“Where th’ ships sail out to th’ risin’ sun, ochone, and Home calls over th’ sea,—­the little green isle wid its pigs an’ its shanties, its fairs an’ its frolics, an’ the merry face av th’ Father to laugh at its weddin’s an’ cry over its graves.  Home that might make a lass forget such a haythen land as this, though God knew if it would ever get out av th’ bad dreams at night!

“An’ now will ye be afther tellin’ us th’ sthory av yer adventures, my dear?”

Maren was cooking a broth of wild hen in the little pail of poor Marc Dupre, across the fire, and the little woman was busy watching a bit of bread baking on a smoothed plank.  Her companion, a tall, fair-haired woman with pale eyes, light as the grey-green sheen sometimes seen on the waters before a storm, was reclining in tired idleness beside her.  This woman had not spoken to Maren, but her cold eyes followed her now with an odd persistence.

“Or is it too wild and sad?  If it gives ye pain, don’t say a word,—­ though, wurra! ’tis woild I am to hear!”

Maren looked up, and once more the smile that was stranger to her features played over them in its old-time beauty.

“Nay,—­why should I not tell so good a heart as yours?” said the girl simply, and she began at the beginning and told the sorry tale through to its end.

“And so he died, this young trapper with the soul of pearl, and I alone go back to De Seviere with—­with M’sieu the factor,” she concluded heavily.

“Mother av Heavin!  An’ which,—­forgive me lass,—­which man av the three did ye love?  For ’tis only love could be behind such deeds as these!”

The ready tears were swimming in the Irishwoman’s blue eyes, straight from her warm heart, and she was leaning forward in the intensity of her sympathy and excitement.

“Which, Madame?  Why, M’sieu the factor, surely.”

And Maren looked into the red heart of the fire.

With a sudden impulse this daughter of Erin dropped her plank in the ashes, and coming swiftly forward, fell on her knees with her arms around the girl’s neck.

“Saints be praised!” she cried, weeping openly.  “Saints be praised, ye have him safe!  An’ there can nothin’ ha’arm ye now, with us goin’ yer ways so close!  An’ there’ll be a weddin’ av coorse whin th’ poor lad comes round!  F’r a flip av ale I’d command Terence to turn aside an’ go triumphant entry-in’ to this blessid fort av yours and witness th’ ceremonies!”

Maren smiled sadly and laid her hand on the black head tucked into her neck.  It was a caress, that touch, tender and infinitely sweet, for with the quick heart of her she knew the little woman to be of the gold of earth, and she was conscious of a longing to keep her near, who was so soon to sail “into the risin’ sun” and who had been so short a time her friend.

Friend, assuredly, for friendship was not a thing of time, but hearts alike, and they had turned together with the first look.