For a space she stood silent and without movement, looking upon the marvelous world that encompassed them.  It seemed to Kent that for a few moments she did not breathe.  With her head thrown back and her white throat bare to the soft, balsam-laden air she faced the forests.  Her eyes became suddenly filled with the luminous glow of stars.  Her face reflected the radiance of the rising sun, and Kent, looking at her, knew that he had never seen her so beautiful as in these wonderful moments.  He held his own breath, for he also knew that Niska, his goddess, was looking upon her own world again after a long time away.

Her world—­and his.  Different from all the other worlds God had ever made; different, even, from the world only a few miles behind them at the Landing.  For here was no sound or whisper of destroying human life.  They were in the embrace of the Great North, and it was drawing them closer, and with each minute nearer to the mighty, pulsing heart of it.

The forests hung heavy and green and glistening with the wet of storm; out of them came the tremulous breath of life and the glory of living; they hugged the shores like watchful hosts guarding the river from civilization—­and suddenly the girl held out her arms, and Kent heard the low, thrilling cry that came to her lips.

She had forgotten him.  She had forgotten everything but the river, the forests, and the untrod worlds beyond them, and he was glad.  For this world that she was welcoming, that her soul was crying out to, was his world, for ever and ever.  It held his dreams, his hopes, all the desires that he had in life.  And when at last Marette turned toward him slowly, his arms were reaching out to her, and in his face she saw that same glory which filled her own.

“I’m glad—­glad,” she cried softly.  “Oh, Jeems—­I’m glad!”

She came into his arms without hesitation; her hands stroked his face; and then she stood with her head against his shoulder, looking ahead, breathing deeply now of the sweet, clear air filled with the elixir of the hovering forests.  She did not speak, or move, and Kent remained quiet.  The scow drifted around a bend.  Shoreward a great moose splashed up out of the water, and they could hear him afterward, crashing through the forest.  Her body tensed, but she did not speak.  After a little he heard her whisper,

“It has been a long time, Jeems.  I have been away four years.”

“And now we are going home, little Gray Goose.  You will not be lonely?”

“No.  I was lonely down there.  There were so many people, and so many things, that I was homesick for the woods and mountains.  I believe I would have died soon.  There were only two things I loved, Jeems—­”

“What?” he asked.

“Pretty dresses—­and shoes.”

His arms closed about her a little more tightly.  “I—­I understand,” he laughed softly.  “That is why you came, that first time, with pretty high-heeled pumps.”