the
cupboard beside the great stone chimney, so cunningly devised that no
one would have suspected it, she brought forth a bottle of wine from the
old world, her last choice possession, that she had dreamed of saving
for Antoine, and now her dream had come true.

There was much to tell on both sides, though her life had been
comparatively uneventful. He related incidents of his wilder experiences
far away from civilization that he had grown to enjoy in its perfect
freedom that often lapped over into lawlessness. And he ate until
squirrel, fish, and the cakes, both of rye and corn, had disappeared.
The slave boys fared ill that night.

Rose had eaten her supper more daintily. The great pile of raspberries
was a delight; large, luscious; melting in one's mouth without the aid
of sugar, and being picked up with the fingers. She had been startled at
the sudden appearance of the husband she had heard talked of, but of
course not seen. His loud voice grated on her ears, made more sensitive
by illness, and when, a long while after, the pine torch that was
flaring in the kitchen defined his brawny frame as he stood in the
doorway, she wanted to scream.

"Oh--what have you here--a ghost?" he asked.

"A child who was left here more than a year ago. Jean Arlac lost his
wife, and not knowing what to do with her--she was not his own
child--left her here. He went out with the fur-hunters."

"Jean Arlac!" Antoine scratched among his rough locks as if to assist
his memory. "Yes. And on the way he picked up a likely Indian girl who
has given him a son. And he saddled her on you?"

"Oh, the Sieur will look after her--perhaps take her back to France,"
she answered, indifferently.

"The best place for her, no doubt. She looks a frail reed. And women
need strength in this new world. A little infusion of Indian blood will
do no harm. I wouldn't mind a son myself, but a girl--pouf!"

The child was glad he would not want her. She turned her face to the
wall. She had not known what loneliness was before, but now she felt it
through all her body, like a great pain.

On the opposite side of the room was another settle, part of which
turned over and was upheld by drawing out two rounds of logs. Mere
Dubray made up the wider bed now, and soon Antoine was snoring lustily.
At first it frightened the child, though she was used to the screech of
the owl that spent his nights in the great walnut tree inside the
palisade.

Was it a dream, sh