which was not the purest. That is how we
loved her sixteen years ago this winter, M'seur, and that is how we love
her memory still."

"She is dead," uttered Howland, forgetting in these tense moments the
significance Jean's story might hold for him.

"Yes; she is dead. M'seur, shall I tell you how she died?"

Croisset sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing, his lithe body
twitching like a wolf's as he stood for an instant half leaning over
the engineer.

"Shall I tell you how she died, M'seur?" he repeated, falling back on
his stool, his long arms stretched over the table. "It happened like
this, sixteen years ago, when the little Meleese was four years old and
the oldest of the three sons was fourteen. That winter a man and his boy
came up from Churchill. He had letters from the Factor at the Bay, and
our Factor and his wife opened their doors to him and to his son, and
gave them all that it was in their power to give.

"_Mon Dieu_, this man was from that glorious civilization of yours,
M'seur--from that land to the south where they say that Christ's temples
stand on every four corners, but he could not understand the strange God
and the strange laws of our people! For months he had been away from the
companionship of women, and in this great wilderness the Factor's wife
came into his life as the flower blossoms in the desert. Ah, M'seur, I
can see now how his wicked heart strove to accomplish the things, and
how he failed because the glory of our womanhood up here has come
straight down from Heaven. And in failing he went mad--mad with that
passion of the race I have seen in Montreal, and then--ah, the Great
God, M'seur, do you not understand what happened next?"

Croisset lifted his head, his face twisted in a torture that was half
grief, half madness, and stared at Howland, with quivering nostrils and
heaving chest. In his companion's face he saw only a dead white pallor
of waiting, of half comprehension. He leaned over the table again,
controlling himself by a mighty effort.

"It was at that time when most of us were out among the trappers, just
before our big spring caribou roast, when the forest people came in with
their furs, M'seur. The post was almost deserted. Do you understand? The
woman was alone in her cabin with the little Meleese--and when we came
back at night she was dead. Yes, M'seur, she killed herself, leaving a
few written words to the Factor telling him what had happened.

"The man and the