am to blame. But the time I
promised is too long.... I can no longer hold back the tide of longing
which drives me to that land of which we spoke once...." (Here there was
a break in the letter, a smudge on the page, as if the quill had caught
the paper or a drop of moisture run into the ink.)

"I must go forward, and at once, to the Athabasca. The great quest is
strong at my heartstrings again. I thank you, M'sieu, for all kindness
done my people, and I promise that, should fortune favour them and me in
that far land to which we journey, they shall send what trade lies with
them to De Seviere. For one thing I ask,--if it be possible, M'sieu,
give to certain men who will be found by word to Mr. Mowbray of York,
such stipend as you can, for they were good and faithful,--namely, Frith
and Wilson and McDonald, Brilliers and Alloybeau.... Adieu, M'sieu. God
send you health. (Signed)

"MAREN LE MOYNE, of Grand Portage."

Laroux was worth his word.

Forty-eight hours later there stood at the portal of Fort de Seviere,
ready for the trail, that small band of wanderers who had come into it
in the early spring.

They were fuller of hope, more eager to face the wilderness than on that
day, for joy after sorrow sat blithely on their faces, turned to the
tall young woman at their head. And they were fully equipped for travel.
Three canoes held wealth of supplies, while six huskies whined in leash,
nervous under new masters, touched with the knowledge of coming change.

Not a man in De Seviere who had not given gladly, nay, vied with his
neighbour to give, to the helping of this woman.

Had they not their factor back from death and its torments?

There was God-speed and hearty handclasp from the men, and Maren smiled
into their faces, reading their simple hearts.

With the women it was different. They hung, gazing, on the outskirts,
calling farewell to Marie, who wept a little at sight of her deserted
cabin, to Anon and Mora and Ninette, but there was no reflection of
the feeling of their masters for this girl with her weary beauty, her
steady, half-tragic eyes. Nor was there great regret over Micene. Too
sharp had been her tongue, too keen her perception of their faults.

True, the autumn was near at hand. Winter would come with its myriad
foes before they could hope to be ready for it, and Maren, looking far
ahead, saw it and its dangers, and her heart sickened a bit with the
thought of her people; but the thing within