“What do you mean?” cried Virginia, harshly.

“One dares not mean such things; but they are so.  The hardships of the wilderness are many, the dangers terrible—­what more natural than that a man should die of them in the forest?  It is no one’s fault.”

“What do you mean?” repeated Virginia; “for God’s sake speak plainly!”

“I dare not speak plainer than I know; and no one ever really knows anything about it—­excepting the Indian who fires the shot, or who watches the man until he dies of starvation.” whispered Mrs. Cockburn.

“But—­but!” cried the girl, grasping her companion’s arm.  “My father!  Does he give such orders? He?”

“No orders are given.  The thing is understood.  Certain runners, whose turn it is, shadow the Free Trader.  Your father is not responsible; no one is responsible.  It is the policy.”

“And this man——­”

“It has gone about that he is to take la Longue Traverse.  He knows it himself.”

“It is barbaric, horrible; it is murder.”

“My dear, it is all that; but this is the country of dread.  You have known the soft, bright side always—­the picturesque men, the laugh, the song.  If you had seen as much of the harshness of wilderness life as a doctor’s wife must you would know that when the storms of their great passions rage it is well to sit quiet at your prayers.”

The girl’s eyes were wide-fixed, staring at this first reality of life.  A thousand new thoughts jostled for recognition.  Suddenly her world had been swept from beneath her.  The ancient patriarchal, kindly rule had passed away, and in its place she was forced to see a grim iron bond of death laid over her domain.  And her father—­no longer the grave, kindly old man—­had become the ruthless tyrant.  All these bright, laughing voyageurs, playmates of her childhood, were in reality executioners of a savage blood-law.  She could not adjust herself to it.

She got to her feet with an effort.  “Thank you, Mrs. Cockburn,” she said, in a low voice.  “I—­I do not quite understand.  But I must go now.  I must—­I must see that my father’s room is ready for him.” she finished, with the proud defensive instinct of the woman who has been deeply touched.  “You know I always do that myself.”

“Good-night, dearie,” replied the older woman, understanding well the girl’s desire to shelter behind the commonplace.  She leaned forward and kissed her.  “God keep and guide you.  I hope I have done right.”

“Yes,” cried Virginia, with unexpected fire.  “Yes, you did just right!  I ought to have been told long ago!  They’ve kept me a perfect child to whom everything has been bright and care-free and simple.  I—­I feel that until this moment I have lacked my real womanhood!”

She bowed her head and passed through the log room into the outer air.