fared on to the Straits this spring, and then on down
the Lakes. I have sold our furs, and am now ready to account to you with
a sum quite as much as we should have expected.

"Now, Monsieur," and Du Mesne stretched out his arm again, pointing to
the down-coming flood of the St. Lawrence, "Monsieur, will you come? I
see not the St. Lawrence, but the Messasebe. I can hear the voices
calling!"

Law dashed his hand across his eyes and turned his head away. "Not yet,
Du Mesne," said he. "I do not know. Not yet. I must first go across the
waters. Perhaps sometime--I can not tell. But this, my comrades, my
brothers, I do know; that never, until the last sod lies on my grave,
will I forget the Messasebe, or forget you. Go back, if you will, my
brothers; but at night, when you sit by your fireside, think of me, as I
shall think of you, there in the great valley. My friends, it is the
heart of the world!"

"But, Monsieur--"

"There, Du Mesne--I would not talk to-day. At another time. Brothers,
adieu!"

"Adieu, my brother," said the _coureur_, his own emotion showing in his
eyes; and their hands met again.

"Monsieur is cast down," said Du Mesne to Pierre Noir later, as they
reached the beach. "Now, what think you?

"Usually, as you know, Pierre, it is a question of some woman. It
reminds me, Wabana was remiss enough when I left her among the Illini
with you. Now, God bless my heart, I find her--how think you? With her
crucifix lost, cooking for a dirty Ojibway!"

"Mary Mother!" said Pierre Noir, "if it be a matter of a woman--well,
God help us all! At least 'tis something that will take Monsieur L'as
over seas again."

"'Tis mostly a woman," mused Du Mesne; "but this passeth my wit."

"True, they pass the wit of all. Now, did I ever tell thee about the
mission girl at Michilimackinac--but stay! That for another time. They
tell me that our comrade, Greysolon du L'hut, is expected in to-morrow
with a party from the far end of Superior. Come, let us have the news."

"_Tous les printemps,
Tant des nouvelles_,"

hummed Du Mesne, as he flung his arm above the shoulder of the other;
and the two so disappeared adown the beach.

Dully, apathetically, Law lived on his life here at Montreal for yet a
time, at the edge of that wilderness which had proved all else but Eden.
Near to him, though in these guarded times guest by necessity of the
good sisters of the Convent, dwelt Mary Connynge. And as for these two,
i