“And here I found him, M'sieu,” Maren Le Moyne was saying sadly, “in that low mound, cared for and worshipped by these peaceful beings who till the land and follow his teachings. They were his people. He taught them purity and peace, the use of plough and tool, the creed of love and kindness. Here was his dream of empire, his plan of progress. He of the Good Heart they called him, these Indians who were his people, and mourn him as a chief. That was his castle yonder, the older cabin to the east. Here is the fruit of his labour.” She motioned over the new-ploughed land.
“Beyond the trees yonder are bigger fields, a wider holding. And yet they are poor, these people of peace. The tribes despise them and scoff at their worship...He taught them the prayers,—the rosary. I have come after him...Who knows? This is my dream also, my fulfilment. Love, M'sieu,” she raised her face to him, and the deep eyes flickering with the old elusive light, “Love shall be my crown!”
“Aye,” said Anders McElroy, after the manner of a covenant, “together we shall work and dream yet greater things, trusting in God,—live and love and enter into our heritage.... I have left the Company forever. Together we shall build the empire of your dreams.... Oh, Maid of my Heart, the Long Trail has ended in the harbour of New Homes!”