Though shapely flesh
clothed delicate frame, her body was a seat of strength.
Still, for all the careless ease with which she had made the landing,
there was a warmer color than usual to her face, and a perceptibly extra
beat to her heart. But then, also, it was with a certain reverent
curiousness that she approached the cabin, while the Hush on her cheek
showed a yet riper mellowness.
"Look, see!" Pierre pointed to the scattered chips by the woodpile. "Him
fresh--two, t'ree day, no more."
Mrs. Sayther nodded. She tried to peer through the small window, but it
was made of greased parchment which admitted light while it blocked
vision. Failing this, she went round to the door, half lifted the rude
latch to enter, but changed her mind and let it fall back into place.
Then she suddenly dropped on one knee and kissed the rough-hewn
threshold. If Pierre Fontaine saw, he gave no sign, and the memory in
the time to come was never shared. But the next instant, one of the
boatmen, placidly lighting his pipe, was startled by an unwonted
harshness in his captain's voice.
"Hey! You! Le Goire! You mak'm soft more better," Pierre commanded.
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