all, a little in shadow, so that she would not be a part of
their company or whatever conversation they might have, Marie had seated
herself, her round chin in the cup of her brown hand, her dark eyes
shining at this comfort and satisfaction of men. Such scenes as this
amply repaid her for all her toil in life. She was happy. There was
content in this cabin. David felt it. It impinged itself upon him, and
through him, in a strange and mysterious way. Within these log walls he
felt the presence of that spirit--the joy of companionship and of
life--which had so terribly eluded and escaped him in his own home of
wealth and luxury. He heard Marie speak only once that night--once, in a
low, soft voice to Thoreau. She was silent with the silence of the Cree
wife in the presence of a stranger, but he knew that her heart was
throbbing with the soft pulse of happiness, and for some reason he was
glad when Thoreau nodded proudly toward a closed door and let him know
that she was a mother. Marie heard him, and in that moment David caught
in her face a look that made his heart ache--a look that should have
been a part of his own life, and which he had missed.

A little later Thoreau led the way into the room which David was to
occupy for the night. It was a small room, with a sapling partition
between it and the one in which the Missioner was to sleep. The fox
breeder placed a lamp on the table near the bed, and bade David
good-night.

It was past two o'clock, and yet David felt at the present moment no
desire for sleep. After he had taken off his shoes and partially
undressed, he sat on the edge of his bed and allowed his mind to sweep
back over the events of the last few hours. Again he thought of the
woman in the coach--the woman with those wonderful, dark eyes and
haunting face--and he drew forth from his coat pocket the package which
she had forgotten. He handled it curiously. He looked at the red string,
noted how tightly the knot was tied, and turned it over and over in his
hands before he snapped the string. He was a little ashamed at his
eagerness to know what was within its worn newspaper wrapping. He felt
the disgrace of his curiosity, even though he assured himself there was
no reason why he should not investigate the package now when all
ownership was lost. He knew that he would never see the woman again, and
that she would always remain a mystery to him unless what he held in his
hands revealed the secret of her iden