Kitabı oku: «The Peace of Roaring River», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XII
Help Comes
Stefan had watched the departure of those people grimly, until he felt sure that they would not return. Madge had stood near him. In her desolation it was splendid to have him there with her, to be no longer obliged to stare at the sick man’s face in lonely terror, to feel that if there was any help needed he would be at hand, with all his immense strength and courage.
“I tank dey don’t mean much badness,” the man explained to her. “Mebbe ye knows peoples in dis countree ain’t much to do in dis vintertime and dey gets fonny iteas about foolin’ araount. Dey goes home all qviet now, you bet, and don’t talk to nobotty vhat tam fools dey bin, eh!”
They both entered the shack again and the big fellow went up to the bunk upon which lay his friend. For a very long time he looked at him, finally touching a hand with infinite care and gentleness. After this he turned to Madge a face expressive of deepest pain.
“Leetle leddy,” he said, gently, “vos it true as you shot him? Papineau he telt me so. A accident, he said it vos.”
The girl looked at him imploringly, with elbows bent but hands stretched towards him, as if she were suing for forgiveness. The man was seated on a stool, waiting for her answer.
“Yes, it was an accident–a terrible accident,” sobbed Madge, whose strength and courage seemed to leave her suddenly. “You–you believe me, don’t you?”
It is hard to say whether it was weakness or the excess of her emotion that forced her down to her knees. She grasped one of the huge hands the man had extended towards her. He laid the other upon her bent back, very softly.
“In course I do, you poor leetle leddy. Yes, I sure beliefe you. Dere vosn’t anybotty vould hurt Hugo, unless dey vos grazy, you bet. He ban a goot friend to me–ay, he ban a goot friend to all peoples.”
He helped her up, very tenderly, and made her sit on a stool close to the one he occupied. There was a very long interval of silence, during which his great face and beard were hidden in the hollow of his hands. Then he spoke again, in a very low voice, as if he had been addressing the smallest of his own babes.
“You poor leetle leddy,” he repeated, “I feels most turriple sorry for Hugo, for it most tear my heart out yoost to look at him. But vhen I looks at you I feels turriple sorry for you too. I knows vhat it must be, sure ting, for a leetle leddy like you to be sittin’ here, in dis leetle shack, a-lookin’ at de man she lofe an see de life goin’ out of him. Last fall Hugo ban gone a vhiles back East again, and vhen you comes I tank mebbe you some nice gal he promise to marry. Even vhen de telegraft come I make sure it is so. I pring de bit paper here myself an’ vaits a vhiles, but he no come and I haf to go on. I vanted to see de happy face on him. I say to myself, ‘Hah! You rascal Hugo, you nefer tell nodding to your ole friend Stefan, but he know all de same.’ But vhen I got to go I couldn’t say nodding. I leaf de paper on de table here an’ I tank how happy he is vhen he come home an’ find it. You poor leetle leddy!”
The man was mistaken, most honestly so, for no idea of love had ever entered Hugo’s head, and none had come to Madge. Yet the big fellow’s words seemed to stab the girl to the heart and she moaned. She felt that she could not allow Hugo’s friend to remain undeceived. There had been already too many mysteries, too many lies–she would have no share in them if she could help it.
“I–I wasn’t in love with him when I came, Stefan,” she faltered. “He–he was a stranger to me. I had never seen him–never in all my life. I came here because–because there has been some terrible mistake–in some letters, queer letters that bade me come here and–and meet a man who wanted a wife. And I–I was a poor miserable sick girl in New York and–and I just couldn’t keep body and soul together anymore–and–and be a good decent girl. And those letters seemed so beautiful that I felt I must come and see the man who wrote them, and–and I was ready to marry him if he would be kind to me and–and treat me decently and–and keep me from starvation and suffering. And when I came here he didn’t know anything about it, and–and I thought he lied. But–but I never thought to do him any harm. I took the little pistol out of the bag, because I was looking for something else, and it went off! Oh!”
She hid her face in her hands, as if the whole scene had been again enacted before her, and the man heard her sobbing.
“Hugo he nefer tell no lie,” said Stefan, softly. “I don’t know vhat all dis mean, you bet. But I am glad you ban come like a stranger. I am glad he no lofe you, and den I am sorry, too, for you so nice gal, vid voice so soft and such prettee eyes, I tank if he lofe you den you sure lofe him too. Den you two so happy in dis place, ma’am.”
He interrupted himself, striking his fist upon his chest, as if to still a pain in it, and went on again.
“You haf no idea how prettee place dis is, leetle leddy, in de summertime. A vonderful place to be happy in. De big falls dey make music all day and at night dey sings you to sleep, like de modder she sings leetle babies. Und de big birches dey lean ofer, so beautiful, and de birds dey comes all rount, nesting in all de bushes. Oh, such a vonderful place for a man and a voman to love, dem falls of dat Roaring Rifer! Hugo he cleared such a goot piece, oder side of dat leetle hill, vhere de oats vould grow fine. And down by de Rifer, on de north side, he find silver, plenty silver in big veins, like dey got east of us, in Nipissing countree. So I tank one day he ban a rich man and haf a prettee little voman and plenty nice kiddies, leetle children like one lofes to see, and dey all lif here so happy.”
His voice grew suddenly hoarse. It was with an effort that he spoke again.
“An’ now he don’ know me–or you or Maigan, and–and my goot dear frient Hugo he look like he ban dyin’!”
Stefan stopped abruptly again, apparently overcome. His face, tanned by frost and sun to a hue of dull brick, also lay in the hollow of his hands. The vastness of his grief seemed to be commensurate with his size. But when he looked up Madge saw that his eyes were dry, for he was suffering according to the way of strong men with the agony that clutches at the breast and twists a cord about the temples. In his helplessness before the peril he was pitiful to see, since all his confidence had gone, his pride in his power, his faith in his ability to surmount all things by the mere force of his will. And the present weakness of the man augmented the girl’s own sorrow, even though his being there was relief of a sort.
The Swede looked about him vaguely, and then his eyes became fixed on a point of the log wall, as if through it he had been able to discern things that lay beyond.
“Hugo an’ me,” he began again, very slowly and softly, “ve vent off north from here, a year an’ a half it is now, after de ice she vent off de lakes. And ve trafel long vays, most far as vhere de Albany she come down in James Bay. Ve vos lookin’ for silfer an’ copper an’ tings like dat. An’ dere come one day vhen ve gets awful rough water on a lake and ve get upset. Him Hugo he svim like a otter, he do, but me I svim like a stone. De shore he ban couple hundret yard off, mebbe leetle more. I hold on to de bow and Hugo he grab de stern. So he begin push for shore, svimmin’ vid his feet, but dat turriple slow going, vid de canoe all under vater, yoost holdin’ us up a bit, and it vos cold, awful turriple cold in dat vater. He calls to me ve can’t make it dat vay, ve don’t make three-four yards a minute. Den I calls for him to let go, for I ban tanking he safe his life anyvay, svimmin’ ashore vhere ve had our camp close by. Und vhat you tank he do, ma’am? He yell to me not be tam fool, dat vhat he do! He say, ‘How I look at your voman an’ de kids in de face, vhen I gets back vidout you?’ So he lets go and my end sink deep so I let go an’ vos fighting to keep up but he grab me and say to take holt of his shoulter. He swear he trown vid me if I don’t. So I done it, ma’am, and he svim, svim turriple hard, draggin’ me ashore. I yoost finds my feet on de bottom vhen he keels ofer, like dead, vid de cold and de playin’ out. So I takes him in my arms and runs in. I had matches in my screw-box but my fingers vos dat froze I couldn’t get ’em out first. But I manages make a fire, by an’ by, and I rubs de life back into him again. And–and you know vhat is first ting he say vhen he vake up?”
Madge shook her head.
“Him Hugo yoost say, ‘Now I kin look Mis’ Olsen in de face, vhen ve gets back, eh, old pard?’”
The man kept still again, looking anxiously at the sufferer and watching the hurried breathing. The feeling of his uselessness was evidently a torture to him, but his heart was too full for him to remain silent very long.
“An’ now I am here an’ can do nodings. I ban no more use dan–dan de tog dere. My God, leddy, tell me vhat I can do! He most trown himself an’ freeze to death to safe me dat time an’ I got sit still like a big tam fool an’ him goin’ under vidout a hand to pull him out. All de blood in my body, every drop, I gif to safe him. Don’t you beliefe? I remember vhen de vaves and de vind pring dot canoe ashore. Ve lose not a ting because eferyting is lashed tight. Py dat time he vos vhistling and singin’ alretty, like nodings efer happen. Ve had de big fire roarin’, I tell you, and vhen I say again he safe my life he yoost laugh like it is a fine yoke an’ say: ‘Oh, shut up, Stefan, ve’re a pair big fools to get upset, anyvays. And some tay you do yoost same ting for me, I bet.’ And now–now I can do nodings–nodings at all.”
He seemed to be in an agony of despair. Madge had hardly realized that the suffering of men could reach such an intensity. She rose and placed her little hand on the giant’s shoulder. The huge frame was shaking convulsively, in great sobs that brought no tears with them. Then, all at once, he rose and faced her, shamefacedly.
“Poor leetle leddy,” he faltered, “I ban makin’ you unhappy vid dem story. I ban sorry be such a big tam fool, but I can no help it. It–it is stronger as me.”
For a time he paced up and down the little shack, struggling hard to keep himself in hand. Once he seized his shaggy head in his great paws and seemed to be trying to squeeze out of it the unendurable pain that was in it.
“De sun he begin go town,” he said, stopping suddenly. “Vhy don’t dat Papineau get back? It get dark soon. I tank I take de togs an’ go down de road. Mebbe his team break down. His leader ban a young tog.”
For an instant Madge felt like begging him to remain. Ay, she could have shrieked out her terror at the idea of being left alone with the man that was dying, as she thought, but she also succeeded in controlling herself, realizing that if the man was not allowed to do something, anything that would require the strength of his thews and divert the turmoil of his brain, he might go mad.
“As–as you think best,” she assented, with her head bent low.
Stefan took his cap and fitted it over his great shock of hair, but at this moment Maigan rose and went to the door, whining.
“Some one ban comin’, but it ain’t Papineau,” said Stefan.
It proved to be Mrs. Papineau, hurrying down the path and carrying a basket. She explained that the cow had had a calf, hence her delay. Puffing and breathless she scolded them for not lighting the lamp and bustled about the place, declaring that the two watchers should have made tea and that it took an experienced mother of many to know how to handle things.
“I have made strong soup vid moose-meat,” she told them. “Heem do Monsieur Hugo moch good. I put on de stove now an’ get hot.”
She spoke confidently, just as usual, as if nothing out of the ordinary were going on in the shack, but it was a transparent effort to encourage the others, and she was not able to keep it up long. She happened to look at Hugo again, and suddenly her face fell and her hands went up, while she buried her face in her blue apron and sobbed right out.
“De good Lord Heem bring an’ de good Lord Heem take away,” was what she said, and it sounded like a knell in the ears of the others.
Since the light was beginning to fail Madge lit the little lamp. Mrs. Papineau took some of the soup out of the pot and stirred it with a spoon to cool it, and then she lifted the sick man’s head. Her voice became soft and caressing, as if she had spoken to a child.
“My leetle Hugo,” she said, “dere’s a good fellar. Try an’ drink, jus’ one bit. H’open mouth, dat way. Now you swallow, dere’s good boy. An’ now you try heem again, jus’ one more spoon. H’it is awful good, from de big moose what Philippe he get. Jus’ one more spoon an’ I not bodder you no more.”
Whether Hugo understood or not no one could have told. At any rate, with infinite patience, she was able to feed him a little, until he finally pushed her hand away from him.
Stefan, whose back had been resting on the door and whose arms had been hanging dejectedly at his side, took a step towards the girl.
“Ay go down de road a bit an’ meet Papineau if he come back,” he proposed. “If de togs is tired I take de doctor on my toboggan. Get back qvicker dat vay. So long! I comes back soon anyvays, sure.”
He started away at a swift pace, his strong dogs, amply rested, barking and throwing themselves hard upon the breastpieces of their harness. After he was out of hearing the two women sat very close together, for mutual comfort and consolation, and the older one began to speak in a low whisper.
“You very lucky, mademoiselle. It ees lucky it ain’t you h’own man as lie dere an’ you haf to see heem like dat. It is turriple ting to see. One time Papineau heem get h’awful seek, an’ I watch him five–no, six day and de nights. An’ it vos back in de Grand Nord, no doctor nor noding at all. An’ me wid my little Justine jus’ two month ole in my h’arms. An’ den come de day ven de good Lord Heem ’ear ’ow I pray all de time an’ Papineau heem begin to get vell again. But de time vos like having big knife planted in my ’eart, jus’ like dat.”
She made a gesture as if she had stabbed herself, and went on:
“You not know ’ow ’appy you must be you no love a man as goin’ for die soon. You–you go crazy times like dat!”
But Madge made no answer and could only continue to stare at the form that seemed to grow dimmer as the small oil lamp cast flickering shadows in the room. In her ears the continued, eternal sound of the great falls had taken on an ominous character. It was like some solemn dirge that rose and fell, unaccountably, like the breathing of a vast force that could reck nothing of the piteous tragedy being enacted. It appeared to be growing ever so much colder again. A few feet away from the stove it was freezing. She sought to look out of the little window but great massing clouds had hidden the crimson of sunset. A strong wind was arising and caused the great firs and spruces to groan dismally. The minutes were again becoming cruel things that tortured one with their maddening slowness. The girl became conscious of the beats of her heart, unaccountably slow, as she thought.
And then, for a moment, that heart stopped utterly. A shout had come from the little lumber road and Maigan was barking at the door excitedly, in spite of the older woman’s scolding. The toboggan slithered over the snow and there was a patter of dogs’ feet.
Madge threw the door open and let in a man in a great coonskin coat, who was carrying a bag. In spite of the heaviest fur mitts his hands were chilled and for a moment he held them to the glow of the stove, before turning calmly to his patient, after a curt nod to each of the women.
CHAPTER XIII
A Widening Horizon
“I’m Dr. Starr,” the man introduced himself. “It’s turning mighty cold again. We only hit the high places after I got on Stefan’s toboggan, I can tell you. How the man kept up with his team I can’t tell you, but he ran all the way.”
He threw off his heavy coat and turned to the bunk.
“Now let’s see what we’ve got here,” he said.
The two women were scanning his face, holding their breaths, but Mrs. Papineau had the lamp and held it so as to cast some light on Hugo. The doctor’s expression, however, was quite inscrutable.
“Your husband?” he asked the girl, who shook her head. “Well, perhaps it’s a good thing he’s not. Put a lot of water to boil on the stove, please. Can’t you find another lamp here–this one doesn’t give much light?”
There was no lamp but they found a package of candles which were soon flickering on the table, stuck in the necks of bottles. The doctor was pulling a lot of things out of his bag, coolly. To Madge it seemed queer that he could be so unaffected by what he saw. Presently he went to work, after baring the injured shoulder.
After it was all over it seemed to the girl like some dreadful nightmare. After just one keen glance the doctor had probably decided that her young hands would afford him the better help. And so she had been obliged to remain at his side and look upon the sinewy shoulder and the arm that had been laid bare, and at the angry and inflamed wound which had been flooded with iodine. And then had come the picking up of shining instruments just taken out of one of the boiling vessels. Her teeth left imprints on her lips and she felt that she was surely going to stagger and fall as the man made long slashing incisions. From them he took out a piece of cloth and a bullet that had been flattened against the bone. After this there was a lot more disinfecting and the placing of red tubes of rubber deep down in the wound, which was finally covered with a large dressing. But it was only after this was all finished that Madge dropped on a stool, feeling sick and shaken.
“Oh, you’re not such a very bad soldier, after all,” commented the doctor, quietly, as he gathered up his instruments to clean and boil them again. “I can’t say that I’m optimistic about this case–but perhaps you don’t quite understand such big words. I mean that I haven’t any great hopes for this lad, but at least he has some little chance now. There was none whatever before. Of course it depends a lot on the nursing he gets. If I thought for a moment that he could stand the trip I’d take him away with me, but that’s out of the question.”
Then he turned to Stefan.
“I’ll have to catch the first freight back in the morning, my man. Will you take me to Carcajou in good time? I can’t afford to miss it. Too many needing me just now east of here!”
“Ay, I take you–if Hugo he no worse. But if tings is goin’ wrong, I’ll let Papineau do it. I–I can’t leaf no more. Vhen I starts from here I tank I can’t stand it a moment–but vhen I get off on de road, I gets grazy to come back. I–I don’t know vhat I vants!”
The doctor looked at him curiously, appreciating the depth of the man’s emotion and gauging the strength of the superb creature he was.
“I won’t let you take me if it isn’t safe,” he told him, and turned to his patient again.
“Do you expect to stay up all night?” he suddenly asked the girl.
“I–I am anxious to, if I can be of the slightest help.”
“One can never tell,” he replied. “I might be glad to have you with me. You don’t lose your head–and you’re efficient.”
Presently Papineau arrived with his dogs and took his wife home. The good lady had looked upon the doctor’s cutting with profound disfavor. A suggestion of hers about herbs had been treated with scant respect. Before leaving she spoke to Madge.
“I stay h’all night too–but it ain’t no good, because if he lif to-morrow night den you go sleep an’ I stay ’ere. Before I go to bed I prays moch. I–I ’opes he lif through de night–heem no more bad as heem was, anyvays, an’ dat someting.”
So they went away sorrowfully, to the little new-born calf and the babies and the children who needed them, and Stefan sat on the floor with his back to the wall, while Maigan snuggled up against him.
Dr. Starr remained all night, sometimes dozing a little on his chair, with the ability of the man often called at night to take little snatches of sleep here and there, but Madge was at all times wide awake. Some time after midnight Hugo appeared to be sleeping quietly. The valuable candles had been extinguished, of course, but the little lamp was burning, shaded on one side by a piece of birch bark. Stefan had gradually curled up on the floor, under the table, where he was out of the way, and was snoring lustily. In the morning, doubtless, he would most honestly insist that he had not slept an instant. Out of doors the Swede’s dogs had dug holes in the snow and, with sensitive noses covered by their bushy tails, were awaiting in slumber the next call from their master. The great falls kept up their moan and the trees swayed and cracked. A wind-borne branch, falling on the roof, made a sudden racket that was startling.
At frequent intervals Madge rose and gave Hugo some water, for which he always seemed grateful, or adjusted the pillow beneath his head. Once, when she sat down again, she saw the doctor’s eyes fixed upon her, gravely.
“You have the necessary instinct,” he told her, “and the patience and perseverance. I don’t know what your plans may be for the future, but you would make a good nurse.”
Madge shrugged her shoulders, the tiniest bit. She didn’t know. It didn’t matter what she was fit for. The world so far had been a failure. The only important thing before her now was to do her best to help pull the sick man out of the jaws of death, if it could possibly be done. She sat down again, and after a time that seemed like an age the utter blackness without began to turn to gray and, in spite of the constantly replenished stove, the chill of the early morning struck deep into her. As the doctor looked at his watch she rose and began to make tea, which comforted them.
“Do you expect to keep on looking after this man?” the doctor asked her, abruptly, between two mouthfuls.
“Yes, of course, if I may,” she answered.
“I should say that you will simply have to, if his life is to be saved, or at least if he’s to have a fair chance. I shall be compelled to go pretty soon. As it is I won’t get back home before noon and there are several bad cases I must see to-day. I’ll return the day after to-morrow; it’s the best I can do, for it is absolutely impossible for me to remain here. Now just listen to me very carefully while I give you the necessary directions. I think I’d better write some of them out so that you will be sure not to forget them. See if you can find me a bit of paper somewhere.”
On one of the shelves there was a small homemade desk in which she rummaged. She found a number of loose bits of paper, some of them scribbled over in pencil and others with ink. They were apparently accounts, notes concerning various supplies and a few letters from various places. Finding a clean sheet she brought it to the doctor who rapidly wrote at length upon it. At this moment Stefan awoke, with a portentous yawn, but a second later he had leaped to his feet and was scanning their faces anxiously.
“I tank mebbe I doze for a moment,” he informed them. “How is Hugo gettin’ long?”
“For the present he looks to me somewhat better,” answered the doctor. “There doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger, and I’ll have to start back in a few minutes. We’ve had a cup of tea, but you’d better make some breakfast ready.”
Stefan bestirred himself and presently a potful of rolled oats was being stirred carefully for fear of burning, and bacon was sputtering in the pan. The kettle was singing again and Madge was cutting slices from a loaf left by Mrs. Papineau. The three sat down to the table and ate hungrily, abundantly, as people have to who make stern demands upon their vitality.
The doctor made a few more remarks about the treatment of his patient. He had carefully laid on the table the little tablets of medicine, the bottle containing an antiseptic, the cotton and gauze that must be used to renew the dressing. Then he went out, breathing deeply of the sharp and aromatic air, and a moment later he and Stefan were gone, the latter promising to return at once, with a few needed supplies from the store. Madge was alone now with Hugo, who was again sleeping quietly. She read over the doctor’s directions carefully while she stood by the little window, as the lamp had been extinguished.
A few minutes later she decided to place the paper in the little desk again, for safe-keeping. Without the slightest curiosity her eyes fell again upon some of the writing on loose sheets. But presently she was staring at it hard as a strong conviction made its way into her brain. After this she went to the other shelf where some books had been placed and opened one of them, and then another. On the flyleaf was written, in bold characters, “Hugo Ennis.” The writing was exactly the same as that which appeared on the scattered leaves, for she compared them carefully.
“There can be no doubt–he never wrote those letters,” she decided. “But–but I knew very well he couldn’t have written them. It–it isn’t like him.”
The idea came again that he could have obtained some one to write for him, but it was immediately cast aside. The man would not engage in dirty work himself–far less would he get others to do it for him. She–she had abused and insulted him–called him a liar, as far as she could remember, and again her face felt hot and burning.
Once more she sat down by the bunk, after she had given Maigan a big feed of oats, with a small remnant of the bacon grease. She felt humbled now, as if her accusations constituted some unforgivable, despicable sin. This man had never intended to do her the slightest harm. He really never knew that she was coming. And through her stupid clumsiness his life was now ebbing. The doctor’s long words sounded dreadfully in her ears: general sepsis, blood poisoning, a system overwhelmed by the toxines of virulent microbes; they reverberated in her ears like so many sentences of death. Was there any hope that this outflowing life would ever turn in its course and return like an incoming tide? Would she again see him able to lift up his head, to speak in words no longer dictated by the vagaries of delirium? She would give anything to be able to ask his pardon humbly after his mind cleared again. Oh, it was unthinkable that he should die, that the end might be coming soon, and that she must go forth with that unspeakable load of misery in her heart.
Maigan restlessly kept on coming to her and placing his head in her lap, as if seeking comfort. Once she bent over and put her cheek against his jaw and furry ear. He was a companion in misery.
When she lifted up her head again to stare once more at the sufferer, with eyes heavily ringed with black, he slowly opened his own and looked at her vaguely, for at first there was not the slightest sign of recognition in them. Presently, however, the girl saw something that looked like a faint smile.
“How–how long have I been asleep?” he asked, weakly. “And have–have you been here all the time?”
She nodded, conscious that her heart was now beating with excitement, and his eyes closed again. But his hand had sought the one she had laid on the blanket and rested on it, for a few moments. It was the ever-recurring call of the man for the comfort of a woman’s touch, for the protection his strength gathers from her weakness.
“You–you’re ever so good and kind,” he said again, in a low hoarse voice, after which he kept still again, for the longest time.
In spite of the gray pall of clouds over the sky and the complaining of the gale-swept tops of the great trees, in spite of the vast dull roar of the great falls, that had seemed a dirge, a ray of cheer had entered the little shack. It had seemed to her like such a paltry and mean excuse for a dwelling, when she had first seen it, and had been so thoroughly in keeping with the sordid nature she had at once attributed to this man whom she believed to have brought her there with amazing lies. But now, in some way, it had become a link, and the only one, that still attached her a little to the world. It appeared to her like the one place where she had been able to obtain a little rest from her miserable thoughts. Indeed, it had now become infinitely desirable. If the man could have stood up again and greeted her it would have become a haven of unspeakable comfort, since she would realize that for once her efforts had not been in vain, and that she had helped bring him back to life. But of course she knew that she must leave it soon, that whether he died or recovered, the only trail she could follow would be one that would lead to the banks of the Roaring River, where the big air holes were. And yet, so strongly is hope implanted in the human heart, this termination of her adventure seemed to have receded into a dimmer future, like the knowledge which we have that some day all must die but which we consider pertains only to some vague and distant period that we shall not reach for a long time.
Hugo was sleeping quietly now and the girl’s hand upon his pulse detected a feeble and swift flowing of the blood-current which, in spite of its weakness, was an improvement. But the great thing was that another day had come and he was still living, and his breathing came quietly. If–if she had loved the man, she never would have been able to go through all this without a breaking down of her little strength. As Stefan had said, and as Mrs. Papineau had also intimated, it was fortunate for her that she did not love him. Indeed, it was ever so much better. She was glad indeed that he had recognized and praised her, and then his voice had never expressed the slightest sign of reproach. She was happy that he had found comfort in her presence beside his couch and–and had been able to smile at her.
Madge opened the door to let Maigan out. The air was full of feathery masses of snow blown from treetops. Sheltered as she was from the wind, the cold was no longer so penetrating. In the east the gray was tinted through the agency of long rifts in which dull shades of red broke through and were reflected even upon the white at her feet. It was not a cheery world just then, since the sun did not shine and the great fronds of evergreens loomed very dark, but the vastness of the wooded valley sloping down beneath her and stretching beyond the limits of her vision impressed her with a sense of greatness and of power. It was a tremendously big, strong and inexorable world, in which was being fought the unending and apparently unjust battle of the mighty against the weak, of the wolves and lynxes against the deer and hares, of a myriad furred and sharp-fanged things against the feebler and defenseless things of the forest. But also it was a world capable of bringing forth majestic things; able and willing to reward toil; in which, despite all of nature’s unceasing cruelty, there could reign happiness and the accomplishment of a heart’s desire.
