“Blind?” he repeated blankly, then flushed.
“Yes, blind. But it wasn’t only that I meant.”
“What else ought I to be ashamed of?”
“Of living on your brother.” He winced sharply, but she went on coolly: “Of staying here in the wilderness. You are a big boy now. Many a boy of your age, even smaller and weaker, has gone out in the world to make his own way. There’s no reason for you to hide, is there? You haven’t sacrificed your life for anyone.”
“No,” he answered doubtfully, “n-no; but, you see, Sylvie, some one has to take the skins. It isn’t safe for Hugh.”
“Yes, of course. So that’s what you’ll do all your life—carry loads to and fro, between this cabin and the trading-station. But if Hugh goes away himself?”
“Yes?” he asked breathlessly.
His skillful hands paused in their fashioning of a snare.
“You know, of course, that he wants to take me away with him, to marry me, to start life again.”
“And—and you will, Sylvie?”