the water's edge. Far away to the southwest the
moving brown patch was a deer, brought there by his love of salt. From
behind, from the forest, came the faint song of the ax. A short
distance from the women Brother Jacques was mending a bark canoe; and
from time to time he looked up from his labor and smiled at them.

The women were no longer in rags. Atotarho had presented to them
dresses which Huron captives had made for his favorite wife. Not in
many days had they laughed genuinely and with mirth; but the picture
made for each other's eyes,--in fringed blouse, fringed skirt, fringed
pantaloons,--overcame their fugitive melancholy; and from that hour
they brightened perceptibly. Trouble never prolongs its acquaintance
with youth, for the heart and shoulders of youth are strong.

Madame watched the quick movements of Brother Jacques's arms.

"How strong this life makes a man!"

"And I should have died but for those strong arms of Brother Jacques.
What would we have done without him?" Anne shuddered as she recalled
the long nights in the forests and upon the dark waters.

Far away madame discerned the Chevalier and Victor dragging logs toward
the palisade. "To the ends of the world!" A fear settled upon her and
darkened for the nonce her new-found gaiety. She was paying dearly for
her mad caprice. All these months she might have been snug in the
Bearn Chateau or in Spain. What lay behind the veil of days to come?
How she hated all these men!

At length Brother Jacques pushed the canoe into the water and came
toward the women. He spoke to them cheerily, all the while his
melancholy thoughts drawing deeper lines in his face. Madame noted his
nervous fingers as they ran up and down his beads, and she was puzzled.
Indeed, this black gown had always puzzled her.

"I must go," he said presently. Whither did not matter; only to get
away by himself. He strode rapidly into the eternal twilight of the
forest, to cast himself down full length on the earth, to hide his face
in his arms, to weep!

Ah, cursed heart to betray him thus! That he should tremble in the
presence of a woman, become abstracted, to lose the vigor and
continuity of thought . . . to love! Never he stood beside her but his
flesh burned again beneath the cool of her arms; never he saw her lips
move but he felt the sweet warm breath upon his throat. He wept. Who
had loved him save Father Chaumonot? None. Like an eagle at sea, he
was