In her simplicity
she unfolded herself to Philip, leaf by leaf, petal by petal, like
the morning apios that surrenders its mysteries to the sun. She
knew the world which he had come from, its people, its cities, its
greatness; and yet her knowledge was like that of the blind. She
knew, but she had never seen; and in her wistfulness to see as HE
could see there was a sweetness and a pathos which made every
fiber in his body sing with a quiet and thrilling joy. He knew,
now, that the man who was at Fort o' God must, indeed, be the most
wonderful man in the world. For out of a child of the snows, of
the forest, of a savage desolation, he had made Jeanne. And Jeanne
was glorious!
The afternoon passed, and they made thirty miles before they
camped for the night. They traveled the next day, and the one that
followed. On the afternoon of the fourth they were approaching Big
Thunder Rapids, close to the influx of the Little Churchill, sixty
miles from Fort o' God.
These days, too, passed for Philip with joyous swiftness; swiftly
because they were too short for him. His life, now, was Jeanne.
Each day she became a more vital part of him. She crept into his
soul until there was no longer left room for any other thought
than of her.
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