She departed from that spot, yet burying at each step some blissful memory of youth, and took the trail that led to the river. Soon the rush and roar of the swollen torrent beat dully upon her ears. At dreaded intervals the fitful thunder of the great rapids came trembling along the way. Still the set countenance remained unaltered, nor was there a word of comfort for the sobbing child.
Presently she broke from the last bushes and stood upon the brink. A wide stretch of river spread before her, burning and flashing beneath the gorgeous light of the moon. On the opposite shore, dreary pines tossed their dark heads and beckoned her to come. Far down the rushing stream were faint appearances of threatening rocks and a white foam line. Such were indications of the angry rapids. Here the waters boiled round jagged rock fragments, and light spray was hurled high into frosty air. Here roared and shrieked against the pale stars the Niagara of the Great Saskatchewan.
She stood upon the crumbling rock edge for many weary minutes, fearfully watching the turbulent waters, the wavering mind filled with many a strange perplexing doubt. Immediately beneath, rising and falling on the gentle waves beneath the bank, appeared a canoe, rasping upon the rock and lightly secured by a birch fibre to a willow branch overhanging the stream. At the bottom of the frail craft lay a single paddle. But this gleaming object, and nothing besides.
Presently she spoke aloud to her sole companions—the icy winds and unknown powers of Nature.
'It is all so long ago, and yet this is but the second winter of time. I have lived through it, and now must face the end. None may tell me where I am going. This I myself know—I cannot be punished more than I have suffered, I cannot suffer more than I have been already punished.'
The auroral lights crept trembling along the sky. Behind her the bushes shook drearily.
'If there be no happiness in the world whither I am going, there can at least be no greater sorrows.'
She was now in that complete solitude for which she had craved. Alone, entirely alone, with none to see, none to pity. The bar of race cut her off from the rest of the world, and upon her weak shoulders lay the sin of others. This was the weight which might now be shaken off.
Again she cast her unfathomable glance upon the foaming river, and gazed at the fragile canoe, which rocked restlessly from side to side.
The dregs of the life cup were bitter indeed. Her own people hated her. On her approach they had crept away, with hidden faces. She was a pestilence when she stirred abroad. For she had dared to break the great oath, to cast dishonour again upon her tribe, to insult the dead father's memory. This was a crime which might not be pardoned. So her gods also had turned away, for she had broken their highest laws of right and duty. Vengeance had been placed in her hands—more, forced upon her, and yet—yet she had not strength, she lacked courage, to strike with that fearful weapon when it thus lay within her grasp. For that, also, she must suffer.