“I think not,” said Frank. “I know not how it is, but I have a strange conviction that she is yet alive. If she had perished in the snow, we should certainly have found her long ago. I cannot explain my feelings, or give a reason for them, but I feel convinced that darling Eda is alive.”
“Oh, God grant it!” whispered Stanley in a deep voice, while his wife hastened from the room to conceal the tears which she could not restrain.
While Frank continued to gaze in silence on the bleak scene without, a faint sound of sleigh-bells broke upon his ear.
“Hark!” he cried, starting, and opening the door.
The regular and familiar sound of the bells came floating sweetly on the breeze. They grew louder and louder, and in a few seconds a team of dogs galloped into the fort, dragging a small sled behind them. They were followed by two stalwart Indians, whose costume and manner told that they were in the habit of associating more with the fur-traders than with their own kindred. The dogs ran the sled briskly into the centre of the fort, and lay down panting on the snow, while the two men approached the hall.
“’Tis a packet,” cried Stanley, forgetting for the moment his sorrow in the excitement of this unexpected arrival.
In a moment all the men at the fort were assembled in the square.
“A packet! Where come you from?”
“From Moose Fort,” replied the elder Indian, while his comrade unfastened from the sled a little bundle containing letters.
“Any news? Are all well?” chorused the men.