The hut stood a mere foot-print in the wilderness. It was belted around by a bounding stream that even the chains of winter could not fetter, and which now chanted loudly as they looked into its shady depths. In front of them, behind them, everywhere spread the forest, which spoke only of nature, which held back the slender thread of civilization which fringed its border along the great river. And here was to be their home, until Marie's influence should bring under control the wild nature of the coureur des bois, and draw him back to ways of peace and prosperity.
The hut was empty, save for a few pieces of roughly constructed furniture, which the hunters had left behind them. But, desolate as it was, it soon took on a look of homeliness under Marie's skillful hands. Against the wall they hung Antoine's gun and other hunting and fishing implements. A bed of fragrant pine branches was made in one corner, from the canoe Antoine brought an armful of soft furs, which he spread upon the floor, and when Marie had filled the empty fireplace with crimson and golden boughs, their home was furnished.
It had not been too early chosen, for the leaves soon fell, the short, wonderful Indian summer was over, the bleak wind roared loudly through the high tree-tops, the snow and rain combated for victory, and a six months' winter had commenced.
In the morning Antoine would go out to hunt and trap, and return at nightfall laden with game. Upon two or three occasions he had gone to the trading-post where he had exchanged his furs, and Marie saw her dress of civilization gradually replaced by the habiliments of a squaw, and her life shaping itself to the requirements of the present.
They were far into the winter before any feet but their own had crossed their threshold. Antoine was on the eve of a visit to the traders, and had flung himself down upon a wolf-skin before the red fire which filled the little cabin with light and heat. Marie sat beside him, talking first of his journey, and then of the spring which was now but a few months away, and as ever urging her husband to return with her, as soon as the winter was over, to the old home, and turn forever from the forest. He listened with a smile which prefaced a promise, yet he argued negatively for the pleasure of hearing her soft persuasive tones. The months she had been with him had wonderfully softened his nature, and made him long to live a life worthy of her love. Something of this he was about to tell her, when his purpose was arrested by the unusual sound of voices upon the clear night air. Starting up, he flung the door open wide, and saw in the bright starlight two hunters approaching over the glistening snow. The fire-light and the open door offered a welcome of which they availed themselves, without waiting for words to second it. And a few moments later they were unfastening their snow-shoes, and laying aside their guns within the bright room.
As Antoine and his guests stood regarding each other, a look of recognition came into their faces, and with an exclamation of pleasure he clasped the hands of two old comrades. With a few words he accounted for Marie's presence, and after the hunters had partaken of the supper their hostess provided for them, they sat late into the night talking over old adventures. Marie listened silently, and watched her husband with troubled eyes, as, his face glowing with pleasure and excitement, he recalled their exploits of danger and daring. And her heart grew heavy as she heard them plan their journey for the next day together to the trading-post.
Next morning before day they were astir and preparing for their journey, and, as they were about to start, one of the hunters said to Marie:
"Do not be surprised if Antoine does not come back to thee tonight. He is too gay a comrade to lose, now that we have found him. We are going to take him with us, and perhaps thou'lt not see him again until spring."
"What wouldst thou do, little one, if I left thee here alone?" asked her husband, taking her hand.
"I would die, Antoine," she answered, her eyes filling with tears.
"But let me take thee to the settlement, and leave thee with the other women there, while I go away and gain wealth for thee. I will go with Henri and Jules, where the furs are rich and plentiful, and by spring, Marie, thy husband will be a rich man."
"Ah, Antoine, thou dost but try me. I know thou wilt not leave me," she said, laying her head upon his breast.
"Why canst thou not consent, Marie?" he asked, lifting her face and looking into it, while his own clouded with disappointment. For with the advent of his comrades the old passion had come back to him, almost too strong to be resisted.
