic +of his argument. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But as an abstract question the injustice is plain," resumed the Free +Trader, imperturbably. "And against plain injustice it strikes me +there is but one course open to an acknowledged institution of +abstract—and concrete—morality. The Church must set itself against +immorality, and you, as the Church's representative, must get me a +rifle."</p> + +<p>"You forget one thing," rejoined Crane.</p> + +<p>"What is that?"</p> + +<p>"Such an aid would be a direct act of rebellion against authority on +my part, which would be severely punished. Of course," he asserted, +with conscious righteousness, "I should not consider that for a moment +as far as my own personal safety is concerned. But my cause would +suffer. You forget, sir, that we are doing here a great and good work. +We have in our weekly congregational singing over forty regular +attendants <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>from the aborigines; next year I hope to build a church at +Whale River, thus reaching the benighted inhabitants of that distant +region. All of this is a vital matter in the service of our Lord and +Saviour Jesus Christ. You suggest that I endanger all this in order to +right a single instance of injustice. Of course we are told to love +one another, but—" he paused.</p> + +<p>"You have to compromise," finished the stranger for him.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said the Reverend Crane. "Thank you; it is exactly that. In +order to accomplish what little good the Lord vouchsafes to our poor +efforts, we are obliged to overlook many things. Otherwise we should +not be allowed to stay here at all."</p> + +<p>"That is most interesting," agreed Ned Trent, with a rather biting +calm. "But is it not a little calculating? My slight familiarity <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>with +religious history and literature has always led me to believe that you +are taught to embrace the right at any cost whatsoever—that, if you +give yourself unreservedly to justice, the Lord will sustain you +through all trials. I think at a pinch I could even quote a text to +that effect."</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," objected the Reverend Archibald in gentle protest, +"you evidently do not understand the situation at all. I feel I should +be most untrue to my trust if I were to endanger in any way the +life-long labor of my predecessor. You must be able to see that for +yourself. It would destroy utterly my usefulness here. They'd send me +away. I couldn't go on with the work. I have to think what is for the +best."</p> + +<p>"There is some justice in what you say," admitted the stranger, "if +you persist in looking on this thing as a business proposition. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>But +it seems to my confessedly untrained mind that you missed the point. +'Trust in the Lord,' saith the prophet. In fact, certain rivals in +your own field hold the doctrine you expound, and you consider them +wrong. 'To do evil that good may come' I seem to recognize as a tenet +of the Church of the Jesuits."</p> + +<p>"I protest. I really do protest," objected the clergyman, scandalized.</p> + +<p>"All right," agreed Ned Trent, with good-natured contempt. "That is +not the point. Do you refuse?"</p> + +<p>"Can't you see?" begged the other. "I'm sure you are reasonable enough +to take the case on its broader side."</p> + +<p>"You refuse?" insisted Ned Trent.</p> + +<p>"It is not always easy to walk straightly before the Lord, and my way +is not always clear before me, but—" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You refuse!" cried Ned Trent, rising impatiently.</p> + +<p>The Reverend Archibald Crane looked at his catechiser with a trace of +alarm.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry; I'm afraid I must," he apologized.</p> + +<p>The stranger advanced until he touched the desk on the other side of +which the Reverend Archibald was sitting, where he stood for some +moments looking down on his opponent with an almost amused expression +of contempt.</p> + +<p>"You are an interesting little beast," he drawled, "and I've seen a +lot of your kind in my time. Here you preach every Sunday, to whomever +will listen to you, certain cut-and-dried doctrines you don't believe +practically in the least. Here for the first time you have had a +chance to apply them literally, and you hide behind a lot of words. +And while you're about it you may <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>as well hear what I have to say +about your kind. I've had a pretty wide experience in the North, and I +know what I'm talking about. Your work here among the Indians is rot, +and every sensible man knows it. You coop them up in your log-built +houses, you force on them clothes to which they are unaccustomed until +they die of consumption. Under your little tin-steepled imitation of +civilization, for which they are not fitted, they learn to beg, to +steal, to lie. I have travelled far, but I have yet to discover what +your kind are allowed on earth for. You are narrow-minded, bigoted, +intolerant, and without a scrap of real humanity to ornament your mock +religion. When you find you can't meddle with other people's affairs +enough at home you get sent where you can get right in the +business—and earn salvation <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>for doing it. I don't know just why I +should say this to you, but it sort of does me good to tell it. Once I +heard one of your kind tell a sorrowing mother that her little child +had gone to hell because it had died before he—the smug +hypocrite—had sprinkled its little body with a handful of water. +There's humanity for you! It may interest you to know that I thrashed +that man then and there. You are all alike; I know the breed. When +there is found a real man among you—and there are such—he is so +different in everything, including his religion, as to be really of +another race. I came here without the slightest expectation of getting +what I asked for. As I said before, I know your breed, and I know just +how well your two-thousand-year-old doctrines apply to practical +cases. There is another way, but I hated to use it. You'd take it +quick enough, I dare <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>say. Here is where I should receive aid. I may +have to get it where I should not. You a man of God! Why, you poor +little insect, I can't even get angry at you!"</p> + +<p>He stood for a moment looking at the confused and troubled clergyman. +Then he went out.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Ten" id="Chapter_Ten"></a><i>Chapter Ten</i></h2> + + +<p>Almost immediately the door opened again.</p> + +<p>"You, Miss Albret!" cried Crane.</p> + +<p>"What does this mean?" demanded Virginia, imperiously. "Who is that +man? In what danger does he stand? What does he want a rifle for? I +insist on knowing."</p> + +<p>She stood straight and tall in the low room, her eyes flashing, her +head thrown back in the assured power of command.</p> + +<p>The Reverend Crane tried to temporize, hesitating over his words. She +cut him short.</p> + +<p>"That is nonsense. Everybody seems to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>know but myself. I am no child. +I came to consult you—my spiritual adviser—in regard to this very +case. Accidentally I overheard enough to justify me in knowing more."</p> + +<p>The clergyman murmured something about the Company's secrets. Again +she cut him short.</p> + +<p>"Company's secrets! Since when has the Company confided in Andrew +Laviolette, in Wishkobun, in <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Possibly you would better ask your father," said Crane, with some +return of dignity.</p> + +<p>"It does not suit me to do so," replied she. "I insist that you answer +my questions. Who is this man?"</p> + +<p>"Ned Trent, he says."</p> + +<p>"I will not be put off in this way. <i>Who</i> is he? <i>What</i> is he?" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He is a Free Trader," replied the Reverend Crane with the air of a +man who throws down a bomb and is afraid of the consequences. To his +astonishment the bomb did not explode.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" she asked, simply.</p> + +<p>The man's jaw dropped and his eyes opened in astonishment. Here was a +density of ignorance in regard to the ordinary affairs of the Post +which could by no stretch of the imagination be ascribed to chance. If +Virginia Albret did not know the meaning of the term, and all the +tragic consequences it entailed, there could be but one conclusion: +Galen Albret had not intended that she should know. She had purposely +been left in ignorance, and a politic man would hesitate long before +daring to enlighten her. The Reverend Crane, in sheer terror, became +sullen. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A Free Trader is a man who trades in opposition to the Company," said +he, cautiously.</p> + +<p>"What great danger is he in?" the girl persisted with her catechism.</p> + +<p>"None that I am aware of," replied Crane, suavely. "He is a very +ill-balanced and excitable young man."</p> + +<p>Virginia's quick instincts recognized again the same barrier which, +with the people, with Wishkobun, with her father, had shut her so +effectively from the truth. Her power of femininity and position had +to give way before the man's fear for himself and of Galen Albret's +unexpressed wish. She asked a few more questions, received a few more +evasive replies, and left the little clergyman to recover as best he +might from a very trying evening.</p> + +<p>Out in the night the girl hesitated in two minds as to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>what to do +next. She was excited, and resolved to finish the affair, but she +could not bring her courage to the point of questioning her father. +That the stranger was in antagonism to the Company, that he believed +himself to be in danger on that account, that he wanted succor, she +saw clearly enough. But the whole affair was vague, disquieting. She +wanted to see it plainly, know its reasons. And beneath her excitement +she recognized, with a catch of the breath, that she was afraid for +him. She had not time now to ask herself what it might mean; she only +realized the presence of the fact.</p> + +<p>She turned instinctively in the direction of Doctor Cockburn's house. +Mrs. Cockburn was a plain little middle-aged woman with parted gray +hair and sweet, faded eyes. In the life of the place she was a +nonentity, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>her tastes were homely and commonplace, but Virginia +liked her.</p> + +<p>She proved to be at home, the Doctor still at his dispensary, which +was well. Virginia entered a small log room, passed through it +immediately to a larger papered room, and sat down in a musty red +arm-chair. The building was one of the old régime, which meant that +its floor was of wide and rather uneven painted boards, its ceiling +low, its windows small, and its general lines of an irregular and +sagging rule-of-thumb tendency. The white wall-paper evidently +concealed squared logs. The present inhabitants, being possessed at +once of rather homely tastes and limited facilities, had +over-furnished the place with an infinitude of little things—little +rugs, little tables, little knit doilies, little racks of photographs, +little china ornaments, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>little spidery what-nots, and shelves for +books.</p> + +<p>Virginia seated herself, and went directly to the topic.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Cockburn," she said, "you have always been very good to me, +always, ever since I came here as a little girl. I have not always +appreciated it, I am afraid, but I am in great trouble, and I want +your help."</p> + +<p>"What is it, dearie," asked the older woman, softly. "Of course I will +do anything I can."</p> + +<p>"I want you to tell me what all this mystery is—about the man who +to-day arrived from Kettle Portage, I mean. I have asked everybody: I +have tried by all means in my power to get somebody somewhere to tell +me. It is maddening—and I have a special reason for wanting to know."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> +<p>The older woman was already gazing at her through troubled eyes.</p> + +<p>"It is a shame and a mistake to keep you so in ignorance!" she broke +out, "and I have said so always. There are many things you have the +right to know, although some of them would make you very unhappy—as +they do all of us poor women who have to live in this land of dread. +But in this I cannot, dearie."</p> + +<p>Virginia felt again the impalpable shadow of truth escaping her. +Baffled, confused, she began to lose her self-control. A dozen times +to-day she had reached after this thing, and always her fingers had +closed on empty air. She felt that she could not stand the suspense of +bewilderment a single instant longer. The tears overflowed and rolled +down her cheeks unheeded.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Cockburn!" she cried. "Please! You do not know how dreadful +thi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>s thing has come to be to me just because it is made so +mysterious. Why has it been kept from me alone? It must have something +to do with me, and I can't stand this mystery, this double-dealing, +another minute. If you won't tell me, nobody will, and I shall go on +imagining—Oh, please have pity on me! I feel the shadow of a tragedy. +It comes out in everything, in everybody to whom I turn. I see it in +Wishkobun's avoidance of me, in my father's silence, in Mr. Crane's +confusion, in your reluctance—yes, in the very reckless insolence of +Mr. Trent himself!"—her voice broke slightly. "If you will not tell +me, I shall go direct to my father," she ended, with more firmness.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cockburn examined the girl's flushed face through kindly but +shrewd and experienced <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>eyes. Then, with a caressing little murmur of +pity, she arose and seated herself on the arm of the red chair, taking +the girl's hand in hers.</p> + +<p>"I believe you mean it," she said, "and I am going to tell you myself. +There is much sorrow in it for you; but if you go to your father it +will only make it worse. I am doing what I should not. It is shameful +that such things happen in this nineteenth century, but happen they +do. The long and short of it is that the Factors of this Post tolerate +no competition in the country, and when a man enters it for the +purpose of trading with the Indians, he is stopped and sent out."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing very bad about that," said Virginia, relieved.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, not in that. But they say his arms and supplies are +taken from him, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>and he is given a bare handful of provisions. He has +to make a quick journey, and to starve at that. Once when I was +visiting out at the front, not many years ago, I saw one of those +men—they called him Jo Bagneau—and his condition was +pitiable—pitiable!"</p> + +<p>"But hardships can be endured. A man can escape."</p> + +<p>"Yes," almost whispered Mrs. Cockburn, looking about her +apprehensively, "but the story goes that there are some cases—when +the man is an old offender, or especially determined, or so prominent +as to be able to interest the law—no one breathes of these cases +here—but—<i>he never gets out</i>!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" cried Virginia, harshly.</p> + +<p>"One dares not mean such things; but they are so. The hardships of the +wilderness <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>are many, the dangers terrible—what more natural than +that a man should die of them in the forest? It is no one's fault."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" repeated Virginia; "for God's sake speak plainly!"</p> + +<p>"I dare not speak plainer than I know; and no one ever really <i>knows</i> +anything about it—excepting the Indian who fires the shot, or who +watches the man until he dies of starvation," whispered Mrs. Cockburn.</p> + +<p>"But—but!" cried the girl, grasping her companion's arm. "My father! +Does <i>he</i> give such orders? <i>He?</i>"</p> + +<p>"No orders are given. The thing is understood. Certain runners, whose +turn it is, shadow the Free Trader. Your father is not responsible; no +one is responsible. It is the policy."</p> + +<p>"And this man—"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p><p>"It has gone about that he is to take <i>la Longue Traverse</i>. He knows +it himself."</p> + +<p>"It is barbaric, horrible; it is murder."</p> + +<p>"My dear, it is all that; but this is the country of dread. You have +known the soft, bright side always—the picturesque men, the laugh, +the song. If you had seen as much of the harshness of wilderness life +as a doctor's wife must you would know that when the storms of their +great passions rage it is well to sit quiet at your prayers."</p> + +<p>The girl's eyes were wide-fixed, staring at this first reality of +life. A thousand new thoughts jostled for recognition. Suddenly her +world had been swept from beneath her. The ancient patriarchal, kindly +rule had passed away, and in its place she was forced to see a grim +iron bond of death laid over her domain. And her father—no longer the +grave, kindly old man—had become <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>the ruthless tyrant. All these +bright, laughing <i>voyageurs</i>, playmates of her childhood, were in +reality executioners of a savage blood-law. She could not adjust +herself to it.</p> + +<p>She got to her feet with an effort.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Cockburn," she said, in a low voice. "I—I do not +quite understand. But I must go now. I must—I must see that my +father's room is ready for him," she finished, with the proud +defensive instinct of the woman who has been deeply touched. "You know +I always do that myself."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, dearie," replied the older woman, understanding well the +girl's desire to shelter behind the commonplace. She leaned forward +and kissed her. "God keep and guide you. I hope I have done right." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," cried Virginia, with unexpected fire. "Yes, you did just right! +I ought to have been told long ago! They've kept me a perfect child to +whom everything has been bright and care-free and simple. I—I feel +that until this moment I have lacked my real womanhood!"</p> + +<p>She bowed her head and passed through the log room into the outer air.</p> + +<p>Her father, <i>her</i> father, had willed this man's death, and so he was +to die! That explained many things—the young fellow's insolence, his +care-free recklessness, his passionate denunciation of the Reverend +Crane and the Reverend Crane's religion. He wanted one little +thing—the gift of a rifle wherewith to assure his subsistence should +he escape into the forest—and of all those at Conjuror's House to +whom he might turn for help, some were too hard to give it to him, and +some too afraid! He shou<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>ld have it! She, the daughter of her father, +would see to it that in this one instance her father's sin should +fail! Suddenly, in the white heat of her emotion, she realized why +these matters stirred her so profoundly, and she stopped short and +gasped with the shock of it. It did not matter that she thwarted her +father's will; it would not matter if she should be discovered and +punished as only these harsh characters could punish. For the brave +bearing, the brave jest, the jaunty facing of death, the tender, low +voice, the gay song, the aurora-lit moment of his summons—all these +had at last their triumph. She knew that she loved him; and that if he +were to die, she would surely die too.</p> + +<p>And, oh, it must be that he loved her! Had she not heard it in the +music of his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>voice from the first?—the passion of his tones? the +dreamy, lyrical swing of his talk by the old bronze guns?</p> + +<p>Then she staggered sharply, and choked back a cry. For out of her +recollections leaped two sentences of his—the first careless, +imprudent, unforgivable; the second pregnant with meaning. "<i>Ah, a +star shoots!</i>" he had said. "<i>That means a kiss!</i>" and again, to the +clergyman, "<i>I came here without the slightest expectation of getting +what I asked for. There is another way, but I hate to use it.</i>"</p> + +<p>She was the other way! She saw it plainly. He did not love her, but he +saw that he could fascinate her, and he hoped to use her as an aid to +his escape. She threw her head up proudly.</p> + +<p>Then a man swung into view across the Northern Lights. Virginia +pressed back <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>against the palings among the bushes until he should +have passed. It was Ned Trent, returning from a walk to the end of the +island. He was alone and unfollowed, and the girl realized with a +sudden grip at the heart that the wilderness itself was sufficient +safe-guard against a man unarmed and unequipped. It was not considered +worth while even to watch him. Should he escape, unarmed as he was, +sure death by starvation awaited him in the land of dread.</p> + +<p>As he entered the settlement he struck up an air.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Le fils du roi s'en va chassant,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>En roulant ma boule,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Avec son grand fusil d'argent</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Almost immediately a window slid back, and an exasperated voice cried +out: <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>Hólà</i> dere, w'at one time dam fool you for mak' de sing so late!"</p> + +<p>The voice went on imperturbably:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Avec son grand fusil d'argent,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>En roulant ma boule,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Visa le noir, tua le blanc,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant</i>."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"<i>Sacrè!</i>" shrieked the habitant.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Johnny Frenchman!" called Ned Trent, in his acid tones. "That +you? Be more polite, or I'll stand here and sing you the whole of it."</p> + +<p>The window slammed shut.</p> + +<p>Ned Trent took up his walk again toward some designated sleeping-place +of his own, his song dying into the distance.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Visa le noir, tua le blanc,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>En roulant ma boule,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>O fils du roi, tu es mêchant!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> +<p>"And he can <i>sing</i>!" cried the girl bitterly to herself. "At such a +time! Oh, my dear God, help me, help me! I am the unhappiest girl +alive!"</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> +<h2><i>Chapter Eleven</i></h2> + + +<p>Virginia did not sleep at all that night. She was reaching toward her +new self. Heretofore she had ruled those about her proudly, secure in +her power and influence. Now she saw that all along her influence had +in not one jot exceeded that of the winsome girl. She had no real +power at all. They went mercilessly on in the grim way of their +fathers, dealing justice even-handed according to their own crude +conceptions of it, without thought of God or man. She turned hot all +over as she saw herself in this new light—as she saw those about her +indulgently smiling at her airs of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>the mistress of it. It angered +her—though the smile might be good-humored, even affectionate.</p> + +<p>And she shrank into herself with utter loathing when she remembered +Ned Trent. There indeed her woman's pride was hard stricken. She +recalled with burning cheeks how his intense voice had stirred her; +how his wishes had compelled her; she shivered pitifully as she +remembered the warmth of his shoulder touching carelessly her own. If +he had come to her honestly and asked her aid, she would have given +it; but this underhand pretence at love! It was unworthy of him; and +it was certainly most unworthy of her. What must he think of her? How +he must be laughing at her—and hoping that his spell was working, so +that he could get the coveted rifle and the forty cartridges. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I hate him!" she cried to herself, the backs of her long, slender +hands pressed against her eyes. She meant that she loved him, but for +the purposes in hand one would do as well as the other.</p> + +<p>At earliest daylight she was up. Bathing her face and throat in cold +water, and hastily catching her beautiful light hair under a cap, she +slipped down stairs and out past the stockade to the point. There she +seated herself, a heavy shawl about her, and gave herself up to +reflection. She had approached silently, her moccasins giving no +sound. Presently she became aware that someone was there before her. +Looking toward the river she saw on the next level below her a man, +seated on a bowlder, and gazing to the south.</p> + +<p>His very soul was in his eyes. Virginia gasped at the change in him +since last she had seen him. The gay, mocking demeanor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>which had +seemed an essential part of his very flesh and blood had fallen away +from him, leaving a sad and lofty dignity that ennobled his +countenance. The lines of his face were stern, of his mouth pathetic; +his eyes yearned. He stared toward the south with an almost mesmeric +intensity, as though he hoped by sheer longing to materialize a +vision. Tears sprang to the girl's eyes at the subtle pathos of his +attitude.</p> + +<p>He stretched his arms wearily over his head, and sighed deeply and +looked up. His eyes rested on the girl without surprise; the +expression of his features did not change.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," he said, simply. "To-day is my last of plenty. I am up +enjoying it."</p> + +<p>Virginia had anticipated the usual instantaneous transformation of his +manner when he should catch sight of her. Her resentment <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>was +dispelled. In face of the vaster tragedies little considerations gave +way.</p> + +<p>"Do you leave—to-day?" she asked, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow morning, early," he corrected. "To-day I found my +provisions packed and laid at my door. It is a hint I know how to +take."</p> + +<p>"You have everything you need?" asked the girl, with an assumption of +indifference.</p> + +<p>He looked her in the eyes for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Everything," he lied, calmly.</p> + +<p>Virginia perceived that he lied, and her heart stood still with a +sudden hope that perhaps, at this eleventh hour, he might have +repented of his unworthy intentions toward herself. She leaned to him +over the edge of the little rise.</p> + +<p>"Have you a rifle—for <i>la Longue Traverse</i>?" she inquired, with +meaning. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> + +<p>He stared at her a little the harder.</p> + +<p>"Why—why, surely," he replied, in a tone less confident. "Nobody +travels without a rifle in the North."</p> + +<p>She dropped swiftly down the slope and stood face to face with him.</p> + +<p>"Listen," she began, in her superb manner. "I know all there is to +know. You are a Free Trader, and you are to be sent to your death. It +is murder, and it is done by my father." She held her head proudly, +but the notes of her voice were straining. "I knew nothing of this +yesterday. I was a foolish girl who thought all men were good and +just, and that all those whom I knew were noble. My eyes are open now. +I see injustice being done by my own household, and"—tears were +trembling near her lashes, but she blinked them back—"and I am no +longer a foolish girl! You need not try to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>deceive me. You must tell +me what I can do, for I cannot permit so great a wrong to be done by +my father without attempting to set it right." This was not what she +had intended to say, but suddenly the course was clear to her. The +influence of the man had again swept over her, drowning her will, +filling her with the old fear, which was now for the moment turned to +pride by the character of the situation.</p> + +<p>But to her surprise the man was thinking of something else.</p> + +<p>"Who told you?" he demanded, harshly. Then, without waiting for a +reply, "It was that little preacher; I'll have an interview with him!"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" protested the girl. "It was not he. It was a friend. I had +the right to know."</p> + +<p>"You had no right!" he cried, vehemently. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>"You and life should have +nothing to do with each other. There is a look in your eyes that was +not in them yesterday, and the one who put it there is not your +friend." He stood staring at her intently, as one who ponders what is +best to do. Then very quietly he took her hands and drew her to a +place beside him on the bowlder.</p> + +<p>"I am going to tell you something, little girl," said he, "and you +must listen quietly to the end. Perhaps at the last you may see more +clearly than you do now.</p> + +<p>"This old Company of yours has been established for a great many +years. Back in old days, over two centuries ago, it pushed up into +this wilderness to trade for its furs. That you know. And then it +explored ever farther to the west and the north, until its servants +stood on the shores of the Pacific and the stretches of the Arctic +Ocean. And its servants loved it. Endurin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>g immense hardships, cut off +from their kind, outlining dimly with the eye of faith the structure +of a mighty power, they loved it always. Thousands of men were in its +employ, and so loyal were they that its secrets were safe and its +prestige was defended, often to a lonely death. I have known the +Company and its servants for a long time, and if I had leisure I could +instance a hundred examples of devotion and sacrifice beside which +mere patriotism would seem a little thing. Men who had no country +cleaved to her desolate posts, her lakes and rivers and forests; men +who had no home ties felt the tug of her wild life at their hearts; +men who had no God bowed in awe before her power and grandeur. The +Company was a living thing.</p> + +<p>"Rivals attempted her supremacy, and were defeated by the +steadfastness of the men <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>who received her meagre wages and looked to +her as their one ideal. Her explorers were the bravest, her traders +the most enterprising and single-minded, her factors and partners the +most capable and potent in all the world. No country, no leader, no +State ever received half the worship her sons gave her. The fierce +Nor'westers, the traders of Montreal, the Company of the X Y, Astor +himself, had to give way. For, although they were bold or reckless or +crafty or able, they had not the ideal which raises such qualities to +invincibility.</p> + +<p>"And, little girl, nothing is wrong to men who have such an ideal +before them. They see but one thing, and all means are good that help +them to assure that one thing. They front the dangers, they overcome +the hardships, they crush the rivals. Bloody wars have taken place in +these forests, ruthless <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>deeds have been done, but the men who +accomplished them held the deeds good. So for two hundred years, aided +by the charter from the king, they have made good their undisputed +right.</p> + +<p>"Then the railroad entered the west. The charter of monopoly ran out. +Through the Nipissing, the Athabasca, the Edmonton, came the Free +Traders—men who traded independently. These the Company could not +control, so it competed—and to its credit its competition has held +its own. Even far into the Northwest, where the trails are long, the +Free Traders have established their chains of supplies, entering into +rivalry with the Company for a barter it has always considered its +right. The medicine has been bitter, but the servants of the Company +have adjusted themselves to the new conditions, and are holding their +own. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But one region still remains cut off from the outside world by a +broad band of unexplored waste. The life here at Hudson's +Bay—although you may not know it—is exactly the same to-day that it +was two hundred years ago. And here the Company makes its stand for a +monopoly.</p> + +<p>"At first it worked openly. But in the case of Guillaume Sayer, a +daring and pugnacious <i>mètis</i>, it got into trouble with the law. Since +that time it has wrapped itself in secrecy and mystery, carrying on +its affairs behind the screen of five hundred miles of forest. Here it +has still the power; no man can establish himself here, can even +travel here, without its consent, for it controls the food and the +Indians. The Free Trader enters, but he does not stay for long. The +Company's servants are mindful of their old fanatical ideal. Nothing +is ever known, no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>orders are ever given, but something happens, and +the man never ventures again.</p> + +<p>"If he is an ordinary <i>mètis</i> or Canadian, he emerges from the forest +starved, frightened, thankful. If his story is likely to be believed +in high places, he never emerges at all. The dangers of wilderness +travel are many: he succumbs to them. That is the whole story. Nothing +definite is known; no instances can be proved; your father denies the +legend and calls it a myth. The Company claims to be ignorant of it, +perhaps its greater officers really are, but the legend holds so good +that the journey has its name—<i>la Longue Traverse</i>.</p> + +<p>"But remember this, no man is to blame—unless it is he who of +knowledge takes the chances. It is a policy, a growth of centuries, an +idea unchangeable to which the long services of many fierce and loyal +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>men have given substance. A Factor cannot change it. If he did, the +thing would be outside of nature, something not to be understood.</p> + +<p>"I am here. I am to take <i>la Longue Traverse</i>. But no man is to blame. +If the scheme of the thing is wrong, it has been so from the very +beginning, from the time when King Charles set his signature to the +charter of unlimited authority. The history of a thousand men gives +the tradition power, gives it insistence. It is bigger than any one +individual. It is as inevitable as that water should flow down hill."</p> + +<p>He had spoken quietly, but very earnestly, still holding her two +hands, and she had sat looking at him unblinking from eyes behind +which passed many thoughts. When he had finished, a short pause +followed, at the end of which she asked unexpectedly, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Last evening you told me that you might come to me and ask me to +choose between my pity and what I might think to be my duty. What are +you going to ask of me?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I spoke idle words."</p> + +<p>"Last evening I overheard you demand something of Mr. Crane," she +pursued, without commenting on his answer. "When he refused you I +heard you say these words, 'Here is where I should have received aid; +I may have to get it where I should not.' What was the aid you asked +of him? and where else did you expect to get it?"</p> + +<p>"The aid was something impossible to accord, and I did not expect to +get it elsewhere. I said that in order to induce him to help me."</p> + +<p>A wonderful light sprang to the girl's eyes, but still she maintained +her level voice.</p> + +<p>"You asked him for a rifle with which to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>escape. You expected to get +it of me. Deny it if you can."</p> + +<p>Ned Trent looked at her keenly a moment, then dropped his eyes.</p> + +<p>"It is true," said he.</p> + +<p>"And the pity was to give you this weapon; and the duty was my duty to +my father's house."</p> + +<p>"It is true," he repeated, dejectedly.</p> + +<p>"And you lied to me when you said you had a rifle with which to +journey <i>la Longue Traverse</i>."</p> + +<p>"That too is true," he acknowledged.</p> + +<p>When next she spoke her voice was not quite so well controlled.</p> + +<p>"Why did you not ask me, as you intended? Why did you tell me these +lies?"</p> + +<p>The young man hesitated, looked her in the face, turned away, and +murmured,</p> + +<p>"I could not." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why?" persisted the girl. "Why? You must tell me."</p> + +<p>"Because," said Ned Trent—"because it could not be done. Every rifle +in the place is known. Because you would be found out in this, and I +do not know what your punishment might not be."</p> + +<p>"You knew this before?" insisted Virginia, stonily.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then why did you change your mind?"</p> + +<p>"When first I saw you by the gun," began Ned Trent, in a low voice, "I +was a desperate man, clutching at the slightest chance. The thought +crossed my mind then that I might use you. Then later I saw that I had +some influence over you, and I made my plan. But last night—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, last night?" urged Virginia, softly.</p> + +<p>"Last night I paced the island, and I found <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>out many things. One of +them was that I could not."</p> + +<p>"Even though this dreadful journey—"</p> + +<p>"I would rather take my chances."</p> + +<p>Again there was silence between them.</p> + +<p>"It was a good lie," then said Virginia, gently—"a noble lie. And +what you have told me to comfort me about my father has been nobly +said. And I believe you, for I have known the truth about your fate." +He shut his lips grimly. "Why—why did you come?" she cried, +passionately. "Is the trade so good, are your needs then so great, +that you must run these perils?"</p> + +<p>"My needs," he replied. "No; I have enough."</p> + +<p>"Then why?" she insisted.</p> + +<p>"Because that old charter has long since expired, and now this country +is as free for me as for the Company," he explained. "We <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>are in a +civilized century, and no man has a right to tell me where I shall or +shall not go. Does the Company own the Indians and the creatures of +the woods?" Something in the tone of his voice brought her eyes +steadily to his for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" she asked at length.</p> + +<p>He hesitated, looked away, looked back again.</p> + +<p>"No, it is not," he confessed, in a low voice. "It is a thing I do not +speak of. My father was a servant of this Company, a good, true +servant. No man was more honest, more zealous, more loyal."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it," said Virginia, softly.</p> + +<p>"But in some way that he never knew himself he made enemies in high +places. The cowards did not meet him man to man, and so he never knew +who they were. If he had, he would have killed them. But they worked +against him always. He wa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>s given hard posts, inadequate supplies, +scant help, and then he was held to account for what he could not do. +Finally he left the company in disgrace—undeserved disgrace. He +became a Free Trader in the days when to become a Free Trader was +worse than attacking a grizzly with cubs. In three years he was +killed. But when I grew to be a man"—he clenched his teeth—"by God! +how I have <i>prayed</i> to know who did it." He brooded for a moment, then +went on. "Still, I have accomplished something. I have traded in spite +of your factors in many districts. One summer I pushed to the +Coppermine in the teeth of them, and traded with the Yellow Knives for +the robes of the musk-ox. And they knew me and feared my rivalry, +these traders of the Company. No district of the far North but has +felt the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>influence of my bartering. The traders of all +districts—Fort au Liard, Lapierre's House, Fort Rae, Ile à la Crosse, +Portage la Loche, Lac la Biche, Jasper's House, the House of the +Touchwood Hills—all these, and many more, have heard of Ned Trent."</p> + +<p>"Your father—you knew him well?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I remember him—a tall, dark man, with a smile always in his +eyes and a laugh on his lips. I was brought up at a school in Winnipeg +under a priest. Two or three times in the year my father used to +appear for a few days. I remember well the last time I saw him. I was +about thirteen years old. 'You are growing to be a man,' said he; +'next year we will go out on the trail.' I never saw him again."</p> + +<p>"What happened?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he was just killed," replied Ned Trent, bitterly. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> + +<p>The girl laid her hand on his arm with an appealing little gesture.</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry," said she.</p> + +<p>"I have no portrait of him," continued the Free Trader, after an +instant. "No gift from his hands; nothing at all of his but this."</p> + +<p>He showed her an ordinary little silver match-safe such as men use in +the North country.</p> + +<p>"They brought that to me at the last—the Indians who came to tell my +priest the news; and the priest, who was a good man, gave it to me. I +have carried it ever since."</p> + +<p>Virginia took it reverently. To her it had all the largeness that +envelops the symbol of a great passion. After a moment she looked up +in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Why!" she exclaimed, "this has a name carved on it!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But the name is Graehme Stewart."</p> + +<p>"Of course I could not bear my father's name in a country where it was +well known," he explained.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she agreed. Impulsively she raised her face to his, her +eyes shining. "To me all this is very fine," said she.</p> + +<p>He smiled a little sadly. "At least you know why I came."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she repeated, "I know why you came. But you are in trouble."</p> + +<p>"The chances of war."</p> + +<p>"And they have defeated you after all."</p> + +<p>"I shall start on <i>la Longue Traverse</i> singing 'Rouli roulant.' It's a +small defeat, that."</p> + +<p>"Listen," said she, rapidly. "When I was quite a small girl Mr. +McTavish, of Rupert's House, gave me a little rifle. I have never used +it, because I do not care to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>shoot. That rifle has never been +counted, and my father has long since forgotten all about it. You must +take that, and escape to-night. I will let you have it on one +condition—that you give me your solemn promise never to venture into +this country again."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he agreed, without enthusiasm nor surprise.</p> + +<p>She smiled happily at his gloomy face and listless attitude.</p> + +<p>"But I do not want to give up the little rifle entirely," she went on, +with dainty preciosity, watching him closely. "As I said, it was a +present, given to me when I was quite a small girl. You must return it +to me at Quebec, in August. Will you promise to do that?"</p> + +<p>He wheeled on her swift as light, the eagerness flashing back into his +face.</p> + +<p>"You are going to Quebec?" he cried. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My father wishes me to. I have decided to do so. I shall start with +the Abítibi <i>brigade</i> in July."</p> + +<p>He leaped to his feet.</p> + +<p>"I promise!" he exulted, "I promise! To-night, then! Bring the rifle +and the cartridges, and some matches, and a little salt. You must take +me across the river in a canoe, for I want them to guess at where I +strike the woods. I shall cover my trail. And with ten hours' start, +let them catch Ned Trent who can!"</p> + +<p>She laughed happily.</p> + +<p>"To-night, then. At the south of the island there is a trail, and at +the end of the trail a beach—"</p> + +<p>"I know!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"Meet me there as soon after dark as you can do so without danger."</p> + +<p>He threw his hat into the air and caught <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>it, his face boyishly +upturned. Again that something, so vaguely familiar, plucked at her +with its ghostly, appealing fingers. She turned swiftly, and seized +them, and so found herself in possession of a memory out of her +far-off childhood.</p> + +<p>"I know you!" she cried. "I have seen you before this!"</p> + +<p>He bent his puzzled gaze upon her.</p> + +<p>"I was a very little girl," she explained, "and you but a lad. It was +at a party, I think, a great and brilliant party, for I remember many +beautiful women and fine men. You held me up in your arms for people +to see, because I was going on a long journey."</p> + +<p>"I remember, of course I do!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>A bell clanged, turning over and over, calling the Company's men to +their day. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Farewell," she said, hurriedly. "To-night."</p> + +<p>"To-night," he repeated.</p> + +<p>She glided rapidly through the grass, noiseless in her moccasined +feet. And as she went she heard his voice humming soft and low,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Isabeau s'y promène</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Le long de son jardin,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Le long de son jardin,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Sur le bord de l'île,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Le long de son jardin</i>."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"How could he <i>help</i> singing," murmured Virginia, fondly. "Ah, dear +Heaven, but I am the happiest girl alive!"</p> + +<p>Such a difference can one night bring about.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Twelve" id="Chapter_Twelve"></a><i>Chapter Twelve</i></h2> + + +<p>The day rose and flooded the land with its fuller life. All through +the settlement the Post Indians and half-breeds set about their tasks. +Some aided Sarnier with his calking of the bateaux; some worked in the +fields; some mended or constructed in the different shops. At eight +o'clock the bell rang again, and they ate breakfast. Then a group of +seven, armed with muzzle-loading "trade-guns" bound in brass, set out +for the marshes in hopes of geese. For the flight was arriving, and +the Hudson Bay man knows very well the flavor of goose-flesh, smoked, +salted, and barrelled. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now the <i>voyageurs</i> began to stroll into the sun. They were men of +leisure. Picturesque, handsome, careless, debonair, they wandered back +and forth, smoking their cigarettes, exhibiting their finery. Indian +women, wrinkled and careworn, plodded patiently about on various +businesses. Indian girls, full of fun and mischief, drifted here and +there in arm-locked groups of a dozen, smiling, whispering among +themselves, ready to collapse toward a common centre of giggles if +addressed by one of the numerous woods-dandies, Indian men stalked +singly, indifferent, stolid. Indian children of all sizes and degrees +of nakedness darted back and forth, playing strange games. The sound +of many voices rose across the air.</p> + +<p>Once the voices moderated, when McDonald, the Chief Trader, walked +rapidly from the barracks building to the trading store; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>once they +died entirely into a hush of respect, when Galen Albret himself +appeared on the broad veranda of the factory. He stood for a +moment—hulked broad and black against the whitewash—his hands +clasped behind him, gazing abstractedly toward the distant bay. Then +he turned into the house to some mysterious and weighty business of +his own. The hubbub at once broke out again.</p> + +<p>Now about the mouth of the long picketed lane leading to the massive +trading store gathered a silent group, bearing packs. These were +Indians from the more immediate vicinity, desirous of trading their +skins. After a moment McDonald appeared in the doorway, a hundred feet +away, and raised his hand. Two of the savages, and two only, trotted +down the narrow picket lane, their packs on their shoulders. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>McDonald ushered them into a big square room, where the bales were +undone and spread abroad. Deftly, silently the Trader sorted the furs, +placing to one side or the other the "primes," "seconds," and "thirds" +of each species. For a moment he calculated. Then he stepped to a post +whereon hung long strings of pierced wooden counters, worn smooth by +use. Swiftly he told the strings over. To one of the Indians he gave +one with these words:</p> + +<p>"Mu-hi-kun, my brother, here be pelts to the value of two hundred +'beaver.' Behold a string, then, of two hundred 'castors,' and in +addition I give my brother one fathom of tobacco."</p> + +<p>The Indian calculated rapidly, his eye abstracted. He had known +exactly the value of his catch, and what he would receive for it in +"castors," but had hoped for a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>larger "present," by which the premium +on the standard price is measured.</p> + +<p>"Ah hah," he exclaimed, finally, and stepped to one side.</p> + +<p>"Sak-we-su, my brother," went on McDonald, "here be pelts to the value +of three hundred 'beaver.' Behold a string, then, of three hundred +'castors,' and because you have brought so fine a skin of the otter, +behold also a fathom of tobacco and a half sack of flour."</p> + +<p>"Good!" ejaculated the Indian.</p> + +<p>The Trader then led them to stairs, up which they clambered to where +Davis, the Assistant Trader, kept store. There, barred by a heavy +wooden grill from the airy loft filled with bright calicoes, sashes, +pails, guns, blankets, clothes, and other ornamental and useful +things, Sak-we-su and Mu-hi-kun made their choice, trading in the worn +wooden "castors" on the string. So <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>much flour, so much tea, so much +sugar and powder and lead, so much in clothing. Thus were their simple +needs supplied for the year to come. Then the remainder they +squandered on all sorts of useless things—beads, silks, sashes, +bright handkerchiefs, mirrors. And when the last wooden "castor" was +in they went down stairs and out the picket lane, carrying their +lighter purchases, but leaving the larger as "debt," to be called for +when needed. Two of their companions mounted the stairs as they +descended; and two more passed them in the narrow picket lane. So the +trade went on.</p> + +<p>At once Sak-we-su and Mu-hi-kun were surrounded. In detail they told +what they had done. Then in greater detail their friends told what +<i>they</i> would have done, until after five minutes of bewildering advice +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>the disconsolate pair would have been only too glad to have exchanged +everything—if that had been allowed.</p> + +<p>Now the bell rang again. It was "smoke time." Everyone quit work for a +half-hour. The sun climbed higher in the heavens. The laughing crews +of idlers sprawled in the warmth, gambling, telling stories, singing. +Then one might have heard all the picturesque songs of the Far +North—"A la claire Fontaine"; "Ma Boule Roulant"; "Par derrièr' +chez-mon Père"; "Isabeau s'y promène"; "P'tite Jeanneton"; "Luron, +Lurette"; "Chante, Rossignol, chante"; the ever-popular "Malbrouck"; +"C'est la belle Françoise"; "Alouette"; or the beautiful and tender +"La Violette Dandine." They had good voices, these <i>voyageurs</i>, with +the French artistic instinct, and it was fine to hear them. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + +<p>At noon the squaws set out to gather canoe gum on the mainland. They +sat huddled in the bottom of their old and leaky canoe, reaching far +over the sides to dip their paddles, irregularly placed, silent, +mysterious. They did not paddle with the unison of the men, but each +jabbed a little short stroke as the time suited her, so that always +some paddles were rising and some falling. Into the distance thus they +flapped like wounded birds; then rounded a bend, and were gone.</p> + +<p>The sun swung over and down the slope. Dinner time had passed; "smoke +time" had come again. Squaws brought the first white-fish of the +season to the kitchen door of the factory, and Matthews raised the +hand of horror at the price they asked. Finally he bought six of about +three pounds each, giving in exchange tea to the approximate value of +twelve cents. The Indian <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>women went away, secretly pleased over their +bargain.</p> + +<p>Down by the Indian camp suddenly broke the roar of a dog-fight. Two of +the sledge <i>giddés</i> had come to teeth, and the friends of both were +assisting the cause. The idlers went to see, laughing, shouting, +running impromptu races. They sat on their haunches and cheered +ironically, and made small bets, and encouraged the frantic old squaw +hags who, at imminent risk, were trying to disintegrate the snarling, +rolling mass. Over in the high log stockade wherein the Company's +sledge animals were confined, other wolf-dogs howled mournfully, +desolated at missing the fun.</p> + +<p>And always the sun swung lower and lower toward the west, until +finally the long northern twilight fell, and the girl in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>little +white bedroom at the factory bathed her face and whispered for the +hundredth time to her beating heart:</p> + +<p>"Night has come!"</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Thirteen" id="Chapter_Thirteen"></a><i>Chapter Thirteen</i></h2> + + +<p>That evening at dinner Virginia studied her father's face again. She +saw the square settled line of the jaw under the beard, the unwavering +frown of the heavy eyebrows, the unblinking purpose of the cavernous, +mysterious eyes. Never had she felt herself very close to this silent, +inscrutable man, even in his moments of more affectionate expansion. +Now a gulf divided them.</p> + +<p>And yet, strangely enough, she experienced no revulsion, no horror, no +recoil even. He had merely become more aloof, more incomprehensible; +his purposes vaster, less susceptible to the grasp of such as she. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>There may have been some basis for this feeling, or it may have been +merely the reflex glow of a joy that made all other things seem +insignificant.</p> + +<p>As soon as might be after the meal Virginia slipped away, carrying the +rifle, the cartridges, the matches, and the salt. She was cruelly +frightened.</p> + +<p>The night was providentially dark. No aurora threw its splendor across +the dome, and only a few rare stars peeped between the light cirrus +clouds. Virginia left behind her the buildings of the Post, she passed +in safety the tin-steepled chapel and the church house; there remained +only the Indian camp between her and the woods trail. At once the dogs +began to bark and howl, the fierce <i>giddés</i> lifting their pointed +noses to the sky. The girl hurried on, swinging far to the right +through the grass. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>To her relief the camp did not respond to the +summons. An old crone or so appeared in the flap of a teepee, eyes +dazzled, to throw uselessly a billet of wood or a volley of Cree abuse +at the animals nearest. In a moment Virginia entered the trail.</p> + +<p>Here was no light at all. She had to proceed warily, feeling with her +moccasins for the beaten pathway, to which she returned with infinite +caution whenever she trod on grass or leaves. Though her sight was +dulled, her hearing was not. A thousand scurrying noises swirled about +her; a multitude of squeaks, whistles, snorts, and whines attested +that she disturbed the forest creatures at their varied businesses; +and underneath spoke an apparent dozen of terrifying voices which were +in reality only the winds and the trees. Virginia knew that these +things were not dangerous—that daylight <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>would show them to be only +deer-mice, hares, weasels, bats, and owls—nevertheless, they had +their effect. For about her was cloying velvet blackness—not the +closed-in blackness of a room, where one feels the embrace of the four +walls, but the blackness of infinite space through which sweep +mysterious currents of air. After a long time she turned sharp to the +left. After a long time more she perceived a faint, opalescent glimmer +in the distance ahead. This she knew to be the river.</p> + +<p>She felt her way onward, still cautiously; then she choked back a +scream and dropped her burden with a clatter to the ground. A dark +figure seemed to have risen mysteriously at her side.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to frighten you," said Ned Trent, in guarded tones. "I +heard you coming. I thought you could hear me." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<p>He picked up the fallen articles, running his hands over them rapidly.</p> + +<p>"Good," he whispered. "I got some moccasins to-day—traded a few +things I had in my pockets for them. I'm fixed."</p> + +<p>"Have you a canoe?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes—here on the beach."</p> + +<p>He preceded her down the few remaining yards of the trail. She +followed, already desolated at the thought of parting, for the +wilderness was very big. The bulk of the man partly blotted out the +lucent spot where the river was—now his arm, now his head, now the +breadth of his shoulders. This silhouette of him was dear to her, the +sound of his movements, the faint stir of his breathing borne to her +on the light breeze. Virginia's tender heart almost overflowed with +longing and fear for him. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<p>They emerged on a little slope and at once pushed the canoe into the +current.</p> + +<p>She accepted the aid of his hand for a moment, and sank to her place, +facing him. He spurned lightly the shore, and so they were adrift.</p> + +<p>In a moment they seemed to be floating on a vast vapor of night, +infinitely remote from anywhere, surrounded by the silence that might +have been before the world's beginning. A faint splash could have been +a muskrat near at hand or a caribou far away. The paddle rose and +dipped with a faint <i>swish, swish</i>, and the steersman's twist of it +was taken up by the man's strong wrist so it did not click against the +gunwale; the bow of the craft divided the waters with a murmuring so +faint as to seem but the echo of a silence. Neither spoke. Virginia +watched him, her heart too full for words; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>watched the full swing of +his strong shoulders, the balance of his body at the hips, the poise +of his head against the dull sky. In a moment more the parting would +have to come. She dreaded it, and yet she looked forward to it with a +hungry joy. Then he would say what she had seen in his eyes; then he +would speak; then she would hear the words that should comfort her in +the days of waiting. For a woman lives much for the present, and the +moment's word is an important thing.</p> + +<p>The man swung his paddle steadily, throwing into the strokes a wanton +exuberance that showed how high his spirits ran. After a time, when +they were well out from the shore, he took a deep breath of delight.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you don't know how happy I am," he exulted, "you don't know! To +be free, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>to play the game, to match my wits against theirs—ah, that +is life!"</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to see you go," she murmured, "very sorry. The days will +be full of terror until I know you are safe."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," he answered; "but I'll get there, and I shall tell it all +to you at Quebec—at Quebec in August. It will be a brave tale! You +will be there—surely?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the girl, softly; "I will be there—surely."</p> + +<p>"Good! Feel the wind on your cheek? It is from the Southland, where I +am going. I have ventured—and I have not lost! It is something not to +lose, when one has ventured against many. They have my goods—but +I—"</p> + +<p>"You?" repeated Virginia, as he hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I don't go back empty-handed!" he cried. Her heart stood still, +then leaped in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>anticipation of what he would say. Her soul hungered +for the words, the words that should not only comfort her, but should +be to her the excuse for many things. She saw him—shadowy, graceful +against the dim gray of the river and sky—lean ever so slightly +toward her. But then he straightened again to his paddle, and +contented himself with repeating merely: "Quebec—in August, then."</p> + +<p>The canoe grated. Ned Trent with an exclamation drove his paddle into +the clay.</p> + +<p>"Lucky the bottom is soft here," said he; "I did not realize we were +so close ashore."</p> + +<p>He drew the canoe up on the shelving beach, helped Virginia out, took +his rifle, and so stood ready to depart.</p> + +<p>"Leave the canoe just where we got in," he advised; "it is around the +point, you see, and that may fool them a little." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are going," she said, dully. Then she came close to him and +looked up at him with her wonderful eyes. "Good-by."</p> + +<p>"Good-by," said he.</p> + +<p>Was this to be all? Had he nothing more to tell her? Was the word to +lack, the word she needed so much? She had given herself unreservedly +into this man's hands, and at parting he had no more to say to her +than "Good-by." Virginia's eyes were tearful, but she would not let +him know that. She felt that her heart would break.</p> + +<p>"Well, good-by," he said again after a moment, which he had spent +inspecting the heavens. "Ah, you don't <i>know</i> what it is to be free! +By to-morrow morning I shall be half-way to the Mattágami. I can +hardly wait to see it, for then I am safe! And then next day—why, +next day they won't know which of a dozen ways I've <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>gone!" He was +full of the future, man-fashion.</p> + +<p>He took her hands, leaned over, and lightly kissed her on the mouth. +Instantly Virginia became wildly and unreasonably angry. She could not +have told herself why, but it was the lack of the word she had wanted +so much, the pain of feeling that he could go like that, the thwarted +bitterness of a longing that had grown stronger than she had even yet +realized.</p> + +<p>Instinctively she leaped into the canoe, sending it spinning from the +bank.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you had no <i>right</i> to do that!" she cried. "I gave you no +<i>right</i>!"</p> + +<p>Then, heedless of what he was saying, she began to paddle straight +from the shore, weeping bitterly, her face upraised, her hair in her +eyes, and the tears coursing unheeded down her cheeks.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Fourteen" id="Chapter_Fourteen"></a><i>Chapter Fourteen</i></h2> + + +<p>Slower and slower her paddle dipped, lower and lower hung her head, +faster and faster flowed her tears. The instinctive recoil, the +passionate resentment had gone. In the bitterness of her spirit she +knew not what she thought except that she would give her soul to see +him again, to feel the touch of his lips once more. For she could not +make herself believe that this would ever come to pass. He had gone +like a phantom, like a dream, and the mists of life had closed about +him, showing no sign. He had vanished, and at once she seemed to know +that the episode was finished. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>The canoe whispered against the soft clay bottom. She had arrived, +though how the crossing had been made she could not have told. Slowly +and sorrowfully she disembarked. Languidly she drew the light craft +beyond the stream's eager fingers. Then, her forces at an end, she +huddled down on the ground and gave herself up to sorrow.</p> + +<p>The life of the forest went on as though she were not there. A big owl +far off said hurriedly his <i>whoo-whoo-whoo</i>, as though he had the +message to deliver and wanted to finish the task. A smaller owl near +at hand cried <i>ko-ko-ko-oh</i> with the intonation of a tin horn. Across +the river a lynx screamed, and was answered at once by the ululations +of wolves. On the island the <i>giddés</i> howled defiance. Then from +above, clear, spiritual, floated the whistle of shore birds arriving +from the south. Close by sounded a rustle <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>of leaves, a sharp squeak; +a tragedy had been consummated, and the fierce little mink stared +malevolently across the body of his victim at the motionless figure on +the beach.</p> + +<p>Virginia, drowned in grief, knew of none of these things. She was +seeing again the clear brown face of the stranger, his curly brown +hair, his steel eyes, and the swing of his graceful figure. Now he +fronted the wondering <i>voyageurs</i>, one foot raised against the bow of +the <i>brigade</i> canoe; now he stood straight and tall against the light +of the sitting-room door; now he emptied the vials of his wrath and +contempt on Archibald Crane's reverend head; now he passed in the +darkness, singing gayly the <i>chanson de canôt</i>. But more fondly she +saw him as he swept his hat to the ground on discovering her by the +guns, as he bent his impassioned <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>eyes on her in the dim lamplight of +their first interview, as he tossed his hat aloft in the air when he +had understood that she would be in Quebec. She hugged the visions to +her, and wept over them softly, for she was now sure she would never +see him again.</p> + +<p>And she heard his voice, now laughing, now scornful, now mocking, now +indignant, now rich and solemn with feeling. He flouted the people, he +turned the shafts of his irony on her father, he scathed the minister, +he laughed at Louis Placide awakened from his sleep, he sang, he told +her of the land of desolation, he pleaded. She could hear him calling +her name—although he had never spoken it—in low, tender tones, +"Virginia! Virginia!" over and over again softly, as though his soul +were crying through his lips. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then somehow, in a manner not to be comprehended, it was borne in on +her consciousness that he was indeed near her, and that he was indeed +calling her name. And at once she made him out, standing dripping on +the beach. A moment later she was in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he cried, in gladness; "you are here!"</p> + +<p>He crushed her hungrily to him, unmindful of his wet clothes, kissing +her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her chin, even the fragrant corner of +her throat exposed by the collar of her gown. She did not struggle.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she murmured, "my dear, my dear! Why did you come back? Why did +you come?"</p> + +<p>"Why did I come?" he repeated, passionately. "Why did I come? Can you +ask that? How could I help but come? You must have known I would come. +Surely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> you must have known! Didn't you hear me calling you when you +paddled away? I came to get the right. I came to get your promise, +your kisses, to hear you say the word, to get you! I thought you +understood. It was all so clear to me. I thought you knew. That was +why I was so glad to go, so eager to get away that I could not even +realize I was parting from you—so I could the sooner reach +Quebec—reach you! Don't you see how I felt? All this present was +merely something to get over, to pass by, to put behind us until I got +to Quebec in August—and you. I looked forward so eagerly to that, I +was so anxious to get away, I was desirous of hastening on to the time +when things could be <i>sure</i>! Don't you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think I do," replied the girl, softly. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And I thought of course you knew. I should not have kissed you +otherwise."</p> + +<p>"How could I know?" she sighed. "You said nothing, and, oh! I <i>wanted</i> +so to hear!"</p> + +<p>And singularly enough he said nothing now, but they stood facing each +other hand in hand, while the great vibrant life they were now +touching so closely filled their hearts and eyes, and left them faint. +So they stood for hours or for seconds, they could not tell, +spirit-hushed, ecstatic. The girl realized that they must part.</p> + +<p>"You must go," she whispered brokenly, at last. "I do not want you to, +but you must."</p> + +<p>She smiled up at him with trembling lips that whispered to her soul +that she must be brave.</p> + +<p>"Now go," she nerved herself to say, releasing her hands. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tell me," he commanded.</p> + +<p>"What?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"What I most want to hear."</p> + +<p>"I can tell you many things," said she, soberly, "but I do not know +which of them you want to hear. Ah, Ned, I can tell you that you have +come into a girl's life to make her very happy and very much afraid. +And that is a solemn thing; is it not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he.</p> + +<p>"And I can tell you that this can never be undone. That is a solemn +thing, too, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he.</p> + +<p>"And that, according as you treat her, this girl will believe or not +believe in the goodness of all men or the badness of all men. Ah, Ned, +a woman's heart is fragile, and mine is in your keeping."</p> + +<p>Her face was raised bravely and steadily to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>his. In the starlight it +shone white and pathetic. And her eyes were two liquid wells of +darkness in the shadow, and her half-parted lips were wistful and +childlike.</p> + +<p>The man caught both her hands, again looking down on her. Then he +answered her, solemnly and humbly.</p> + +<p>"Virginia," said he, "I am setting out on a perilous journey. As I +deal with you, may God deal with me."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is as I like you," she breathed.</p> + +<p>"Good-by," said he.</p> + +<p>She raised her lips of her own accord, and he kissed them reverently.</p> + +<p>"Good-by," she murmured.</p> + +<p>He turned away with an effort and ran down the beach to the canoe.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, good-by," she murmured, under her breath. "Ah, good-by! I +love you! Oh, I do love you!" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><span class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/image_205_1.jpg"><img src="images/image_205.jpg" width="600" height="370" alt=""Go home before they search the woods." Scene from the play." title=""Go home before they search the woods." Scene from the play." /></a></span><br /> +<span class="caption">"Go home before they search the woods." + +<br /> +Scene from the play.</span></div> +<p class="center">Click on the Image for larger Image.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly from the bushes leaped dark figures. The still night was +broken by the sound of a violent scuffle—blows—a fall. She heard Ned +Trent's voice calling to her from the <i>mêlée</i>.</p> + +<p>"Go back at once!" he commanded, clearly and steadily. "You can do no +good. I order you to go home before they search the woods."</p> + +<p>But she crouched in dazed terror, her pupils wide to the dim light. +She saw them bind him, and stand waiting; she saw a canoe glide out +of the darkness; she saw the occupants of the canoe disembark; she saw +them exhibit her little rifle, and heard them explain in Cree, that +they had followed the man swimming. Then she knew that the cause was +lost, and fled as swiftly as she could through the forest.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Fifteen" id="Chapter_Fifteen"></a><i>Chapter Fifteen</i></h2> + + +<p>Galen Albret had chosen to interrogate his recaptured prisoner alone. +He sat again in the arm-chair of the Council Room. The place was +flooded with sun. It touched the high-lights of the time-darkened, +rough furniture, it picked out the brasses, it glorified the +whitewashed walls. In its uncompromising illumination Me-en-gan, the +bowsman, standing straight and tall and silent by the door, studied +his master's face and knew him to be deeply angered.</p> + +<p>For Galen Albret was at this moment called upon to deal with a problem +more subtle than any with which his policy had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>been puzzled in thirty +years. It was bad enough that, in repeated defiance of his authority, +this stranger should persist in his attempt to break the Company's +monopoly; it was bad enough that he had, when captured, borne himself +with so impudent an air of assurance; it was bad enough that he should +have made open love to the Factor's daughter, should have laughed +scornfully in the Factor's very face. But now the case had become +grave. In some mysterious manner he had succeeded in corrupting one of +the Company's servants. Treachery was therefore to be dealt with.</p> + +<p>Some facts Galen Albret had well in hand. Others eluded him +persistently. He had, of course, known promptly enough of the +disappearance of a canoe, and had thereupon dispatched his Indians to +the recapture. The Reverend Archibald Crane had reported that two +figures had been seen in t<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>he act of leaving camp, one by the river, +the other by the Woods Trail. But here the Factor's investigations +encountered a check. The rifle brought in by his Indians, to his +bewilderment, he recognized not at all. His repeated +cross-questionings, when they touched on the question of Ned Trent's +companion, got no farther than the Cree wooden stolidity. No, they had +seen no one, neither presence, sign, nor trail. But Galen Albret, +versed in the psychology of his savage allies, knew they lied. He +suspected them of clan loyalty to one of their own number; and yet +they had never failed him before. Now, his heavy revolver at his right +hand, he interviewed Ned Trent, alone, except for the Indian by the +portal.</p> + +<p>As with the Indians, his cross-examination had borne scant results. +The best of his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>questions but involved him in a maze of baffling +surmises. Gradually his anger had mounted, until now the Indian at the +door knew by the wax-like appearance of the more prominent places on +his deeply carved countenance that he had nearly reached the point of +outbreak.</p> + +<p>Swiftly, like the play of rapiers, the questions and answers broke +across the still room.</p> + +<p>"You had aid," the Factor asserted, positively.</p> + +<p>"You think so?"</p> + +<p>"My Indians say you were alone. But where did you get this rifle?"</p> + +<p>"I stole it."</p> + +<p>"You were alone?"</p> + +<p>Ned Trent paused for a barely appreciable instant. It was not possible +that the Indians had failed to establish the girl's presence, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>and he +feared a trap. Then he caught the expressive eye of Me-en-gan at the +door. Evidently Virginia had friends.</p> + +<p>"I was alone," he repeated, confidently.</p> + +<p>"That is a lie. For though my Indians were deceived, two people were +observed by my clergyman to leave the Post immediately before I sent +out to your capture. One rounded the island in a canoe; the other took +the Woods Trail."</p> + +<p>"Bully for the Church," replied Trent, imperturbably. "Better promote +him to your scouts."</p> + +<p>"Who was that second person?"</p> + +<p>"Do you think I will tell you?"</p> + +<p>"I think I'll find means to make you tell me!" burst out the Factor.</p> + +<p>Ned Trent was silent.</p> + +<p>"If you'll tell me the name of that man I'll let you go free. I'll +give you a permit <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>to trade in the country. It touches my +authority—my discipline. The affair becomes a precedent. It is +vital."</p> + +<p>Ned Trent fixed his eyes on the bay and hummed a little air, half +turning his shoulder to the older man.</p> + +<p>The latter's face blazed with suppressed fury. Twice his hand rested +almost convulsively on the butt of his heavy revolver.</p> + +<p>"Ned Trent," he cried, harshly, at last, "pay attention to me. I've +had enough of this. I swear if you do not tell me what I want to know +within five minutes, I'll hang you to-day!"</p> + +<p>The young man spun on his heel.</p> + +<p>"Hanging!" he cried. "You cannot mean that?"</p> + +<p>The Free Trader measured him up and down, saw that his purpose was +sincere, and turned slowly pale under the bronze of his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>out-of-door +tan. Hanging is always a dreadful death, but in the Far North it +carries an extra stigma of ignominy with it, inasmuch as it is +resorted to only with the basest malefactors. Shooting is the usual +form of execution for all but the most despicable crimes. He turned +away with a little gesture.</p> + +<p>"Well!" cried Albret.</p> + +<p>Ned Trent locked his lips in a purposeful straight line of silence. To +such an outrage there could be nothing to say. The Factor jerked his +watch to the table.</p> + +<p>"I said five minutes," he repeated. "I mean it."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><span class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/image_215_1.jpg"><img src="images/image_215.jpg" width="600" height="369" alt=""Go to the devil!" Scene from the play." title=""Go to the devil!" Scene from the play." /></a></span><br /> +<span class="caption">"Go to the devil!" + +<br /> +Scene from the play.</span></div> +<p class="center">Click on the Image for larger Image.</p> + +<p>The young man leaned against the side of the window, his arms folded, +his back to the room. Outside, the varied life of the Post went +forward under his eyes. He even noted with a surface interest the fact +that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>out across the river a loon was floating, and remarked that +never before had he seen one of those birds so far north. Galen Albret +struck the table with the flat of his hand.</p> + +<p>"Done!" he cried, "This is the last chance I shall give you. Speak at +this instant or accept the consequences!"</p> + +<p>Ned Trent turned sharply, as though breaking a thread that bound him +to the distant prospect beyond the window. For an instant he stared +enigmatically at his opponent. Then in the sweetest tones,</p> + +<p>"Oh, go to the devil!" said he, and began to walk deliberately toward +the older man. </p> + +<p>There lay between the window and the head of the table perhaps a dozen +ordinary steps, for the room was large. The young man took them +slowly, his eyes fixed with burning intensity on the seated figure, +the muscles of his locomotion contracting and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>relaxing with the +smooth, stealthy continuity of a cat. Galen Albret again laid hand on +his revolver.</p> + +<p>"Come no nearer," he commanded.</p> + +<p>Me-en-gan left the door and glided along the wall. But the table +intervened between him and the Free Trader.</p> + +<p>The latter paid no attention to the Factor's command. Galen Albret +suddenly raised his weapon from the table.</p> + +<p>"Stop, or I'll fire!" he cried, sharply.</p> + +<p>"I mean just that," said Ned Trent between his clenched teeth.</p> + +<p>But ten feet separated the two men. Galen Albret levelled the +revolver. Ned Trent, watchful, prepared to spring. Me-en-gan, near the +foot of the table, gathered himself for attack.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly the Free Trader relaxed his muscles, straightened his +back, and returned <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>deliberately to the window. Facing about in +astonishment to discover the reason for this sudden change of +decision, the other two men looked into the face of Virginia Albret, +standing in the doorway of the other room.</p> + +<p>"Father!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"You must go back," said Ned Trent, speaking clearly and collectedly, +in the hope of imposing his will on her obvious excitement. "This is +not an affair in which you should interfere. Galen Albret, send her +away."</p> + +<p>The Factor had turned squarely in his heavy arm-chair to regard the +girl, a frown on his brows.</p> + +<p>"Virginia," he commanded, in deliberate, stern tones of authority, +"leave the room. You have nothing to do with this case, and I do not +desire your interference."</p> + +<p>Virginia stepped bravely beyond the portals, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>and stopped. Her fingers +were nervously interlocked, her lip trembled, in her cheeks the color +came and went, but her eyes met her father's, unfaltering.</p> + +<p>"I have more to do with it than you think," she replied.</p> + +<p>Instantly Ned Trent was at the table. "I really think this has gone +far enough," he interposed. "We have had our interview, and come to a +decision. Miss Albret must not be permitted to exaggerate a slight +sentiment of pity into an interest in my affairs. If she knew that +such a demonstration only made it worse for me I am sure she would say +no more." He looked at her appealingly across the Factor's shoulder.</p> + +<p>Me-en-gan was already holding open the door. "You come," he smiled, +beseechingly.</p> + +<p>But the Factor's suspicions were aroused. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/image_221_1.jpg"><img src="images/image_221.jpg" width="600" height="375" alt=""I have more to do with it than you think!" Scene from the play." title=""I have more to do with it than you think!" Scene from the play." /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"I have more to do with it than you think!" + +<br /> + +Scene from the play.</span></div> +<p class="center">Click on the Image for larger Image.</p> + +<p>"There is something in this," he decided. "I think you may stay, +Virginia."</p> + +<p>"You are right," broke in the young man, desperately. "There is +something in it. Miss Albret knows who gave me the rifle, and she was +about to inform you of his identity. There is no need in subjecting +her to that distasteful ordeal. I am now ready to confess to you. I +beg you will ask her to leave the room."</p> + +<p>Galen Albret, in the midst of these warring intentions, had sunk into +his customary impassive calm. The light had died from his eyes, the +expression from his face, the energy from his body. He sat, an inert +mass, void of initiative, his intelligence open to what might be +brought to his notice.</p> + +<p>"Virginia, this is true?" his heavy, dead voice rumbled through his +beard. "You know who aided this man?" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ned Trent mutely appealed to her; her glance answered his.</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"I did."</p> + +<p>A dead silence fell on the room. Galen Albret's expression and +attitude did not change. Through dull, lifeless eyes, from behind the +heavy mask of his waxen face and white beard, he looked steadily out +upon nothing. Along either arm of the chair stretched his own arms +limp and heavy with inertia. In suspense the other three inmates of +the place watched him, waiting for some change. It did not come. +Finally his lips moved.</p> + +<p>"You?" he muttered, questioningly.</p> + +<p>"I," she repeated.</p> + +<p>Another silence fell.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked at last.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> +<p>"Because it was an unjust thing. Because we could not think of taking +a life in that way, without some reason for it."</p> + +<p>"Why?" he persisted, taking no account of her reply.</p> + +<p>Virginia let her gaze slowly rest on the Free Trader, and her eyes +filled with a world of tenderness and trust.</p> + +<p>"Because I love him," said she, softly.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Sixteen" id="Chapter_Sixteen"></a><i>Chapter Sixteen</i></h2> + + +<p>After an instant Galen Albret turned slowly his massive head and +looked at her. He made no other movement, yet she staggered back as +though she had received a violent blow on the chest.</p> + +<p>"Father!" she gasped.</p> + +<p>Still slowly, gropingly, he arose to his feet, holding tight to the +edge of the table. Behind him unheeded the rough-built arm-chair +crashed to the floor. He stood there upright and motionless, looking +straight before him, his face formidable. At first his speech was +disjointed. The words came in widely punctuated gasps. Then, as the +wave <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>of his emotion rolled back from the poise into which the first +shock of anger had thrown it, it escaped through his lips in a +constantly increasing stream of bitter words.</p> + +<p>"You—you love him," he cried. "You—my daughter! You have been—a +traitor—to me! You have dared—dared—deny that which my whole life +has affirmed! My own flesh and blood—when I thought the nearest +<i>mètis</i> of them all more loyal! You love this man—this man who has +insulted me, mocked me! You have taken his part against me! You have +deliberately placed yourself in the class of those I would hang for +such an offence! If you were not my daughter I would hang you. Hang my +own child!" Suddenly his rage flared. "You little fool! Do you dare +set your judgment against mine? Do you dare interfere where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> I think +well? Do you dare deny my will? By the eternal, I'll show you, old as +you are, that you have still a father! Get to your room! Out of my +sight!" He took two steps forward, and so his eye fell on Ned Trent. +He uttered a scream of rage, and reached for the pistol. Fortunately +the abruptness of his movement when he arose had knocked it to the +floor, so now in the blindness of a red anger he could not see it. He +shrieked out an epithet and jumped forward, his arm drawn to strike. +Ned Trent leaped back into an attitude of defence.</p> + +<p>All three of those present had many times seen Galen Albret possessed +by his noted fits of anger, so striking in contrast to his ordinary +contained passivity. But always, though evidently in a white heat of +rage and given to violent action and decision, he had retained the +clearest command of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> faculties, issuing coherent and dreaded +orders to those about him. Now he had become a raging wild beast. And +for the spectators the sight had all the horror of the unprecedented.</p> + +<p>But the younger man, too, had gradually heated to the point where his +ordinary careless indifference could give off sparks. The interview +had been baffling, the threats real and unjust, the turn of affairs +when Virginia Albret entered the room most exasperating on the side of +the undesirable and unforeseen. In foiled escape, in thwarted +expedient, his emotions had been many times excited, and then eddied +back on themselves. The potentialities of as blind an anger as that of +Galen Albret were in him. It only needed a touch to loose the flood. +The physical threat of a blow supplied that touch. As the two men +faced each other both were ripe for th<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>e extreme of recklessness.</p> + +<p>But while Galen Albret looked to nothing less than murder, the +Free-Trader's individual genius turned to dead defiance and resistance +of will. While Galen Albret's countenance reflected the height of +passion, Trent was as smiling and cool and debonair as though he had +at that moment received from the older man an extraordinary and +particular favor. Only his eyes shot a baleful blue flame, and his +words, calmly enough delivered, showed the extent to which his passion +had cast policy to the winds.</p> + +<p>"Don't go too far! I warn you!" said he.</p> + +<p>As though the words had projected him bodily forward, Galen Albret +sprang to deliver his blow. The Free Trader ducked rapidly, threw his +shoulder across the middle of the older man's body, and by <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>the very +superiority of his position forced his antagonist to give ground. That +the struggle would have then continued body to body there can be no +doubt, had it not been for the fact that the Factor's retrogressive +movement brought his knees sharply against the edge of a chair +standing near the side of the table. Albret lost his balance, wavered, +and finally sat down violently. Ned Trent promptly pinned him by the +shoulder into powerless immobility. Me-en-gan had possessed himself of +the fallen pistol, but beyond keeping a generally wary eye out for +dangerous developments, did not offer to interfere. Your Indian is in +such a crisis a disciplinarian, and he had received no orders.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Ned Trent, acidly, "I think this will stop right here. You +do not cut a very good figure, my dear sir," he laugh<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>ed a little. +"You haven't cut a very good figure from the beginning, you know. You +forbade me to do various things, and I have done them all. I traded +with your Indians. I came and went in your country. Do you think I +have not been here often before I was caught? And you forbade me to +see your daughter again. I saw her that very evening, and the next +morning and the next evening."</p> + +<p>He stood, still holding Galen Albret immovably in the chair, looking +steadily and angrily into the Factor's eyes, driving each word home +with the weight of his contained passion. The girl touched his arm.</p> + +<p>"Hush! oh, hush!" she cried in a panic. "Do not anger him further!"</p> + +<p>"When you forbade me to make love to her," he continued, unheeding, "I +laughed at you." With a sudden, swift motion of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>his left arm he drew +her to him and touched her forehead with his lips. "Look! Your +commands have been rather ridiculous, sir. I seem to have had the +upper hand of you from first to last. Incidentally you have my life. +Oh, welcome! That is small pay and little satisfaction."</p> + +<p>He threw himself from the Factor and stepped back.</p> + +<p>Galen Albret sat still without attempting to renew the struggle. The +enforced few moments of inaction had restored to him his self-control. +He was still deeply angered, but the insanity of rage had left him. +Outwardly he was himself again. Only a rapid heaving of his chest +answered Ned Trent's quick breathing, as the two men glared defiantly +at each other in the pause that followed.</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir," said the Factor, curtly, at <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>last. "Your time is +over. I find it unnecessary to hang you. You will start on your +<i>Longue Traverse</i> to-day."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Virginia, in a low voice of agony, and fluttered to her +lover's side.</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush!" he soothed her. "There is a chance."</p> + +<p>"You think so?" broke in Galen Albret, harshly. And looking at his set +face and blazing eyes, they saw that there was no chance. The Free +Trader shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"You are going to do this thing, father," appealed Virginia, "after +what I have told you?"</p> + +<p>"My mind is made up."</p> + +<p>"I shall not survive him, father!" she threatened, in a low voice. +Then, as the Factor did not respond, "Do not misunderstand me. I do +not intend to survive him." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Silence! silence! silence!" cried Galen Albret, in a crescendo +outburst. "Silence! I will not be gainsaid! You have made your choice! +You are no longer a daughter of mine!"</p> + +<p>"Father!" cried Virginia, faintly, her lips going pale.</p> + +<p>"Don't speak to me! Don't look at me! Get out of here! Get out of the +place! I won't have you here another day—another hour! By—"</p> + +<p>The girl hesitated for a moment, then ran to him, sinking on her +knees, and clasping his hand.</p> + +<p>"Father," she pleaded, "you are not yourself. This has been very +trying to you. To-morrow you will be sorry. But then it will be too +late. Think, while there is yet time. He has not committed a crime. +You yourself told me he was a man of intelligence and daring—a +gentleman; and sure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>ly, though he has been hasty, he has acted with a +brave spirit through it all. See, he will promise you to go away +quietly, to say nothing of all this, never to come into this country +again without your permission. He will do this if I ask him, for he +loves me. Look at me, father. Are you going to treat your little girl +so—your Virginia? You have never refused me anything before. And this +is the greatest thing in all my life." She held his hand to her cheek +and stroked it, murmuring little feminine, caressing phrases, secure +in her power of witchery, which had never failed her before. The sound +of her own voice reassured her, the quietude of the man she pleaded +with. A lifetime of petting, of indulgence, threw its soothing +influence over her perturbation, convincing her that somehow all this +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>storm and stress must be phantasmagoric—a dream from which she was +even now awakening into a clearer day of happiness. "For you love me, +father," she concluded, and looked up daintily, with a pathetic, +coquettish tilt of her fair head, to peer into his face.</p> + +<p>Galen Albret snarled like a wild beast, throwing aside the girl, as he +did the chair in which he had been sitting. Ned Trent caught her, +reeling, in his arms.</p> + +<p>For, as is often the case with passionate but strong temperaments, +though the Factor had attained a certain calm of control, the turmoil +of his deeper anger had not been in the least stilled. Over it a crust +of determination had formed—the determination to make an end by the +directest means in his autocratic power of this galling opposition. +The girl's pleading, instead of appealing to him, had in reality but +stirred his fury t<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>he more profoundly. It had added a new fuel element +to the fire. Heretofore his consciousness had felt merely the +thwarting of his pride, his authority, his right to loyalty. Now his +daughter's entreaty brought home to him the bitter realization that he +had been attained on another side—that of his family affection. This +man had also killed for him his only child. For the child had +renounced him, had thrust him outside herself into the lonely and +ruined temple of his pride. At the first thought his face twisted with +emotion, then hardened to cold malice.</p> + +<p>"Love you!" he cried. "Love you! An unnatural child! An ingrate! One +who turns from me so lightly!" He laughed bitterly, eyeing her with +chilling scrutiny. "You dare recall my love for you!" Suddenly he +stood upright, levelling a heavy, trembling arm at her. "You think an +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>appeal to my love will save him! Fool!"</p> + +<p>Virginia's breath caught in her throat. She straightened, clutched the +neckband of her gown. Then her head fell slowly forward. She had +fainted in her lover's arms.</p> + +<p>They stood exactly so for an appreciable interval, bewildered by the +suddenness of this outcome; Galen Albret's hand out-stretched in +denunciation; the girl like a broken lily, supported in the young +man's arms; he searching her face passionately for a sign of life; +Me-en-gan, straight and sorrowful, again at the door.</p> + +<p>Then the old man's arm dropped slowly. His gaze wavered. The lines of +his face relaxed. Twice he made an effort to turn away. All at once +his stubborn spirit broke; he uttered a cry, and sprang forward to +snatch the unconscious form <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>hungrily into his bear clasp, searching +the girl's face, muttering incoherent things.</p> + +<p>"Quick!" he cried, aloud, the guttural sounds jostling one another in +his throat. "Get Wishkobun, quick!"</p> + +<p>Ned Trent looked at him with steady scorn, his arms folded.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he dropped distinctly in deliberate monosyllables across the +surcharged atmosphere of the scene. "So it seems you have found your +heart, my friend!"</p> + +<p>Galen Albret glared wildly at him over the girl's fair head.</p> + +<p>"She is my daughter," he mumbled.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Seventeen" id="Chapter_Seventeen"></a><i>Chapter Seventeen</i></h2> + + +<p>They carried the unconscious girl into the dim-lighted apartment of +the curtained windows, and laid her on the divan. Wishkobun, hastily +summoned, unfastened the girl's dress at the throat.</p> + +<p>"It is a faint," she announced in her own tongue. "She will recover in +a few minutes; I will get some water."</p> + +<p>Ned Trent wiped the moisture from his forehead with his handkerchief. +The danger he had undergone coolly, but this overcame his iron +self-control. Galen Albret, like an anxious bear, weaved back and +forth the length of the couch. In him t<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>he rumble of the storm was but +just echoing into distance.</p> + +<p>"Go into the next room," he growled at the Free Trader, when finally +he noticed the latter's presence.</p> + +<p>Ned Trent hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Go, I say!" snarled the Factor. "You can do nothing here." He +followed the young man to the door, which he closed with his own hand, +and then turned back to the couch on which his daughter lay. In the +middle of the floor his foot clicked on some small object. +Mechanically he picked it up.</p> + +<p>It proved to be a little silver match-safe of the sort universally +used in the Far North. Evidently the Free Trader had flipped it from +his pocket with his handkerchief. The Factor was about to thrust it +into his own pocket, when his eye caught lettering roughly carved +across one side. Still <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>mechanically, he examined it more closely. The +lettering was that of a man's name. The man's name was Graehme +Stewart.</p> + +<p>Without thinking of what he did, he dropped the object on the small +table, and returned anxiously to the girl's side, cursing the +tardiness of the Indian woman. But in a moment Wishkobun returned.</p> + +<p>"Will she recover?" asked the Factor, distracted at the woman's +deliberate examination.</p> + +<p>The latter smiled her indulgent, slow smile. "But surely," she assured +him in her own tongue, "it is no more than if she cut her finger. In a +few breaths she will recover. Now I will go to the house of the +Cockburn for a morsel of the sweet wood<a name="FNanchor_A_2" id="FNanchor_A_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_2" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> which she must smell." She +looked her inquiry for permission.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_2" id="Footnote_A_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_2"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Camphor.</p></div> <p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sagaamig—go," assented Albret.</p> + +<p>Relieved in mind, he dropped into a chair. His eye caught the little +silver match-safe. He picked it up and fell to staring at the rudely +carved letters.</p> + +<p>He found that he was alone with his daughter—and the thoughts aroused +by the dozen letters of a man's name.</p> + +<p>All his life long he had been a hard man. His commands had been +autocratic; his anger formidable; his punishments severe, and +sometimes cruel. The quality of mercy was with him tenuous and weak. +He knew this, and if he did not exactly glory in it, he was at least +indifferent to its effect on his reputation with others. But always he +had been just. The victims of his displeasure might complain that his +retributive measures were harsh, that his forgiveness could not be +evoked by even <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>the most extenuating of circumstances, but not that +his anger had ever been baseless or the punishment undeserved. Thus he +had held always his own self-respect, and from his self-respect had +proceeded his iron and effective rule.</p> + +<p>So in the case of the young man with whom now his thoughts were +occupied. Twice he had warned him from the country without the +punishment which the third attempt rendered imperative. The events +succeeding his arrival at Conjuror's House warmed the Factor's anger +to the heat of almost preposterous retribution perhaps—for after all +a man's life is worth something, even in the wilds—but it was +actually retribution, and not merely a ruthless proof of power. It +might be justice as only the Factor saw it, but it was still +essentially justice—in the broader sense that to each act had +followed a definite consequen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>ce. Although another might have +condemned his conduct as unnecessarily harsh, Galen Albret's +conscience was satisfied and at rest.</p> + +<p>Nor had his resolution been permanently affected by either the girl's +threat to make away with herself or by his momentary softening when +she had fainted. The affair was thereby complicated, but that was all. +In the sincerity of the threat he recognized his own iron nature, and +was perhaps a little pleased at its manifestation. He knew she +intended to fulfil her promise not to survive her lover, but at the +moment this did not reach his fears; it only aroused further his +dogged opposition.</p> + +<p>The Free Trader's speech as he left the room, however, had touched the +one flaw in Galen Albret's confidence of righteousness. Wearied with +the struggles and the passi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>ons he had undergone, his brain numbed, +his will for the moment in abeyance, he seated himself and +contemplated the images those two words had called up.</p> + +<p>Graehme Stewart! That man he had first met at Fort Rae over twenty +years ago. It was but just after he had married Virginia's mother. At +once his imagination, with the keen pictorial power of those who have +dwelt long in the Silent Places, brought forward the other scene—that +of his wooing. He had driven his dogs into Fort la Cloche after a hard +day's run in seventy-five degrees of frost. Weary, hungry, +half-frozen, he had staggered into the fire-lit room. Against the +blaze he had caught for a moment a young girl's profile, lost as she +turned her face toward him in startled question of his entrance. Men +had cared for his dogs. The girl had brought him hot tea<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>. In the +corner of the fire they two had whispered one to the other—the +already grizzled traveller of the silent land, the fresh, brave +north-maiden. At midnight, their parkas drawn close about their faces +in the fearful cold, they had met outside the inclosure of the Post. +An hour later they were away under the aurora for Qu'Apelle. Galen +Albret's nostrils expanded as he heard the <i>crack, crack, crack</i> of +the remorseless dog-whip whose sting drew him away from the vain +pursuit. After the marriage at Qu'Apelle they had gone a weary journey +to Rae, and there he had first seen Graehme Stewart.</p> + +<p>Fort Rae is on the northwestward arm of the Great Slave Lake in the +country of the Dog Ribs, only four degrees under the Arctic Circle. It +is a dreary spot, for the Barren Grounds are near. Men see only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> the +great lake, the great sky, the great gray country. They become moody, +fanciful. In the face of the silence they have little to say. At Fort +Rae were old Jock Wilson, the Chief Trader; Father Bonat, the priest; +Andrew Levoy, the <i>mètis</i> clerk; four Dog Rib teepees; Galen Albret +and his bride; and Graehme Stewart.</p> + +<p>Jock Wilson was sixty-five; Father Bonat had no age; Andrew Levoy +possessed the years of dour silence. Only Graehme Stewart and Elodie, +bride of Albret, were young. In the great gray country their lives +were like spots of color on a mist. Galen Albret finally became +jealous.</p> + +<p>At first there was nothing to be done; but finally Levoy brought to +the older man proof of the younger's guilt. The harsh traveller bowed +his head and wept. But since he loved Elodie more than himse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>lf which +was perhaps the only redeeming feature of this sorry business—he said +nothing, nor did more than to journey south to Edmonton, leaving the +younger man alone in Fort Rae to the White Silence. But his soul was +stirred.</p> + +<p>In the course of nature and of time Galen Albret had a daughter, but +lost a wife. It was no longer necessary for him to leave his wrong +unavenged. Then began a series of baffling hindrances which resulted +finally in his stooping to means repugnant to his open sense of what +was due himself. At the first he could not travel to his enemy because +of the child in his care; when finally he had succeeded in placing the +little girl where he would be satisfied to leave her, he himself was +suddenly and peremptorily called east to take a post in Rupert's Land. +He could not disobey and remain in the Company, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>and the Company was +more to him than life or revenge. The little girl he left in Sacré +Cœur of Quebec; he himself took up his residence in the Hudson Bay +country. After a few years, becoming lonely for his own flesh and +blood, he sent for his daughter. There, as Factor, he gained a vast +power; and this power he turned into the channels of his hatred. +Graehme Stewart felt always against him the hand of influence. His +posts in the Company's service became intolerable. At length, in +indignation against continued injustice, oppression, and insult, he +resigned, broken in fortune and in prospects. He became one of the +earliest Free Traders on the Saskatchewan, devoting his energies to +enraged opposition of the Company which had wronged him. In the space +of three short years he had met a violent and striking death; for the +early days of the Free Trad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>er were adventurous. Galen Albret's +revenge had struck home.</p> + +<p>Then in after years the Factor had again met with Andrew Levoy. The +man staggered into Conjuror's House late at night. He had started from +Winnipeg to descend the Albany River, but had met with mishap and +starvation. One by one his dogs had died. In some blind fashion he +pushed on for days after his strength and sanity had left him. +Mu-hi-kun had brought him in. His toes and fingers had frozen and +dropped off; his face was a mask of black frost-bitten flesh, in which +deep fissures opened to the raw. He had gone snow-blind. Scarcely was +he recognizable as a human being.</p> + +<p>From such a man in extremity could come nothing but the truth, so +Galen Albret believed him. Before Andrew Levoy died that night he told +of his deceit. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>Factor left the room with the weight of a crime on +his conscience. For Graehme Stewart had been innocent of any wrong +toward him or his bride.</p> + +<p>Such was the story Galen Albret saw in the little silver match-box. +That was the one flaw in his consciousness of righteousness; the one +instance in a long career when his ruthless acts of punishment or +reprisal had not rested on rigid justice, and by the irony of fate the +one instance had touched him very near. Now here before him was his +enemy's son—he wondered that he had not discovered the resemblance +before—and he was about to visit on him the severest punishment in +his power. Was not this an opportunity vouchsafed him to repair his +ancient fault, to cleanse his conscience of the one sin of the kind it +would acknowledge? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> + +<p>But then over him swept the same blur of jealousy that had resulted in +Graehme Stewart's undoing. This youth wooed his daughter; he had won +her affections away. Strangely enough Galen Albret confused the new +and the old; again youth cleaved to youth, leaving age apart. Age felt +fiercely the desire to maintain its own. The Factor crushed the silver +match-box between his great palms and looked up. His daughter lay +before him, still, lifeless. Deliberately he rested his chin on his +hands and contemplated her.</p> + +<p>The room, as always, was full of contrast; shafts of light, +dust-moted, bewildering, crossed from the embrasured windows, throwing +high-lights into prominence and shadows into impenetrable darkness. +They rendered the gray-clad figure of the girl vague and et<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>hereal, +like a mist above a stream; they darkened the dull-hued couch on which +she rested into a liquid, impalpable black; they hazed the draped +background of the corner into a far-reaching distance; so that finally +to Galen Albret, staring with hypnotic intensity, it came to seem that +he looked upon a pure and disembodied spirit sleeping sweetly—cradled +on illimitable space. The ordinary and familiar surroundings all +disappeared. His consciousness accepted nothing but the cameo profile +of marble white, the nimbus of golden haze about the head, the +mist-like suggestion of a body, and again the clear marble spot of the +hands. All else was a background of modulated depths.</p> + +<p>So gradually the old man's spirit, wearied by the stress of the last +hour, turned in on itself and began to create. The cameo profile, the +mist-like body, the marble hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> remained; but now Galen Albret saw +other things as well. A dim, rare perfume was wafted from some unseen +space; indistinct flashes of light spotted the darknesses; faint +swells of music lifted the silence intermittently. These things were +small and still, and under the external consciousness—like the voices +one may hear beneath the roar of a tumbling rapid—but gradually they +defined themselves. The perfume came to Galen Albret's nostrils on the +wings of incensed smoke; the flashes of light steadied to the ovals of +candle flames; the faint swells of music blended into grand-breathed +organ chords. He felt about him the dim awe of the church, he saw the +tapers burning at head and foot, the clear, calm face of the dead, +smiling faintly that at last it should be no more disturbed. So had he +looked all one night and all one day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> in the long time ago. The Factor +stretched his arms out to the figure on the couch, but he called upon +his wife, gone these twenty years.</p> + +<p>"Elodie! Elodie!" he murmured, softly.</p> + +<p>She had never known it, thank God, but he had wronged her too. In all +sorrow and sweet heavenly pity he had believed that her youth had +turned to the youth of the other man. It had not been so. Did he not +owe her, too, some reparation?</p> + +<p>As though in answer to his appeal, or perhaps that merely the sound of +a human voice had broken the last shreds of her swoon, the girl moved +slightly. Galen Albret did not stir. Slowly Virginia turned her head, +until finally her wandering eyes met his, fixed on her with passionate +intensity. For a moment she stared at him, then comprehension came to +her along with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> memory. She cried out, and sat upright in one violent +motion.</p> + +<p>"He! He!" she cried. "Is he gone?"</p> + +<p>Instantly Galen Albret had her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"It is all right," he soothed, drawing her close to his great breast. +"All right. You are my own little girl."</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Eighteen" id="Chapter_Eighteen"></a><i>Chapter Eighteen</i></h2> + + +<p>For perhaps ten minutes Ned Trent lingered near the door of the +Council Room until he had assured himself that Virginia was in no +serious danger. Then he began to pace the room, examining minutely the +various objects that ornamented it. He paused longest at the +full-length portrait of Sir George Simpson, the Company's great +traveller, with his mild blue eyes, his kindly face, denying the +potency of his official frown, his snowy hair and whiskers. The +painted man and the real man looked at each other inquiringly. The +latter shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You travelled the wild country far," said <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>he, thoughtfully. "You +knew many men of many lands. And wherever you went they tell me you +made friends. And yet, as you embodied this Company to all these +people, and so made for the fanatical loyalty that is destroying me, I +suppose you and I are enemies!" He shrugged his shoulders whimsically +and turned away.</p> + +<p>Thence he cast a fleeting glance out the window at the long reach of +the Moose and the blue bay gleaming in the distance. He tried the +outside door. It was locked. Taken with a new idea he proceeded at +once to the third door of the apartment. It opened.</p> + +<p>He found himself in a small and much-littered room containing a desk, +two chairs, a vast quantity of papers, a stuffed bird or so, and a row +of account-books. Evidently the Factor's private office.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p><p>Ned Trent returned to the main room and listened intently for several +minutes. After that he ran back to the office and began hastily to +open and rummage, one after another, the drawers of the desk. He +discovered and concealed several bits of string, a desk-knife, and a +box of matches. Then he uttered a guarded exclamation of delight. He +had found a small revolver, and with it part of a box of cartridges.</p> + +<p>"A chance!" he exulted: "a chance!"</p> + +<p>The game would be desperate. He would be forced first of all to seek +out and kill the men detailed to shadow him—a toy revolver against +rifles; white man against trained savages. And after that he would +have, with the cartridges remaining, to assure his subsistence. Still +it was a chance.</p> + +<p>He closed the drawers and the door, and resumed his seat in the +arm-chair by the council table. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> + +<p>For over an hour thereafter he awaited the next move in the game. He +was already swinging up the pendulum arc. The case did not appear +utterly hopeless. He resolved, through Me-en-gan, whom he divined as a +friend of the girl's, to smuggle a message to Virginia bidding her +hope. Already his imagination had conducted him to Quebec, when in +August he would search her out and make her his own.</p> + +<p>Soon one of the Indian servants entered the room for the purpose of +conducting him to a smaller apartment, where he was left alone for +some time longer. Food was brought him. He ate heartily, for he +considered that wise. Then at last the summons for which he had been +so long in readiness. Me-en-gan himself entered the room, and motioned +him to follow.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><span class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><a href="images/image_263_1.jpg"><img src="images/image_263.jpg" width="600" height="372" alt=""Do so now!" Scene from the play." title=""Do so now!" Scene from the play." /></a></span><br /> +<span class="caption">"Do so now!" + +<br /> +Scene from the play.</span></div> +<p class="center">Click on the Image for larger Image.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p><p>Ned Trent had already prepared his message on the back of an +envelope, writing it with the lead of a cartridge. He now pressed the +bit of paper into the Indian's palm.</p> + +<p>"For O-mi-mi," he explained.</p> + +<p>Me-en-gan bored him through with his bead-like eyes of the surface +lights.</p> + +<p>"Nin nissitotam," he agreed after a moment.</p> + +<p>He led the way. Ned Trent followed through the narrow, uncarpeted hall +with the faded photograph of Westminster, down the crooked steep +stairs with the creaking degrees, and finally into the Council Room +once more, with its heavy rafters, its two fireplaces, its long table, +and its narrow windows.</p> + +<p>"Beka—wait!" commanded Me-en-gan, and left him.</p> + +<p>Ned Trent had supposed he was being <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>conducted to the canoe which +should bear him on the first stage of his long journey, but now he +seemed condemned again to take up the wearing uncertainty of inaction. +The interval was not long, however. Almost immediately the other door +opened and the Factor entered.</p> + +<p>His movements were abrupt and impatient, for with whatever grace such +a man yields to his better instincts the actual carrying out of their +conditions is a severe trial. For one thing it is a species of +emotional nakedness, invariably repugnant to the self-contained. Ned +Trent, observing this and misinterpreting its cause, hugged the little +revolver to his side with grim satisfaction. The interview was likely +to be stormy. If worst came to worst, he was at least assured of +reprisal before his own end.</p> + +<p>The Factor walked directly to the head <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>of the table and his customary +arm-chair, in which he disposed himself.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," he commanded the younger man, indicating a chair at his +elbow.</p> + +<p>The latter warily obeyed.</p> + +<p>Galen Albret hesitated appreciably. Then, as one would make a plunge +into cold water, quickly, in one motion, he laid on the table +something over which he held his hand.</p> + +<p>"You are wondering why I am interviewing you again," said he. "It is +because I have become aware of certain things. When you left me a few +hours ago you dropped this." He moved his hand to one side. The silver +match-safe lay on the table.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is mine," agreed Ned Trent.</p> + +<p>"On one side is carved a name."</p> + +<p>"Yes." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Whose?"</p> + +<p>The Free Trader hesitated. "My father's," he said, at last.</p> + +<p>"I thought that must be so. You will understand when I tell you that +at one time I knew him very well."</p> + +<p>"You knew my father?" cried Ned Trent, excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. At Fort Rae, and elsewhere. But I do not remember you."</p> + +<p>"I was brought up at Winnipeg," the other explained.</p> + +<p>"Once," pursued Galen Albret, "I did your father a wrong, +unintentionally, but nevertheless a great wrong. For that reason and +others I am going to give you your life."</p> + +<p>"What wrong?" demanded Ned Trent, with dawning excitement.</p> + +<p>"I forced him from the Company." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I. Proof was brought me that he had won from me my young wife. +It could not be doubted. I could not kill him. Afterward the man who +deceived me confessed. He is now dead."</p> + +<p>Ned Trent, gasping, rose slowly to his feet. One hand stole inside his +jacket and clutched the butt of the little pistol.</p> + +<p>"You did that," he cried, hoarsely. "You tell me of it yourself? Do +you wish to know the real reason for my coming into this country, why +I have traded in defiance of the Company throughout the whole Far +North? I have thought my father was persecuted by a body of men, and +though I could not do much, still I have accomplished what I could to +avenge him. Had I known that a single man had done this—and you are +that man!" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> + +<p>He came a step nearer. Galen Albret regarded him steadily.</p> + +<p>"If I had known this before, I should never have rested until I had +hunted you down, until I had killed you, even in the midst of your own +people!" cried the Free Trader at last.</p> + +<p>Galen Albret drew his heavy revolver and laid it on the table.</p> + +<p>"Do so now," he said, quietly.</p> + +<p>A pause fell on them, pregnant with possibility. The Free Trader +dropped his head.</p> + +<p>"No," he groaned. "No, I cannot. She stands in the way!"</p> + +<p>"So that, after all," concluded the Factor, in a gentler tone than he +had yet employed, "we two shall part peaceably. I have wronged you +greatly, though without intention. Perhaps one balances the other. We +will let it pass." <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," agreed Ned Trent with an effort, "we will let it pass."</p> + +<p>They mused in silence, while the Factor drummed on the table with the +stubby fingers of his right hand.</p> + +<p>"I am dispatching to-day," he announced curtly at length, "the Abítibi +<i>brigade</i>. Matters of importance brought by runner from Rupert's House +force me to do so a month earlier than I had expected. I shall send +you out with that <i>brigade</i>."</p> + +<p>"Very well."</p> + +<p>"You will find your packs and arms in the canoe, quite intact."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>The Factor examined the young man's face with some deliberation.</p> + +<p>"You love my daughter truly?" he asked, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Ned Trent, also quietly. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That is well, for she loves you. And," went on the old man, throwing +his massive head back proudly, "my people love well! I won her mother +in a day, and nothing could stay us. God be thanked, you are a man and +brave and clean. Enough of that! I place the <i>brigade</i> under your +command! You must be responsible for it, for I am sending no other +white—the crew are Indians and <i>mètis</i>."</p> + +<p>"All right," agreed Ned Trent, indifferently.</p> + +<p>"My daughter you will take to Sacré Cœur at Quebec."</p> + +<p>"Virginia!" cried the young man.</p> + +<p>"I am sending her to Quebec. I had not intended doing so until July, +but the matters from Rupert's House make it imperative now."</p> + +<p>"Virginia goes with me?" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You consent? You—"</p> + +<p>"Young man," said Galen Albret, not unkindly, "I give my daughter in +your charge; that is all. You must take her to Sacré Cœur. And you +must be patient. Next year I shall resign, for I am getting old, and +then we shall see. That is all I can tell you now."</p> + +<p>He arose abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Come," said he, "they are waiting."</p> + +<p>They threw wide the door and stepped out into the open. A breeze from +the north brought a draught of air like cold water in its refreshment. +The waters of the North sparkled and tossed in the silvery sun. Ned +Trent threw his arms wide in the physical delight of a new freedom.</p> + +<p>But his companion was already descending the steps. He followed across +the square <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>grass plot to the two bronze guns. A noise of peoples came +down the breeze. In a moment he saw them—the varied multitude of the +Post—gathered to speed the <i>brigade</i> on its distant journey.</p> + +<p>The little beach was crowded with the Company's people and with +Indians, talking eagerly, moving hither and yon in a shifting +kaleidoscope of brilliant color. Beyond the shore floated the long +canoe, with its curving ends and its emblazonment of the five-pointed +stars. Already its baggage was aboard, its crew in place, ten men in +whose caps slanted long, graceful feathers, which proved them boatmen +of a factor. The women sat amidships.</p> + +<p>When Galen Albret reached the edge of the plateau he stopped, and laid +his hand on the young man's arm. As yet they were unperceived. Then a +single man caught<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> sight of them. He spoke to another; the two +informed still others. In an instant the bright colors were dotted +with upturned faces.</p> + +<p>"Listen," said Galen Albret, in his resonant chest-tones of authority. +"This is my son, and he must be obeyed. I give to him the command of +this <i>brigade</i>. See to it."</p> + +<p>Without troubling himself further as to the crowd below, Galen Albret +turned to his companion.</p> + +<p>"I will say good-by," said he, formally.</p> + +<p>"Good-by," replied Ned Trent.</p> + +<p>"All is at peace between us?"</p> + +<p>The Free Trader looked long into the man's sad eyes. The hard, proud +spirit, bowed in knightly expiation of its one fault, for the first +time in a long life of command looked out in petition. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All is at peace," repeated Ned Trent.</p> + +<p>They clasped hands. And Virginia, perceiving them so, threw them a +wonderful smile.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Chapter_Nineteen" id="Chapter_Nineteen"></a><i>Chapter Nineteen</i></h2> + + +<p>Instantly the spell of inaction broke. The crowd recommenced its babel +of jests, advices, and farewells. Ned Trent swung down the bank to the +shore. The boatmen fixed the canoe on the very edge of floating free. +Two of them lifted the young man aboard to a place on the furs by +Virginia Albret's side. At once the crowd pressed forward, filling up +the empty spaces.</p> + +<p>Now Achille Picard bent his shoulders to lift into free water the stem +of the canoe from its touch on the bank. It floated, caught gently by +the back wash of the stronger off-shore current. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good-by, dear," called Mrs. Cockburn. "Remember us!"</p> + +<p>She pressed the Doctor's arm closer to her side. The Doctor waved his +hand, not trusting his masculine self-control to speak. McDonald, too, +stood glum and dour, clasping his wrist behind his back. Richardson +was openly affected. For in Virginia's person they saw sailing away +from their bleak Northern lives the figure of youth, and they knew +that henceforth life must be even drearier.</p> + +<p>"Som' tam' yo' com' back sing heem de res' of dat song!" shouted Louis +Placide to his late captive. "I lak' hear heem!"</p> + +<p>But Galen Albret said nothing, made no sign. Silently and steadily, +run up by some invisible hand, the blood-red banner of the Company +fluttered to the mast-head. Before it, alone, bulked huge agai<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>nst the +sky, dominating the people in the symbolism of his position there as +he did in the realities of every-day life, the Factor stood, his hands +behind his back. Virginia rose to her feet and stretched her arms out +to the solitary figure.</p> + +<p>"Good-by! good-by!" she cried.</p> + +<p>A renewed tempest of cheers and shouts of adieu broke from those +ashore. The paddles dipped once, twice, thrice, and paused. With one +accord those on shore and those in the canoe raised their caps and +said, "Que Dieu vous benisse." A moment's silence followed, during +which the current of the mighty river bore the light craft a few yards +down stream. Then from the ten <i>voyageurs</i> arose a great shout.</p> + +<p>"Abítibi! Abítibi!"</p> + +<p>Their paddles struck in unison. The water swirled in white, circular +eddies. Instantly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>the canoe caught its momentum and began to slip +along against the sluggish current. Achille Picard raised a high tenor +voice, fixing the air,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>En roulant ma boule roulante,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>En roulant ma boule</i>."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And the <i>voyageurs</i> swung into the quaint ballad of the fairy ducks +and the naughty prince with his magic gun.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Derrièr' chez-nous y-a-t-un 'ètang,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>En roulant ma boule."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The girl sank back, dabbing uncertainly at her eyes. "I shall never +see them again," she explained, wistfully.</p> + +<p>The canoe had now caught its speed. Conjuror's House was dropping +astern. The rhythm of the song quickened as the singers told of how +the king's son had aimed at the black duck but killed the white. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Ah fils du roi, tu es mèchant,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>En roulant ma boule</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Toutes les plumes s'en vont au vent</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Way wik! way wik!" commanded Me-en-gan, sharply, from the bow.</p> + +<p>The men quickened their stroke and shot diagonally across the current +of an eddy.</p> + +<p>"Ni-shi-shin," said Me-en-gan.</p> + +<p>They fell back to the old stroke, rolling out their full-throated +measure.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Toutes les plumes s'en vont au vent,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>En roulant ma boule,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Trois dames s'en vont les ramassant,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The canoe was now in the smooth rush of the first stretch of swifter +water. The men bent to their work with stiffened elbows. Achille +Picard flashed his white teeth back at the passengers, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah, mademoiselle, eet is wan long way," he panted. "C'est une longue +traverse!"</p> + +<p>The term was evidently descriptive, but the two smiled significantly +at each other.</p> + +<p>"So you do take <i>la Longue Traverse</i>, after all!" marvelled Virginia.</p> + +<p>Ned Trent clasped her hand.</p> + +<p>"We take it together," he replied.</p> + +<p>Into the distance faded the Post. The canoe rounded a bend. It was +gone. Ahead of them lay their long journey.</p> + +<p> </p> +<h3>THE END</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>BOOKS ON NATURE STUDY </h3><h2>BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS</h2> + +<p class="center"><b>Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume, postpaid</b>.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><b>THE KINDRED OF THE WILD. A Book of Animal Life. <br /> +With illustrations by +Charles Livingston Bull.</b></p> + +<p>Appeals alike to the young and to the merely youthful-hearted. Close +observation. Graphic description. We get a sense of the great wild and +its denizens. Out of the common. Vigorous and full of character. The +book is one to be enjoyed; all the more because it smacks of the +forest instead of the museum. John Burroughs says: "The volume is in +many ways the most brilliant collection of Animal Stories that has +appeared. It reaches a high order of literary merit."</p> + + +<p><b>THE HEART OF THE ANCIENT WOOD. Illustrated.</b></p> + +<p>This book strikes a new note in literature. It is a realistic romance +of the folk of the forest—a romance of the alliance of peace between +a pioneer's daughter in the depths of the ancient wood and the wild +beasts who felt her spell and became her friends. It is not fanciful, +with talking beasts; nor is it merely an exquisite idyl of the beasts +themselves. It is an actual romance, in which the animal characters +play their parts as naturally as do the human. The atmosphere of the +book is enchanting. The reader feels the undulating, whimpering music +of the forest, the power of the shady silences, the dignity of the +beasts who live closest to the heart of the wood.</p> + + +<p><b>THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAILS. A companion volume to the "Kindred of the +Wild." With 48 full page plates and decorations from drawings by +Charles Livingston Bull.</b></p> + +<p>These stories are exquisite in their refinement, and yet robust in +their appreciation of some of the rougher phases of woodcraft. "This +is a book full of delight. An additional charm lies in Mr. Bull's +faithful and graphic illustrations, which in fashion all their own +tell the story of the wild life, illuminating and supplementing the +pen pictures of the authors."—<i>Literary Digest</i>.</p> + + +<p><b>RED FOX. The Story of His Adventurous Career in the Ringwaak Wilds, +and His Triumphs over the Enemies of His Kind. With 50 illustrations, +including frontispiece in color and cover design by Charles Livingston +Bull.</b></p> + +<p>A brilliant chapter in natural history. Infinitely more wholesome +reading than the average tale of sport, since it gives a glimpse of +the hunt from the point of view of the hunted. "True in substance but +fascinating as fiction. It will interest old and young, city-bound and +free-footed, those who know animals and those who do not."—<i>Chicago +Record-Herald</i>.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS </h2><h3>IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS</h3> + + +<p>Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time, library size, +printed on excellent paper—most of them finely illustrated. Full and +handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents a volume, postpaid.</p> +<p> </p> + +<p><b>NEDRA, by George Barr McCutcheon, with color frontispiece, and other +illustrations by Harrison Fisher.</b></p> + +<p>The story of an elopement of a young couple from Chicago, who decide +to go to London, travelling as brother and sister. Their difficulties +commence in New York and become greatly exaggerated when they are +shipwrecked in mid-ocean. The hero finds himself stranded on the +island of Nedra with another girl, whom he has rescued by mistake. The +story gives an account of their finding some of the other passengers, +and the circumstances which resulted from the strange mix-up.</p> + + +<p><b>POWER LOT, by Sarah P. McLean Greene. Illustrated.</b></p> + +<p>The story of the reformation of a man and his restoration to +self-respect through the power of honest labor, the exercise of honest +independence, and the aid of clean, healthy, out-of-door life and +surroundings. The characters take hold of the heart and win sympathy. +The dear old story has never been more lovingly and artistically told.</p> + + +<p><b>MY MAMIE ROSE. The History of My Regeneration, by Owen Kildare. +Illustrated.</b></p> + +<p>This <i>autobiography</i> is a powerful book of love and sociology. Reads +like the strangest fiction. Is the strongest truth and deals with the +story of a man's redemption through a woman's love and devotion.</p> + + +<p><b>JOHN BURT, by Frederick Upham Adams, with illustrations.</b></p> + +<p>John Burt, a New England lad, goes West to seek his fortune and finds +it in gold mining. He becomes one of the financial factors and +pitilessly crushes his enemies. The story of the Stock Exchange +manipulations was never more vividly and engrossingly told. A love +story runs through the book, and is handled with infinite skill.</p> + + +<p><b>THE HEART LINE, by Gelett Burgess, with halftone illustrations by +Lester Ralph, and inlay cover in colors.</b></p> + +<p>A great dramatic story of the city that was. A story of Bohemian life +in San Francisco, before the disaster, presented with mirror-like +accuracy. Compressed into it are all the sparkle, all the gayety, all +the wild, whirling life of the glad, mad, bad, and most delightful +city of the Golden Gate.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<p><b>CAROLINA LEE. By Lillian Bell. With frontispiece by Dora Wheeler +Keith.</b></p> + +<p>Carolina Lee is the Uncle Tom's Cabin of Christian Science. Its +keynote is "Divine Love" in the understanding of the knowledge of all +good things which may be obtainable. When the tale is told, the sick +healed, wrong changed to right, poverty of purse and spirit turned +into riches, lovers made worthy of each other and happily united, +including Carolina Lee and her affinity, it is borne upon the reader +that he has been giving rapid attention to a free lecture on Christian +Science; that the working out of each character is an argument for +"Faith;" and that the theory is persuasively attractive.</p> + +<p>A Christian Science novel that will bring delight to the heart of +every believer in that faith. It is a well told story, entertaining, +and cleverly mingles art, humor and sentiment.</p> + + +<p><b>HILMA, by William Tillinghast Eldridge, with illustrations by +Harrison Fisher and Martin Justice, and inlay cover.</b></p> + +<p>It is a rattling good tale, written with charm, and full of remarkable +happenings, dangerous doings, strange events, jealous intrigues and +sweet love making. The reader's interest is not permitted to lag, but +is taken up and carried on from incident to incident with ingenuity +and contagious enthusiasm. The story gives us the <i>Graustark</i> and <i>The +Prisoner of Zenda</i> thrill, but the tale is treated with freshness, +ingenuity, and enthusiasm, and the climax is both unique and +satisfying. It will hold the fiction lover close to every page.</p> + + +<p><b>THE MYSTERY OF THE FOUR FINGERS, by Fred M. White, with halftone +illustrations by Will Grefe.</b></p> + +<p>A fabulously rich gold mine in Mexico is known by the picturesque and +mysterious name of <i>The Four Fingers</i>. It originally belonged to an +Aztec tribe, and its location is known to one surviving descendant—a +man possessing wonderful occult power. Should any person unlawfully +discover its whereabouts, four of his fingers are mysteriously +removed, and one by one returned to him. The appearance of the final +fourth betokens his swift and violent death.</p> + +<p>Surprises, strange and startling, are concealed in every chapter of +this completely engrossing detective story. The horrible fascination +of the tragedy holds one in rapt attention to the end. And through it +runs the thread of a curious love story.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2> MEREDITH NICHOLSON'S<br /> + FASCINATING ROMANCES</h2> + +<p class="center"><b>Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume, postpaid</b>.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><b>THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES. With a frontispiece in colors by +Howard Chandler Christy.</b></p> + +<p>A novel of romance and adventure, of love and valor, of mystery and +hidden treasure. The hero is required to spend a whole year in the +isolated house, which according to his grandfather's will shall then +become his. If the terms of the will be violated the house goes to a +young woman whom the will, furthermore, forbids him to marry. Nobody +can guess the secret, and the whole plot moves along with an exciting +zip.</p> + + +<p><b>THE PORT OF MISSING MEN. With illustrations by Clarence F. +Underwood.</b></p> + +<p>There is romance of love, mystery, plot, and fighting, and a +breathless dash and go about the telling which makes one quite forget +about the improbabilities of the story; and it all ends in the +old-fashioned healthy American way. Shirley is a sweet, courageous +heroine whose shining eyes lure from page to page.</p> + + +<p><b>ROSALIND AT REDGATE. Illustrated by Arthur I. Keller.</b></p> + +<p>The author of "The House of a Thousand Candles" has here given us a +bouyant romance brimming with lively humor and optimism; with mystery +that breeds adventure and ends in love and happiness. A most +entertaining and delightful book.</p> + + +<p><b>THE MAIN CHANCE. With illustrations by Harrison Fisher.</b></p> + +<p>A "traction deal" in a Western city is the pivot about which the +action of this clever story revolves. But it is in the +character-drawing of the principals that the author's strength lies. +Exciting incidents develop their inherent strength and weakness, and +if virtue wins in the end, it is quite in keeping with its +carefully-planned antecedents. The N. Y. <i>Sun</i> says: "We commend it +for its workmanship—for its smoothness, its sensible fancies, and for +its general charm."</p> + + +<p><b>ZELDA DAMERON. With portraits of the characters by John Cecil Clay.</b></p> + +<p>"A picture of the new West, at once startlingly and attractively true. +* * * The heroine is a strange, sweet mixture of pride, wilfulness and +lovable courage. The characters are superbly drawn; the atmosphere is +convincing. There is about it a sweetness, a wholesomeness and a +sturdiness that commends it to earnest, kindly and wholesome +people."—<i>Boston Transcript</i>.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>BRILLIANT AND SPIRITED NOVELS</h3><h2> AGNES AND EGERTON CASTLE</h2> + +<p class="center"><b>Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume, postpaid</b>.</p> +<p> </p> + +<p><b>THE PRIDE OF JENNICO. Being a Memoir of Captain Basil Jennico.</b></p> + +<p>"What separates it from most books of its class is its distinction of +manner, its unusual grace of diction, its delicacy of touch, and the +fervent charm of its love passages. It is a very attractive piece of +romantic fiction relying for its effect upon character rather than +incident, and upon vivid dramatic presentation."—<i>The Dial</i>. "A +stirring, brilliant and dashing story."—<i>The Outlook</i>.</p> + + +<p><b>THE SECRET ORCHARD. Illustrated by Charles D. Williams.</b></p> + +<p>The "Secret Orchard" is set in the midst of the ultra modern society. +The scene is in Paris, but most of the characters are English +speaking. The story was dramatized in London, and in it the Kendalls +scored a great theatrical success.</p> + +<p>"Artfully contrived and full of romantic charm * * * it possesses +ingenuity of incident, a figurative designation of the unhallowed +scenes in which unlicensed love accomplishes and wrecks faith and +happiness."—<i>Athenaeum</i>.</p> + + +<p><b>YOUNG APRIL. With illustrations by A. B. Wenzell.</b></p> + +<p>"It is everything that a good romance should be, and it carries about +it an air or distinction both rare and delightful."—<i>Chicago +Tribune</i>. "With regret one turns to the last page of this delightful +novel, so delicate in its romance, so brilliant in its episodes, so +sparkling in its art, and so exquisite in its diction."—<i>Worcester +Spy</i>.</p> + + +<p><b>FLOWER O' THE ORANGE. With frontispiece.</b></p> + +<p>We have learned to expect from these fertile authors novels graceful +in form, brisk in movement, and romantic in conception. This carries +the reader back to the days of the bewigged and beruffled gallants of +the seventeenth century and tells him of feats of arms and adventures +in love as thrilling and picturesque, yet delicate, as the utmost +seeker of romance may ask.</p> + + +<p><b>MY MERRY ROCKHURST. Illustrated by Arthur E. Becher.</b></p> + +<p>"In the eight stories of a courtier of King Charles Second, which are +here gathered together, the Castles are at their best, reviving all +the fragrant charm of those books, like <i>The Pride of Jennico</i>, in +which they first showed an instinct, amounting to genius, for sunny +romances. The book is absorbing * * * and is as spontaneous in feeling +as it is artistic in execution."—<i>New York Tribune</i>.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS </h2><h3>IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS</h3> + +<p>Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time, library size, +printed on excellent paper—most of them finely illustrated. Full and +handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents a volume, postpaid.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><b>THE CATTLE BARON'S DAUGHTER. A Novel. By Harold Bindloss. With +illustrations by David Ericson.</b></p> + +<p>A story of the fight for the cattle-ranges of the West. Intense +interest is aroused by its pictures of life in the cattle country at +that critical moment of transition when the great tracts of land used +for grazing were taken up by the incoming homesteaders, with the +inevitable result of fierce contest, of passionate emotion on both +sides, and of final triumph of the inevitable tendency of the times.</p> + + +<p><b>WINSTON OF THE PRAIRIE. With illustrations in color by W. Herbert +Dunton.</b></p> + +<p>A man of upright character, young and clean, but badly worsted in the +battle of life, consents as a desperate resort to impersonate for a +period a man of his own age—scoundrelly in character but of an +aristocratic and moneyed family. The better man finds himself barred +from resuming his old name. How, coming into the other man's +possessions, he wins the respect of all men, and the love of a +fastidious, delicately nurtured girl, is the thread upon which the +story hangs. It is one of the best novels of the West that has +appeared for years.</p> + + +<p><b>THAT MAINWARING AFFAIR. By A. Maynard Barbour. With illustrations by +E. Plaisted Abbott.</b></p> + +<p>A novel with a most intricate and carefully unraveled plot. A +naturally probable and excellently developed story and the reader will +follow the fortunes of each character with unabating interest * * * +the interest is keen at the close of the first chapter and increases +to the end.</p> + + +<p><b>AT THE TIME APPOINTED. With a frontispiece in colors by J. H. +Marchand.</b></p> + +<p>The fortunes of a young mining engineer who through an accident loses +his memory and identity. In his new character and under his new name, +the hero lives a new life of struggle and adventure. The volume will +be found highly entertaining by those who appreciate a thoroughly good +story.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><b>GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York</b></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +[Transcriber's note: +</p> + +<p> +The following spelling inconsistencies and possible typographical errors +were left uncorrected: +</p> + +<p> +stolidily<br /> +Missináibe/Missináibie<br /> +queek/queeck<br /> +mêchant/mèchant<br /> +bouyant<br /> +Comma at end of paragraph: Picard flashed his white teeth back at the +passengers,] +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Conjuror's House, by Stewart Edward White + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONJUROR'S HOUSE *** + +***** This file should be named 18149-h.htm or 18149-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/1/4/18149/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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