Hitherto she had roamed the country unattended and unmolested, pure, happy, serene. Now at one blow all this was changed. Broom’s assault on her had opened her eyes to the danger of wandering alone. Her violent struggles to free herself from his tight embrace had bruised her arms and bosom, and she ached in every limb. But her agony of body was as nothing compared with her agony of mind. Ignorant of the world, she knew nothing of the prejudices of rank or race, but Roy’s walking away had somehow revealed their relative positions; and Kasba considered it folly to think anything good could possibly come from her unwise affection.
After a time she stooped down, and, lifting up the bundle of sticks, threw it across her back, then moved away. Erect and supple, gently swaying under her burden, she glided along.
Crossing a small pond in a deep hollow in the summit of the rocks, she came in sight of her father’s hut, which stood quite alone, at some little distance from the Fort, in the sheltering angle of a ridge of rocks.
Delgezie, her father, was a widower, and as Kasba was his only child he showered all the love of his poor old heart upon her. Nothing was too good for her, no sacrifice too great. She had been brought up at Churchill, and though he still clung to many of the superstitions of his race, he had allowed her to attend the day school conducted by the missionary, and in the end to spend most of her childhood at the Mission, for the missionary’s wife had soon become fond of the bright little motherless girl, and had easily persuaded the doting old man that it was to the girl’s advantage. So it had come about that it was to this good lady Kasba owed her superior manners and refinement.
Kasba had been exceedingly happy in those days. But since she had come with her father to Fort Future a deep shadow had come into her young life. She had offered Roy Thursby all the love of her warm little heart and he had turned from it. She was intensely miserable. In her present misery she thought of those cloudless days, and a sigh escaped her.
“You are sad, Kasba,” said a voice in Chipewyan at her side.
The girl stopped and looked up. It was Sahanderry, a tall, active-looking native.
Kasba turned to him with a wan smile. She was fond of Sahanderry, for she had known him all her life; besides, he wished to marry her. Remembering how quickly Roy had turned away on discovering her secret love for him, a feeling of tenderness came over her for this Indian. “Should she spoil his life?” she asked herself. “What had she to do with love? The girls of her race,” she argued, “had no voice in the choosing of their husbands.” For the first time in her life she felt discontented with her lot.
“Leave it, Sahanderry,” she said, a trifle bitterly, as he reached up to take the bundle from her back. “It’s contrary to the customs of our race for men to carry wood; that’s woman’s work.”
Sahanderry looked at her a moment in surprise.