"Yes. We both have hoped to surprise the Nor'west forts for, failing that, we must sit down to a long siege."
Brochet shivered a little even in the sheltered place where he stood.
"It is ill weather for a siege," he commented, "and the Nor'westers are as cunning as wolves. You know, I suppose, about—about Glyndon?"
Dunvegan's face was hard as a mask. By this time he had curbed his emotion tightly.
"I know—that is, I heard," he answered slowly. "Tell me all about that marriage, Brochet!"
The priest raised his hand in a deprecating fashion and shook his head out of sad pity for his friend's disappointment.
"There is nothing to tell," was his low response. "It was a swift, eager wooing—a sort of autumn dream! The golden woods and the white moons were theirs for an uninterrupted, rapturous space. The fascination was intense. Its durability I cannot judge. The climax compelled their marriage. My hope is that Glyndon may prove worthy!"
"Amen," Dunvegan breathed. He seemed desirous of hearing no more, and signaled for the trains to move on.
"If on your return from Loon Lake the Company's banner flaps over Fort Brondel, give me a call," was his parting word to Father Brochet.
"Indeed, yes," the kindly priest promised. "And watch carefully, my son! Guard your person against the enemy, and guard your passions as well. Remember that he who conquers himself is greater than the lord of all the Hudson's Bay districts."