Part 29 (1/2)

One hour,--two,--pa.s.sed and the last light crept, afraid, out of the forest to linger a trembling moment on the waters and be drawn up to the darkening sky.

At last the maid arose, tall and quiet, save for the excitement in her eyes, and one by one her chosen followers stepped noiselessly after.

Silent as the wood around, the forlorn hope crept forward.

”Here, Frith,” commanded Maren, when they had reached a vantage point of higher ground, ”and here you, Alloybeau and McDonald, separate. If during this night the good G.o.d shall deliver into our hands Mr. McElroy and the venturer from Montreal, you will hear a panther's far-off call.

Make for the canoe, for that will mean swift flight. If, on the other hand, aught should befall us ahead, a night-hawk will cry once. Hide and wait. Wait one day, two, three. There is always hope. So. We go now.”

Thus they separated, that small band, as hopeless together as apart in case of discovery, and at last Dupre followed alone, his heart heavy within him and a grip in his throat of tears. On through the leafy forest, parting the lacing vines, holding each branch that it might not swish to place, they went, far from safety and the commonplace of life, and a prescience of disaster weighed on the trapper's soul like lead.

At last it grew more than he could bear, and he reached a hand to Maren's shoulder, a tentative hand, hesitating, as if it felt its touch blasphemy.

”Ma'amselle,” he faltered, ”forgive me! But, oh! without confession this night I am sick to my heart's core! I lied to you back at the cove, though with a clean conscience, for it is love,--love of a man warm and wild that tears my soul to tatters! I love you with all love, of saint and sinner, of Heaven and earth, and I would have you know it!”

His low voice was shaking, as was his whole slim body, and Maren felt it in the hand on her shoulder.

”As a man, Ma'amselle, I would give my life for one touch of your lips!

As a lost monk I would kiss your garment's hem! See!”

He dropped to his knee and, catching her beaded skirt, pressed it to his lips again and again, pa.s.sionately, swept away by his French blood.

”As I live I love you as the dog loves his master! I am naught save the dust under your feet, the thorn you brush in the forest, yet like them I catch and cling! Forgive, Ma'amselle, and if the future is fair for you, think sometimes in the dusk of Marc Dupre!”

”Hus.h.!.+” said Maren, catching the hand at her knee, a shaking hand more slender than her own; ”hush, my friend! You break my heart anew. I know the inmost grace of you, the glory of the love you tell, and be it of heaven or earth, of angel or man, I would to the Good G.o.d there was yet life enough within me to buy it with my own! I have seen naught so holy, so worth all price, in the years of my life. It is dear to my heart as that life itself. Dear as yourself, my more than friend.”

In all tenderness she stooped from her fair height and laid her arm around the shoulders of the youth, drew his head against the beadwork of McElroy's gift, and kissed him upon the lips,--once, twice, yearningly, as a mother kisses a weakling child.

At that moment there came, borne on a waking breeze of the night, the sound of the tom-toms, the yapping of many throats.

”The G.o.ds beckon,” she said sadly; ”this life and love is all awry and we who are bound against our will must but abide the end.”

”Aye,” whispered young Dupre, from the warm depths of her shoulder, and his voice was like gold for joy; ”aye,--the end.”

He rose swiftly.

”Forgive the pa.s.sion that could forget the great business of the night,”

he said, and they went forward, though Maren's fingers still rested in his clasp.

Through the thinning wood which neared the stream presently there came a glow and then the s.h.i.+ne of a great fire ahead, with ma.s.sed figures that leaped and sprang, fantastic as a witch's carnival, and a roar of frightful voices.

”Stay now, Ma'amselle!” begged Dupre, at last, for he had caught a sight that shook him through and through; ”stay you here in the wood while I go forward!”

But his protest was lost on the maid. Eagerly she was pus.h.i.+ng on, hid by the shadows,--nearer and nearer, until suddenly she stopped and stared upon the scene, the fingers in his clasp gripping Dupre's hand like steel.

”G.o.d! G.o.d! G.o.d!” breathed Maren Le Moyne at the forest's edge as she looked once more upon the face of the factor of Fort de Seviere.

Unspeakable was that scene. All reason had fled from the North savages.

What small veneer of docility had been spread over them by their three years' dealing with the Hudson's Bays and their intercourse with the quiet and tractable a.s.siniboines, had vanished. They were themselves as nature made them, cruel to the point of art.