Inwardly flaming, Dunvegan remained immovable, as if the incident were none of his concern. But though apparently so calm he was the victim of raging emotions. The magnetic personality of the woman beside him was a poignant thing. Her propinquity proved masterful beyond belief. He could hear her heart beating under restraint; interpret the heaving of her bosom; feel the hot pulsing of her blood; read her very thoughts as her mind evolved them. Conscious of the spell which grew stronger with every minute, Bruce sat there unable to tear himself away.
Presently, seeking to divert his mind from the cause of the unrest, the chief trader opened a few bottles of aged wine which he had found in the cellars of Fort Brondel that were stored with the Nor'wester's liquor. This he had carefully kept to celebrate the first visit of the Hudson's Bay Company's packet.
The amount was not large, yet a little to each the time-mellowed vintage brought from across the seas by way of Montreal went round.
"To the York Factory packet," Dunvegan cried, proposing the toast.
Cheers thundered out, hearty, loyal, sincere. Then reverently the toast was sipped.
"And Basil Dreaulond," Bruce added. A shout this time loud with great-hearted friendliness and comradeship! Strong pride of the northland race burned in their eyes as they drank to the finest type of it, the virile courier.
Now in fullness of spirit each voiced the toast that appealed to him personally.
"Scotia!—Scots wha hae!" shrilled two Highlanders of Dunvegan's band.
"The Emerald Isle," Terence Burke roared aggressively.
"The Eagle," yelled Pete Connear. "Drat your landsmen's eyes, drink with me. To the American Eagle and the salt of the sea!"