During his words, which were evenly spoken, without excitement, but with intense feeling, the head of Douglas McTavish remained sunk upon his breast. He realized now the irreparable injury that his youth had wrought, and in the depths of his heart he admired this heroic half-breed, who, in the exercise of the truest nobility, was a better man than he. The selfish gratitude for his deliverance was secondary to shame for his own unworthy life and humble worship of Seguis's sterling character.
“Seguis,” he said at last, quietly, “you are right; I never can undo the wrong I have done you. But will say this: I admire your spirit and your manhood. I admire the way you sought to defeat us in honorable competition on the hunting-grounds, and the skill with which you managed it. The position of factor at Fort Severn is open, and I wish you to take it. You are one of my most valued men. This appointment will be ratified in the usual form when the time comes.”
He rose and walked across the tent: Then, he took the left hand of Seguis and pressed it warmly.
“You will accept?” he asked.
The half-breed's only response was a return pressure and a look of glorious gratitude.
“What is to become of me, father?” asked Donald in a half-serious tone of injury.
“You're to come down to civilization as soon as spring opens. I had already decided that this would be your last year in the woods. I need you there to learn the ins and outs of the administrative end. Of course, I'll give you a factory if you want it, but I don't think you need the experience.”
“No, I don't think I do,” replied Donald. “And then, besides, I have other reasons for wishing to live in a civilized community. I wonder what is the current price of house-furniture?”
A month later Jean Fitzpatrick, her sister, Laura, and Donald McTavish sat in the luxurious drawing-room of the factor's house at Fort Severn. The two women were in black, and Laura dabbed at her eyes occasionally, but with considerable care lest the penciling of her eyebrows should smear... Out in the cold, a little distance away, a fresh mound lay, dun-colored, under the oblique rays of the setting sun.
“Poor father,” said Jean softly, slipping her hand into Donald's, “I'm glad he's at rest. His life was a bitter one.”