message to deliver and wanted to finish the task. A smaller owl near
at hand cried _ko-ko-ko-oh_ with the intonation of a tin horn. Across
the river a lynx screamed, and was answered at once by the ululations
of wolves. On the island the _giddés_ howled defiance. Then from
above, clear, spiritual, floated the whistle of shore birds arriving
from the south. Close by sounded a rustle of leaves, a sharp squeak;
a tragedy had been consummated, and the fierce little mink stared
malevolently across the body of his victim at the motionless figure on
the beach.

Virginia, drowned in grief, knew of none of these things. She was
seeing again the clear brown face of the stranger, his curly brown
hair, his steel eyes, and the swing of his graceful figure. Now he
fronted the wondering _voyageurs_, one foot raised against the bow of
the _brigade_ canoe; now he stood straight and tall against the light
of the sitting-room door; now he emptied the vials of his wrath and
contempt on Archibald Crane's reverend head; now he passed in the
darkness, singing gayly the _chanson de canôt_. But more fondly she
saw him as he swept his hat to the ground on discovering her by the
guns, as he bent his impassioned eyes on her in the dim lamplight of
their first interview, as he tossed his hat aloft in the air when he
had understood that she would be in Quebec. She hugged the visions to
her, and wept over them softly, for she was now sure she would never
see him again.

And she heard his voice, now laughing, now scornful, now mocking, now
indignant, now rich and solemn with feeling. He flouted the people, he
turned the shafts of his irony on her father, he scathed the minister,
he laughed at Louis Placide awakened from his sleep, he sang, he told
her of the land of desolation, he pleaded. She could hear him calling