"I am not feeling right," he admitted, trying to appear cheerful, "but this coffee will make a new man of me. You make the best coffee in the world, Mélisse?"
"How do you know, brother?" she asked. "Have you drunk any other than mine since years ago at Churchill and York Factory?"
"Only Iowaka's. But I know that yours is best, from what I remember of the coffee at the bay."
"It was a long time ago, wasn't it?" she asked gently, looking at him across the table. "I dreamed of those days last night, Jan, though I don't remember anything about your going to Churchill. I must have been too young; but I remember when you went to Nelson House, and how lonely I was. Last night I dreamed that we both went, and that we stood together, looking out over the bay, where the tides are washing away the gun case coffins. I saw the ship that you described to me, too, and thought that we wanted to go out to it, but couldn't. Do you suppose we'll ever go to Churchill together, Jan, and ride on a wonderful ship like that?"
"It may be, Mélisse."
"And then I dreamed that you were gone, and I was alone; and some one else came to me, whom I didn't like at all, and tried to MAKE me go to the ship. Wasn't that strange?" She laughed softly, as she rose to give him another cup of coffee. "What did you mean, Jan Thoreau, by running away from me like that?"
"To get even with you for running away from me on the mountain," he replied quickly.
She paused, the cup half filled, and Jan, looking up, caught her eyes full of mock astonishment.
"And were you sorry I ran away from you?"
Despite himself, his pale cheeks flushed.