A small spasm drew across the features of Maren, a twitching of the
full lips.

"Faint heart of you," she said sadly. "Oh, Marie, 'tis your voice has
ever held us back. They would prod faster but for you. Is there no
glory within you, no daring, no dreams of conquest? Bien! But I could
go alone. This dallying stiffles the breath in me!"

She put up a hand and tore open the garment at her throat, taking a
deep breath of the sunlit air.

"But it is poverty that must be reckoned with. By spring again we may
be better equipped than ever."

So rode up the hope that was ever in her.

"Yes," sighed Marie, "as the good God wills."

But she glanced wistfully around the new cabin, to be her own for the
length of the four seasons. And who should say what might not happen in
four seasons?

She wondered fretfully what fate had fashioned the glorious creature
beside her in the form of Love itself to put within the soul of the
restless conqueror. Never had she known Maren, though they two had come
from the same lap.

Presently Maren looked down at her, and the shimmering smile, like
light across dark waters, had again returned.