"Oachi," he said, "I am nearly well enough to travel now. I have spent
pleasant weeks with you, weeks which I shall never forget. But it is time
for me to go back to my people. They are expecting me. They are waiting for
me, and wondering at my absence. I am as you would be if you were down
there in a great city. So I must go. I must go to-morrow, or the next day,
or soon after. Oachi--"
He still looked where he could not see her face. But he heard her move. He
knew that slowly she was drawing away.
"Oachi--"
She was near the door now, and his eyes turned toward her. She was looking
back, her slender shoulders bent over, her glorious hair rippling to her
knees, as she had left it undone for him. In her eyes was love such as
falls from the heavens. But her face was as white as a mask.
"Oachi!"
With a cry Roscoe reached out his arms. But Oachi was gone. At last the
Cree girl understood.
* * * * *
Three days later there came in the passing of a single day and night the
splendour of northern spring. The sun rose warm and golden. From the sides
of the mountains and in the valleys water poured forth in rippling, singing
floods. There bakneesh glowed on bared rocks. Moose-birds, and jays, and
wood-thrushes flitted about the camp, and the air was filled with the
fragrant smells of new life bursting from earth, and tree, and shrub.
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