This troubled me no little. At last the spring came and the ice went out in its warmth, and the "Pelican" was ready. On the day we sailed, Ruth and I stood on the hilltop above, gazing out across the land and the water.
"Somewhere in that ice-dotted blue," Ruth said softly, "sleeps the 'Lass o' Dee,' with all those whom we knew and loved, Davie."
"Yes," I made heavy-hearted answer, "and we leave them here for ever. When we get to New France, and you become a great lady, Ruth, I will leave you there also among your kin, and go—where I know not."
"Why, Davie," and she slipped her hand into mine gently, "do you think so hard of me as to leave me among strangers? I had thought we would go back to Ayrby together—"
"Lass, lass," I cried out in the old Gaelic we had not spoke for so long, "an' you stay in New France you shall be a great lady, rich and be-suitored. Would you then come back to the little stead on the moors, where wealth is naught, where all is rude and homely and—"
"Yes, Davie," she whispered, "because it is rude and homely and—beautiful, I love it. So you thought I had rather be a great lady! Truly, you might have known me better than that."
Aye, and I had, but I had wished for her to say it. So we stood for long, until a gun crashed out from the "Pelican," warning us to come. As we turned to go, I caught her to me and my heart swelled with the knowledge that though the New World had taken much from me, it had in the end given me more a thousandfold.
In the Straits we were sighted by an English ship, but the "Pelican" was too fast for her, and not another sail did we see until we reached New France and were safe. De Croissac, who knew our story and our love, advised that we be married before seeking out Ruth's people, for were our story and the ending of Radisson to become known, there was no telling but that she might be sent to France as a ward of the Governor.
So it came about that we stepped ashore and sought out a friend of the kindly captain, a priest whose little chapel nestled in the shadow of the citadel, and from which we went as man and wife, soberly and happily.
Before leaving the Bay, Soan-ge-ta-ha had conveyed to me a parting gift from Uchichak and the Crees, in the shape of a packet of furs. These I had not opened until the cargo of the "Pelican" came to be examined, when it was found that they were of the choicest beaver and fox, and that their sale would afford us much ready money.