It was an interminable time, he thought, before Marie-Anne stood in the doorway.  For a breath she paused there, looking at him as he stretched out his bandaged arm to her, moved by every yearning impulse in her soul to come in, yet ready as a bird to fly away.  And then, as he called her name, she ran to him and dropped upon her knees at his side, and his arms went about her, insensible to their hurt—­and her hot face was against his neck, and his lips crushed in the smothering sweetness of her hair.  He made no effort to speak, beyond that first calling of her name.  He could feel her heart throbbing against him, and her hands tightened at his shoulders, and at last she raised her glorious face so near that the breath of it was on his lips.  Then, seeing what was in his eyes, her soft mouth quivered in a little smile, and with a broken throb in her throat she whispered,

“Has it all ended—­right—­David?”

He drew the red mouth to his own, and with a glad cry which was no word in itself he buried his face in the lustrous tresses he loved.  Afterward he could not remember all it was that he said, but at the end Marie-Anne had drawn a little away so that she was looking at him, her eyes shining gloriously and her cheeks beautiful as the petals of a wild rose.  And he could see the throbbing in her white throat, like the beating of a tiny heart.

“And you’ll take me with you?” she whispered joyously.

“Yes; and when I show you to the old man—­Superintendent Me Vane, you know—­and tell him you’re my wife, he can’t go back on his promise.  He said if I settled this Roger Audemard affair, I could have anything I might ask for.  And I’ll ask for my discharge, I ought to have it in September, and that will give us time to return before the snow flies.  You see—­”

He held out his arms again.  “You see,” he cried, his face smothered in her hair again, “I’ve found the place of my dreams up here, and I want to stay—­always.  Are you a little glad, Marie-Anne?”

In a great room at the end of the hall, with windows opening in three directions upon the wilderness, St. Pierre waited in his wheel-chair, grunting uneasily now and then at the long time it was taking Carmin to discover certain things out in the hall.  Finally he heard her coming, tiptoeing very quietly from the direction of David Carrigan’s door, and St. Pierre chuckled and tried to rub his bandaged hands when she came in, her face pink and her eyes shining with the greatest thrill that can stir a feminine heart.

“If we’d only known,” he tried to whisper, “I would have had the keyhole made larger, Cherie!  He deserves it for having spied on us at the cabin window.  But—­tell me!—­Could you see?  Did you hear?  What—­”

Carmin’s soft hand went over his mouth.  “In another moment you’ll be shouting,” she warned.  “Maybe I didn’t see, and maybe I didn’t hear, Big Bear—­but I know there are four very happy people in Chateau Boulain.  And now, if you want to guess who is the happiest—­”