It seemed strange to Trafford that now that Marjorie was going home, a
wild impatience to see her children should possess her. So long as it
had been probable that they would stay out their year in Labrador, that
separation had seemed mainly a sentimental trouble; now at times it was
like an animal craving. She would talk of them for hours at a stretch,
and when she was not talking he could see her eyes fixed ahead, and knew
that she was anticipating a meeting. And for the first time it seemed
the idea of possible misadventure troubled her....
They reached Hammond's in one and twenty days from Lonely Hut, three
days they had been forced to camp because of a blizzard, and three
because Louis Napoleon was rigidly Sabbatarian. They parted from him
reluctantly, and the next day Hammond's produced its dogs, twelve stout
but extremely hungry dogs, and sent the Traffords on to the Green River
pulp-mills, where there were good beds and a copious supply of hot
water. Thence they went to Manivikovik, and thence the new Marconi
station sent their inquiries home, inquiries that were answered next day
with matter-of-fact brevity: "Everyone well, love from all."
When the operator hurried with that to Marjorie she received it
off-handedly, glanced at it carelessly, asked him to smoke, remarked
that wireless telegraphy was a wonderful thing, and then, in the midst
of some unfinished commonplace about the temperature, broke down and
wept wildly and uncontrollably....