"No, you were not. Would to God that you were. That was Nadu when she was a sweet, innocent child, the flower of the Northland. Her father, a chief, was killed in a fierce battle. We loved her—my dear wife and I—and it almost broke our hearts when we gave her to that white man. They were joined in holy wedlock, but we feared, yes, we feared, for her. And oh, how changed must she be! My poor Nadu! My darling child!"
"Is that your wife who brought me this delicious broth?" Then seeing the astonished look upon the old man's face she hastily added, "Forgive me. I fear I have made a mistake. But as trappers are sometimes married to Indian women in the North, I took it for granted it was so in your case."
"But with me it was not so," and the old man placed his hand to his forehead in an abstracted manner as he replied. "I had a wife, good and true. We came to the North together forty years ago. It's five years now since she left me, and she lies over yonder in the Indian Cemetery. It was she who made those drawings, and painted that picture. She was ever skilful with the pencil and brush. She loved Nadu dearly, and never could become reconciled to the girl marrying that fur-trader. I believe it had much to do with her death."
"Have you really lived as a trapper and hunter for forty years in the North!" exclaimed Madeline in astonishment. "And to think of your wife being here for most of that time! How lonely she must have been when you were away from home."
A slight expression of amusement shone in the old man's eyes as he listened.
"I have been a hunter for forty years," he replied, "but I have trapped very little. I have followed the chase, but have had meagre success."
"Is game scarce? I should think it would be plentiful here."
"Miss—" Here the old man paused. It was the first time that he had even hinted as to her name.
"Normsell—Madeline Normsell," she added.
"Well, Miss Normsell, there is an abundance of game, but the hunters are few, and scattered. I think it was expressed much better many years ago by One when He said, 'The field is already white unto the harvest, but the labourers are few.'"