gh been
tempted to turn back."

"It has been a long journey, then, to you?"

McElroy smiled, thinking of the first impressions and effect of the
wilderness on such a man fresh from the ways of civilisation.

"Long? Though it is my initial journey, yet am I veteran frontiersman."

He turned upon the factor the brilliance of his smile, a combination of
dazzling teeth and eyes that fairly danced with spirit, like bubbling
wine, blue and swift in their changes from laughter to an exaggerated
dolorousness, as when he spoke of these terrible hardships.

And if they were quick after this fashion they were no less so in
roaming keenly over every corner of the enclosed space within the
stockade.

Before they had reached the factory the stranger knew that there were
three rows of cabins in the post, that the factory was a mighty fortress
in its low solidity, and that the small log structure to the right of it
with the barred window was the pot au beurre.

As they neared the factory the figure of a tall woman, young by the
straightness of the back, the gracious yet taut beauty of line and
curve, came from behind the cabin of the Savilles, and on her shoulder
was perched a three-year-old child which laughed and gurgled with
delight, holding tight to her widespread hands. The woman's face was
hidden by the child's body, but her voice, deep-throated and rich with
sliding minor tones, mingled with the high shrillness of the little
one's shrieks.

"Hold fast, ma cherie," came its laughing caution, smothered by the
flying folds of the baby's little cotton shift. "See! The ship dips so,
in the ocean,--and so,--and so!"

The strong arms, bare and brown and muscular, swayed backward, throwing
up the milky whiteness of the little throat, the tiny feet flew
heavenward and the baby's wee heart choked it, as witness the screams
of irrepressible joy. As the child swayed back there came into view the
face of Maren Le Moyne, flushed all over its rare darkness, glowing with
tenderness, its great beauty transfigured divinely. The black braids,
wrapped smoothly round her head, shone in the evening sun, and the faded
garment, plain and uncompromising, but served to heighten the effect of
her physical perfection.

Alfred de Courtenay stopped in his tracks, the smile fixed on his face,
and drank in the pretty scene like one starved.

So long he looked that McElroy turned toward him and only then did he
shift his glance, remembering himsel