He bowed
his head to the stinging snow, which came like blasts of steeled
shot, and hurried into the shelter of the Sun Rock, and stood
there after that listening to the wildness of the storm and the
strange whistling of the wind cutting itself to pieces far over
his head. Since man had first beheld that rock such storms as this
had come and gone for countless generations. Two hundred years and
more had passed since Grosellier first looked out upon a wondrous
world from its summit. And yet this storm--to-night--whistling
and moaning about him, filling all space with its grief, its
triumph, and its madness, seemed to be for him--and for him alone.
His heart answered to it. His soul trembled to the marvelous
meaning of it. To-night this storm was his own. He was a part of a
world which he would never leave. Here, beside the great Sun Rock
of the Crees, he had found home, life, happiness, his God. Here,
henceforth through all time, he would live with his beloved
Jeanne, dreaming no dreams that went beyond the peace of the
mountains and the forests. He lifted his face to where the storm
swept above him, and for an instant he fancied that high up on the
ragged edge of the rock there might have stood Pierre, with his
great, gaping, hungry heart, filled with pain and yearning,
staring off into the face of the Almighty.
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