Part 17 (2/2)

Fleur indeed had come from a fighting strain--dogs that would battle to the death or toil in the traces until they crumpled on the snow, for those they loved or to whom they owed allegiance.

CHAPTER XXIV

ON THE CLIFFS

Marcel was walking on the high river sh.o.r.e above the post with Julie Breton and Fleur. Like a floor below them the surface of the Great Whale moved without ripple in the still June afternoon. Out over the Bay the sun hung in a veil of haze. Back at the post, even the huskies were quiet, lured into sleep by the softness of the air. It was such a day as Jean Marcel had dreamed of more than a year before, in January, back in the barrens, when powdery snow crystals danced in the air as the lifting sun-dogs turned white wastes of rolling tundra into a s.h.i.+mmering sea. He was again with Julie on the cliffs, but there was no joy in his heart.

”The Lelacs have traded their fur,” he said, breaking a long silence; ”the hearing will take place soon, now.”

”Yes, I know, you were with Monsieur Gillies and Henri very late last night,” she replied, watching the antics of an inquisitive Canada jay in an adjacent birch.

”Yes, we had some work to do. The Lelacs will not like what we have to tell them.”

”I knew that you would be able to show the Crees what bad people these Lelacs are.”

”Yes, Julie, we shall prove them liars and thieves; but the stain on the name of Jean Marcel will remain. I cannot deny that Antoine was killed; the Crees will not believe my story.”

”Nonsense, Jean,” she burst out, ”you must make them believe you!”

”Julie,” he said, ignoring her words, ”since my return I have wanted to tell you--that I wish you all happiness,”--he swallowed hard at the lump in his throat,--”I have heard that you leave Whale River soon.”

At the words the girl flushed but turned a level gaze on the man, who looked at the dim, blue shapes of the White Bear Hills far on the southern horizon.

”You have not heard the truth,” she said. ”Monsieur Wallace has done me the honor to ask me to marry him, but Monsieur Wallace is still a Protestant.”

The words from Julie's own lips stung Marcel like the lash of a whip, but his face masked his emotion.

Then she went on:

”I wanted to talk to you last summer, for you are my dear friend, but you were here for so short a while and we had but a word when you left.” Then the girl burst out impulsively, ”Ah, Jean; don't look that way! Won't you ever forgive me? I am--so sorry, Jean. But--you are a boy. It could never be that way. Why, you are as a brother.”

Marcel's eyes still rested on the silhouetted hills to the south. He made no answer.

”Won't you forget, Jean, and remain a friend--a brother?”

He turned his sombre eyes to the girl.

”Yes, I shall always be your friend--your brother, Julie,” he said. ”But I shall always love you--I can't help that. And there is nothing to forgive. I hoped--once--that you might--love Jean Marcel; but now--it is over. G.o.d bless you, Julie!”

As he finished, Julie Breton's eyes were wet. Again Marcel gazed long into the south but with unseeing eyes. The girl was the first to break the silence.

”Jean,” she said, returning to the charges of the Lelacs, ”you must not brood over what the Crees are saying. What matters it that the ignorant Indians, some of whom, if the truth were known, have eaten their own flesh and blood in starvation camps, do not believe you. For shame! You are a brave man, Jean Marcel. Show your courage at Whale River as you have shown it elsewhere.”

Sadly Marcel shook his head. ”They will speak of me now, from Fort George to Mista.s.sini, as the man who killed his partners.” And in spite of Julie Breton's words of cheer he refused to see his case in any other light.

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