Mine was a real marriage to
Father Nouvel. I thought of the look in the priest's eyes as he made
us man and wife, and of the voices of the Indian women as they chanted
of life and marriage, and I shut my teeth on a sudden feeling of
bitterness. A man may be counted rich yet know himself to be a pauper.
I never saw Father Nouvel again. If he were living now I would go far
to meet him.
It was a long day's travel back to Sturgeon Cove, and night had fallen
before we wound our passage around the curves of the bay and saw the
clear eye of the evening fire burning steadily on the shore. Our
double trip had taken eleven days, and for me the time had lagged. I
had carried an unreasoning weight of oppression, and the shout that I
gave at sight of the black figures around the blaze was an outburst of
relief.
My company flung themselves at the shore, and all talked at once.
"For three days we have watched," Singing Arrow scolded.
The woman stood near, and I went to her. "Have you watched for three
days?" I asked, with my lips on her hand.
"Yes," she said, and then I felt ashamed, for her eyes looked worn and
troubled.
"Forgive me, madame," I murmured, though I scarcely knew for what, and
I felt embarrassed and without words.
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