I cannot forgive myself!"

"Nay, boy, hush! It is all as God wills. We are but shuttles in the web
of this tangled life."

"But--tell me,--what does she now? How looks her dear face?"

Ridgar was silent a moment, and McElroy repeated his question, with his
face still turned away:

"Does she pass among them,--the vipers? Does she seem to care for life
at all now?"

"Lad," said Ridgar gently, "I know not, for she is gone."

"Gone!"

The pale man on the pillow sprang upright, staring at the other with
open mouth.

"Aye, softly, boy; softly! She has been gone these many weeks; even
while summer was here she gathered her people, outfitted by our men,
all of whom were so glad for your deliverance that they gave readily to
their debt, and took up again her long trail to the Athabasca. Rette, I
believe, has a letter which she left for you.... Would you read it now?"

McElroy nodded dumbly, and Ridgar went out in the night to Rette's cabin
for this last link between the factor and the woman he loved.

When he returned, and McElroy had taken it in his shaking hands, he sat
down and turned his face to the fire.

There was silence while the flames crackled and the chimney roared, and
presently the factor said heavily:

"I cannot! Read..."

So Ridgar, bending in the light, read aloud Maren's letter.

At its end the man on the bed turned his face to the wall and spoke no
more.

From that time forth the tide of returning life in him stopped
sluggishly, as if the locks were set in some ocean-tapping channel.

The bleakness of the cold north winter was in his heart and life was
barren as the eastern meadows.

So passed the days and the weeks, with quip and jest from Ridgar, whose
eyes wore a puzzled expression; with such coddling and coaxing from
Rette as would have spoiled a well man, and, with not the least to be
counted, daily visits to the factory of the little Francette, who defied
the populace and came openly.

With returned consciousness to McElroy, there came back to the little
maid much of her damask beauty. The pretty cheeks bloomed again and she
was like some bright butterfly flitting about the bare room in her red
kirtle.

Sometimes McElroy would smile, watching her play with a young bob-cat,
which some trapper had brought her from the woods, and whose savage
playfulness seemed to be held in leash under her small hands. The
creature would mouth and fawn upon her, taking her cuffs and slaps, and
foll