"He had the out-of-doors look," said Mrs. Gray, "big, gentle, fearless. I knew as soon as I looked in his eyes that I would go with him if he asked me—anywhere. I would dare anything, suffer anything for him. Nothing mattered; you will know it some time, Pearl, I hope. It brings sorrow, maybe, but it is the greatest thing in life. Even now, looking back down these black years, I would do the same—I would go with my man.
"My cousin and her husband, the factor, forbade him the house when they saw what was happening. They had nothing against him. Every trapper said Jim Gray was straight as a gun-barrel. It was just that they would not let me go—they wanted my work, but I had already worked out my passage money, and considered myself free. They locked me in my room at night, and treated me like a prisoner. They said abominable things.
"One night a tapping came at the little square window It was a heavy, dark night in July, with thunder rolling in great shaking billows. It was Jim, and he asked me if I would come with him. He had spoken to the missionary at the post, who would marry us. Would I come? I did not know whether he had a house, or even a blanket. I only knew I loved him.
"Under cover of the storm Jim took out the window-frame, lifted me out, and we were off through the rain and the storm. But when we got to the missionary's he would not marry us—the factor had forbidden him. Jim would have taken me back but I was afraid. The factor had said he would shoot him if he ever came for me. He was a high-tempered man and ruled the post and every one in it with his terrible rages. What would you have done, Pearl?"
"Was there no one else?" said Pearl, "no magistrate—no other missionary or priest?"
"There was a missionary at the next post, sixty miles away. We could reach him in two days. What would you have done, Pearl?"
Pearl was living with her every detail, every sensation, every thrill.
"What would I have done?" she said, trembling with the excitement of a great decision. "I would have gone!"
Annie Gray's hand tightened on hers.
"I went," she said, "and I was never sorry. Jim was a man of the big woods; he loved me. The rain, which fell in torrents, did not seem to wet us—we were so happy."