here and there a white birch stood up grandly, like some fair
goddess astray. Stretches of evergreens suggested life, but beyond them
hills of snow rising higher and higher, until they seemed lost in the
blue, surmounted by a sparkling frost line.

The paths had been beaten down--occasionally a tract around a doorway
shovelled. It was hard and smooth as a floor. Destournier slipped her
arm within his, and then gazed at her in surprise.

"You must have grown. How tall you are. I wonder if I shall get
accustomed to the new phase? I seem always to see the little girl who
sat upon my knee. Oh, do you remember when you were ill at Mere
Dubray's?"

"All my life comes to me in pictures. I sometimes think I can remember
what was before the long sail in the boat, but it is so vague. Now it is
all here, its rough ways, its rocks, its beautiful river are a part of
me. I am never longing to go elsewhere. I am sorry Madame de Champlain
did not love it as well. And the Sieur was such a good, tender husband."

Destournier sighed a little, also. The Sieur kept busy and full of
plans, but occasionally there came a wistfulness in his eyes and a pain
in the lines that were settling so rapidly about his face.

They crunched over the icy paths. A time or two she slipped, and he drew
her nearer, the touch of her body, though wrapped in its furs, giving
him a delicious thrill. He lifted her up the steep ways he had seen her
climb with the litheness of a squirrel.

Wanamee came out with a fervent welcome. The old kitchen was the same.
Pani was toasting himself in his favorite corner. Mawha was doing Indian
bead and feather work, and looked up with a cordial nod.

"Get good and warm. I will tell miladi you have come. You will find her
much changed, but she does not like it remarked upon."

She and Wanamee were in an earnest talk when she was summoned. The room
had in it some new appointments, brought from France, but even a
luxurious court beauty might have envied the rich fur rugs lying about
and hanging over the rude and somewhat clumsy chairs of home
manufacture.

Pillowed up in a half-sitting posture in the bed was miladi. Rose could
hardly forbear a shocked exclamation. When she had seen her every day,
the changes had passed unremarked, for they had begun, even then. The
lovely skin was yellowed and wrinkled and defined the cheek bones, the
beautiful hair had grown dull, and the eyes had lost their lustre. All
her youth was gone,