“And may He forever hold you in His grace, M'sieu!” she said tremulously; “and bless you at the hour of death!”
“And now, Ma'amselle,” he said gently, “tell me more of this strange adventure. How comes it that a young maid, alone but for a youthful trapper, goes to the Pays d'en Haut after a factor, of the Company? Why did this duty not fall to the men of the post?”
“They said, as you, M'sieu, but an hour back, that it was a quest of death. They love life. I love the factor.”
She made her explanation simply, in all innocence, looking gravely into the fire, and Mr. Mowbray gasped inwardly.
“I see. So Anders McElroy is your lover. A fine man, worthy of the love of such a woman, and blessed above men in its possessing if I may make so bold, Ma'amselle.”
“Nay,—you mistake.”
Maren shook her head.
“Not my lover. I but said that I love the factor He does not love me, M'sieu.”
“What? Heaven above us! What was that? Does not love you! And yet you go into the Pays d'en Haut after the North Indians? You speak in riddles.”
“Why, what plainer? Life would die in me, M'sieu, did I leave him to death by torture. I can do no less.”