wisely and with honor. I am now of his family. I, too, will strive to
live wisely, that he need not be shamed. Say to him that I will not
forget." She stopped with her glance upon the old chief, and her eyes
held something I had not seen in them before. With me, their
self-reliance had sometimes been hard, almost provocative, as if the
spirit behind them defied the world to break it down. But as she met
this kindness--this kindness that was instinctive, and not a matter of
prudence or reason--all hardness vanished, and her dignity was almost
wistful. I thought of my mother, the saddened head of a great house,
who had seen the ruin of home and heart, but whose spirit would not
die. Something in this woman's face, as she stood silent, suddenly
gave me back the vision of my mother as I had seen her last. I looked
with my heart beating hard. The hush lasted fully a moment, then the
woman drew her cloak closer, curtsied again, and walked back to her
green lodge.

I turned to the chief, and would have translated what had been said,
but after the first phrase, he motioned me to silence. "She has taken
my robe. She has become of my family. That is sufficient." He lifted
his calumet, and went to give orders for the feasting.

So the priest and I stood alone. He looked at me, and shook his head.
His mouth was smiling, but I saw him brush at his eyes. "You have
married a woman of great spirit, monsieur," he said, with a touch of
his hand on my sleeve. "They are rare,--most rare." He stopped. "Yet
the roedeer is not made for the paddock," he said impersonally.

I laughed, and it sounded exultant. I felt the blood hammer in my
temples. "Nor can the thrush be tamed to sit the finger like the
parrakeet," I completed. "I understand that, Father Nouvel."