She gave a coquettish little shrug of her shoulders, and Jan leaped upon the moving sledge, kneeling close behind her.
"Always, always, I have to ask you!" she pouted. "You needn't get too near, you know, if you don't want to!"
The old, sweet challenge in her voice was irresistible, and for a moment Jan felt himself surrendering to it. He leaned forward until his chin was buried in the silken lynx fur of her coat, and for a single breath he felt the soft touch of her cheek against his own. Then he gave a sudden shout to the dogs—so loud that it startled her—and his whip writhed and snapped twenty feet above their heads, like a thing filled with life.
He sprang from the sledge and again ran with the team, urging them on faster and faster until they dropped into a panting walk when they came to the ridge along which Ledoq, two hours before, had seen the strangers hurrying toward Lac Bain.
"Stop!" cried Mélisse, taking this first opportunity to scramble from the sledge. "You're cruel to the dogs, Jan! Look at their jaws—see them pant! Jan Thoreau, I've never seen you drive like that since the night we were chased in from the barrens by the wolves!"
"And did you ever see me run any faster?" He struggled, dropping exhausted upon the sledge. "I remember only one other time."
He took a long breath, flinging back his arms to bring greater volume of air into his lungs.
"Wasn't that the night we heard the wolves howling behind us?" Mélisse asked.
"No, it was many years ago, when I heard, far to the south, that my little Mélisse was dying of the plague."
Mélisse sat down upon the sledge beside him without speaking, and nestled one of her hands a little timidly in one of his big, brown palms.