ttawatamies the day after the
wedding, and had heard no rumors of any Englishman. I did not take him
into my confidence. He had outlived the time when the abstract terms
"ambition" and "patriotism" had meaning to him. The story of my hopes
would have tinkled in his ears like the blarings of a child's trumpet.
But in one matter he questioned me.

"Your wife,--should you not have brought her with you, monsieur?"

I felt piqued. "But her comfort, Father Nouvel!"

He looked me over. "I think somehow that she would prefer your company
to her own comfort," he said, and when I did not answer he looked
troubled. When he bade me good-by, he spoke again.

"Your wife came strangely near my heart. You are giving her a hard
life. You will be patient with her, monsieur?"

I bowed, for I did not wish to answer. Mine was a real marriage to
Father Nouvel. I thought of the look in the priest's eyes as he made
us man and wife, and of the voices of the Indian women as they chanted
of life and marriage, and I shut my teeth on a sudden feeling of
bitterness. A man may be counted rich yet know himself to be a pauper.
I never saw Father Nouvel again. If he were living now I would go far
to meet him.

It was a long day's travel back to Sturgeon Cove, and night had fallen
before we wound our passage around the curves of the bay and saw the
clear eye of the evening fire burning steadily on the shore. Our
double trip had taken eleven days, and for me the time had lagged. I
had carried an unreasoning weight of oppression, and the shout that I
gave at sight of the black figures around the blaze was an outburst of
relief.

My company flung themselves at the shore, and all talked at once.

"For three days we have watched," Singing Arrow scolded.

The woman stood near, and I went to her. "Have you watched for three
days?" I asked, with my lips on her hand.

"Yes," she said, and then I felt ashamed, for her eyes looked worn and
troubled.

"Forgive me, madame," I murmured, though I scarcely knew for what, and
I felt embarrassed and without words.

"I will stay here to-morrow," I said stupidly, and when she said that
she was glad, it did not seem to me that she meant it. I saw her no
more that night.

But with the fresh morning I forgot all chill. We lingered over a
breakfast of broiled bass, and the woman showed me a canoe that Simon
had made for her. Simon was the deft-fingered member of my crew, and
he had fashioned a