The Whelps of the Wolf

by George P. Marsh

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  RENUNCIATION

  August drew to a close. The post clearing and the beach at Whale Riverwere again bare of tepee and lodge of the hunters of fur who hadrepaired to their summer camps where fish were plentiful, to wait forthe great flights of snowy geese that the first frosts would drive southfrom Arctic Islands. Daily the vitality and youth of Marcel were givinghim back his strength, and no remonstrance of the Bretons availed tokeep him quiet once his legs had mastered the distance to thetrade-house. Except for a slight pallor in the lean face and the loss ofweight, due to confinement, to his friends he was once more the JeanMarcel they had known, but for weeks, a sudden twisting of his firmmouth marking a twinge in the back, recalled only too vividly to themall the knife-thrust of Lelac.

  When, rid of the fever, and again conscious, Jean had become strongenough to talk, he repeatedly voiced his gratitude to Julie for herloyalty as nurse, but she invariably covered his mouth with her handrefusing to hear him. Grown stronger and sitting up, he had oftenrepeated his thanks, raising his face to hers with a twinkle in his darkeyes, in the hope that her manner of suppressing him might be continued;but she had tantalizingly refused to humor the convalescent.

  "I shall close your mouth no longer, Monsieur," she had said with agrimace. "You will soon be the big, strong Jean Marcel we have alwaysknown and must not expect to be a helpless baby forever. And now thatyou can use your right arm, I shall no longer cut up your fish."

  "But it is with great pain that I move my arm, Julie," he had protestedin a feeble effort to enlist her sympathy and so prolong the personalministrations he craved.

  "Bah! When before has the great Jean Marcel feared pain? It is only aruse, Monsieur. I am too busy, now that you can help yourself, to treatyou as a child."

  And so, reluctantly, Marcel had resigned himself to doing without theaid of the nimble fingers of Julie Breton. The fierce bitterness in hisheart, which, before the fight on the beach with the Lelacs had made ofthe days an endless torment, gave place, on his recovery, to a state ofmind more sane. Deep and lasting as was his wound, the realization ofthe girl's devoted care of him had, during his convalescence, numbed theold rawness. Gratitude and his innate manhood shamed Marcel into asuppression of his grief and the showing of a brave face to Julie Bretonand the little world of Whale River. In his extremity she had stoodstaunchly by his side. She had been his friend, indeed. He deserved nomore. And now in his prayers, for he was a devout believer in theteachings of Pere Breton, he asked for her happiness.

  One evening found three friends, Julie, Jean Marcel and Fleur, againwalking on the shore of the Great Whale in the mellow sunset. Rompingwith puppy awkwardness, Fleur's progeny roved near them. The hush of anAugust night was upon the land. Below, the young ebb ran silentlywithout ripple. Not a leaf stirred in the scrub edging the trail. Thedead sun, master artist, had limned the heavens with all the variedmagic of his palette, and the gray bay, often sullenly restless underlow-banked clouds, or blanketed with mist, now reached out, a shimmeringfloor, to the rim of the world.

  In silence the two, mute with the peace of the moment, watched theheightening splendor of the western skies. Disdaining the alluringscents of the neighboring scrub, which her puppies were exploring, Fleurkept to Marcel's side where her nose might find his hand, for she hadnot forgotten the days of their recent separation.

  "What you did for me I can never repay." Marcel broke the silence, hiseyes on the White Bear Hills, sapphire blue on southern horizon.

  The girl turned impatiently.

  "Monsieur Jean Marcel, what I have done, I would do for any friend. I amweary of hearing you speak of it. Have you no eyes for the sunset thegood God has given us? Let us speak of that."

  He smiled as one smiles at a child.

  "_Bien!_ We shall speak no more of it then, Ma'm'selle Breton. But thisyou shall hear. I am sorry that I acted like a boy about M'sieu Wallace.You will forgive me?"

  "There is nothing to forgive," she answered. "I know you were hurt. Itwas natural for you to feel the way you did."

  "But I showed little of the man, Julie. I was hurt here," and he placedhis hand on his heart, "and I was a child."

  She smiled wistfully, slowly shaking her head. "I fear you were verylike a man, Jean. But you are going away and I may not be here in thespring--may not see you for a long time--so I want to tell you now howproud I have been of you this summer."

  He looked up quizzically.

  "Yes, you have made a great name on the East Coast this summer, JeanMarcel. When you were ill the Crees talked of little else--of yourtravelling where no Indian had dared to go until you found the caribou;your winning, over those terrible Lelacs and proving your innocence;your fighting them with bare hands, because you knew no fear."

  The face of Marcel reddened as the girl continued.

  "You are brave and you have a great heart and a wise head, Jean Marcel;some day you will be a factor of the Company. Wherever I may be, I shallthink of you and always be proud that you are my friend."

  Inarticulate, numb with the torture of hopeless love, Marcel listened toJulie Breton's farewell.