l they crumpled on the snow, for
those they loved or to whom they owed allegiance.

CHAPTER XXIV

ON THE CLIFFS

Marcel was walking on the high river shore above the post with Julie
Breton and Fleur. Like a floor below them the surface of the Great Whale
moved without ripple in the still June afternoon. Out over the Bay the
sun hung in a veil of haze. Back at the post, even the huskies were
quiet, lured into sleep by the softness of the air. It was such a day as
Jean Marcel had dreamed of more than a year before, in January, back in
the barrens, when powdery snow crystals danced in the air as the lifting
sun-dogs turned white wastes of rolling tundra into a shimmering sea. He
was again with Julie on the cliffs, but there was no joy in his heart.

"The Lelacs have traded their fur," he said, breaking a long silence;
"the hearing will take place soon, now."

"Yes, I know, you were with Monsieur Gillies and Henri very late last
night," she replied, watching the antics of an inquisitive Canada jay in
an adjacent birch.

"Yes, we had some work to do. The Lelacs will not like what we have to
tell them."

"I knew that you would be able to show the Crees what bad people these
Lelacs are."

"Yes, Julie, we shall prove them liars and thieves; but the stain on the
name of Jean Marcel will remain. I cannot deny that Antoine was killed;
the Crees will not believe my story."

"Nonsense, Jean," she burst out, "you must make them believe you!"

"Julie," he said, ignoring her words, "since my return I have wanted to
tell you--that I wish you all happiness,"--he swallowed hard at the lump
in his throat,--"I have heard that you leave Whale River soon."

At the words the girl flushed but turned a level gaze on the man, who
looked at the dim, blue shapes of the White Bear Hills far on the
southern horizon.

"You have not heard the truth," she said. "Monsieur Wallace has done me
the honor to ask me to marry him, but Monsieur Wallace is still a
Protestant."

The words from Julie's own lips stung Marcel like the lash of a whip,
but his face masked his emotion.

Then she went on:

"I wanted to talk to you last summer, for you are my dear friend, but
you were here for so short a while and we had but a word when you
left." Then the girl burst out impulsively, "Ah, Jean; don't look that
way! Won't you ever forgive me? I am--so sorry, Jean. But--you are a
boy. It could never be that way. Why, you are as a brother."

Ma