inspiring atmosphere and mystery of that lonely North, which once in the
veins never leaves it--never. Would he understand that she was feeling,
not the common detail of the lodge and the camp-fire and the Company's
post, but the deep spirit of Nature, filtering through the senses in a
thousand ways--the wild ducks' flight, the sweet smell of the balsam,
the exquisite gallop of the deer, the powder of the frost, the sun and
snow and blue plains of water, the thrilling eternity of plain and the
splendid steps of the hills, which led away by stair and entresol to the
Kimash Hills, the Hills of the Mighty Men?

She did not know what he would think, and again on second thought she
determined to make him, by this song, contrast her as she was when he
married her, and now--how she herself could look upon that past
unabashed, speak of it without blushing, sing of it with pride, having
reached a point where she could look down and say: "This was the way by
which I came."

She rose, and was accompanied to the piano by General Armour, Frank
admiring her soft, springing steps, her figure so girlish and lissom.
She paused for a little before she began. Her eyes showed for a moment
over the piano, deep, burning, in-looking; then they veiled; her fingers
touched the keys, wandered over them in a few strange, soft chords,
paused, wandered again, more firmly and very intimately, and then she
sang. Her voice was a good contralto, well balanced, true, of no great
range, but within its compass melodious, and having some inexpressible
charm of temperament. Frank did not need to strain his ears to hear the
words; every one came clear, searching, delicately valued:

"In the flash of the singing dawn,
At the door of the Great One,