"Oh, even yet he may not be dead, Jenny," said Mac. It was as if some dawn grew in him because the dawn grew in the East: some hope within him because there was hope in the heart of a poor serving boy and a wise old man. She clutched his hand.
"Tchorch was very strong," she said.
And Sam came walking to the door.
"Wong wantchee see you, Sir," he said. He came in without raising his eyes. Mac pressed Jenny's hand and went out.
"Oh, Missus," said Sam.
His heart was full.
Though the river was wide the day was now bright. A strong man's voice might reach across it in a windless time. But strong men may be weak, if they have struggled.
Wong stood still as Mac came up to him. Though he could see so well he was a little deaf.
"What is it, Wong?" asked Mac. Even as he spoke it seemed to him that he heard a faint far-off call.
"My tinkee t'at Mista Quin," said Wong as he pointed across the river. He spoke as quietly as if he had said that he thought he could see the rosy cone of Mount Baker shining in the rising sun.