In the star dusk of evening the time came when he spoke his fears to
Father John.
Nada had gone into her room, taking Peter with her, and out under the
cool of the skies Father John's pale face was turned up to the unending
glory of the firmament, and his lips were whispering a prayer of
gratitude and blessing, when Roger laid a hand gently on his arm.
"Father," he said, "it is a wonderful night."
"A night of gladness and omen," replied Father John. "See the stars!
They seem to be alive and rejoicing, and it is not sacrilege to believe
they are, giving you their benediction."
"And yet--I am afraid."
"Afraid?"
Father John looked into his eyes, and saw him staring off over the
forest-tops.
"Yes--afraid for her."
Briefly he told him of what had happened on the Barren months ago, and
how he had narrowly escaped Breault in coming away from the burned
country.
"He is on my trail," he said, "and tonight he is not very far away."
The Missioner's hand rested in a comforting way on his arm.
"You did not kill Jed Hawkins, my son, and for that we have thanked God
each day and night of our lives--Nada and I. And each evening she has
prayed for you, kneeling at my side, and through every hour of the day
I know she was praying for you in her heart--and I believe in the
answer to prayer such as that, Roger. Her faith, now, is as deep as the
sea. And you, too, must have faith."
"She is more precious to me than life--a thousand lives, if I had
them," whispered Jolly Roger. "If anything should happen--now--"
"Yes, if the thing you fear should happen, what then?" cried Father
John, faith ringing like a note of inspiration in his low voice. "What,
then, Roger? You did not kill Jed Hawkins. If the law compels you to
pay a price for the errors it believes you have committed, will that
price be so terribly severe?"
"Prison, Father. Probably five years."
Father John laughed softly, the star-glow revealing a radiance in his
face.
"Five years!" he repeated. "Oh, my boy, my dear boy, what are five
years to pay for such a treasure as that which has come into your
possession tonight? Five short years--only five. And she waiting for
you, proud of you for those very achievements which sent you to prison,
planning for all the future that lies beyond those five short years,
growing sweeter and more beautiful for you as she waits--Roger, is that
a very great sacrifice? Is it too great a price to pay? Five years, and
after that--peace, love, happiness for all time? Is it, Roger?"
McKay felt his voice tremble as he tried to answer.
"But she, father--"
"Yes, yes, I know what you would say," interrupted Father John gently.
"I argued with her, just as you would have argued, Roger. I appealed to
her reason. I told her that if you returned it would mean prison for
you, and strangely I said that same thing--five years. But I found her
selfish, Roger, very selfish--and set upon her desire beyond all
reason. And it was she who asked first those very questions I have
asked you tonight. 'What are five years?' she demanded of me, defying
my logic. 'What are five years--or ten--or twenty, _if I know I am to
have him after that_?' Yes, she was selfish, Roger. Just that great is
her love for you."
"Dear God in Heaven," breathed Jolly Roger, and stopped, his eyes
staring wide at the stars.
"And after that, after I had given in to her selfishness, Roger, she
planned how we--she and I--would live very near to the place where they
imprisoned you, and how each day some sight or sign should pass between
you, and the baby--"
"The baby, Father?"
"Thus it seems she dreams, Roger. She, in the wilfulness of her desire
and selfishness--"
With a choking cry Roger bowed his face in his hands.
For a moment Father John was silent. And then he said, so very low that
it was almost a whisper,
"I have passed many years in the wilderness, Roger, many years trying
to look into the hearts of people--and of God. And this--this love of
Nada's--is the greatest of all the miracles I have witnessed in a life
that is now reaching to its three score and five. Do you see the wonder
of it, son? And does it make you happy, and fearless now?"
He did not wait for an answer, but turned slowly and went in the
direction of the cabin, leaving Roger alone under the thickening stars.
And McKay's face was like Father John's, filled with a strange and
wonderful radiance when he looked up. But with that light of happiness
was also the fiercer underglow of a great determination. For Nada--for
_the baby_--the worst should not happen; he breathed the thought aloud,
and in the words was a prayer that God might help him, and make
unnecessary the sacrifice from which Father John had taken the sting of
fear. And yet, if that sacrifice came, he saw clearly now that it would
not be a great tragedy but only a brief shadow cast over the undying
happiness in his soul. For they--_Nada and the baby_--would be
waiting--waiting--
Suddenly he was conscious of a sound very near, and he beheld Nada,
taller and slimmer and more beautiful than ever, it seemed to him, in
the starlight.
"I have told him," Father John had whispered to her only a moment
before. "I have told him, so that he will not fear prison--either for
himself or for you."
And she had come to him quietly, all of the pretty triumph and
playfulness gone, so that she stood like an angel in the soft glow of
the skies, much older than he had ever seen her before, and smiled at
him with a new and wonderful tenderness as she held out her hands to
him.
Not until she lay in his arms, looking up at him from under her long
lashes, did he dare to speak. And then,
"Is it true--what Father John has told me?" he asked.
"It is true," she whispered, and the silken lashes covered her eyes.
Her hand crept up to his face in the silence that followed, and rested
there; and with no desire to hear more than the three words she had
spoken he crushed his lips in the sweet coils of her hair, and
together, in that peace ands understanding, they listened to the gentle
whisperings of the night.
"Roger," she whispered at last.
"Yes, my _Newa_--"
"What does that mean, Roger?"
"It means--beloved--wife"
"Then I like it. But I shall like the others--one of the others--best."
"My--_wife_."
"That--that makes me happiest, Roger. Your _wife_. Oh, it is the sweetest
word in the world, that--and--"
He felt her warm face hide itself softly against his neck.
"Mother," he added.
"Yes--Mother," she repeated after him in an awed little voice. "Oh, I
have dreamed of Mothers since I have been old enough to dream, Roger!
My Mother--I never had one that I can remember, except in a dream. It
must be wonderful to--to--have a Mother, Roger."
"And yet, I think, not quite so wonderful as to BE a Mother, my Nada."
"Listen!" she whispered.
"It is the Leaf Bud singing."
"A love song?"
"Yes, in Cree."
She raised her head, so that her eyes were wide open, and looking at
him.
"Since we came up here all this wonderful world has been promising song
for me, Roger. And since you came back to me it has been
singing--singing--singing--every hour of night and day. Have you ever
dreamed of leaving it, Roger--of going down into that world of towns
and cities of which Father John has told me so much?"
"Would you like to go there, Nada?"
"Only to look upon it, and come away. I want to live in the forests,
where I found you. Always and always, Roger."
She raised herself on tip-toe, and kissed him.
"I want to live near Yellow Bird and Sun Cloud--please--Mister Jolly
Roger--I do. And Father John will go with us. And we'll be so happy
there all together, Yellow Bird and Sun Cloud and Giselle and I--oh!"
His arms had tightened so suddenly that the little cry came from her.
"And yet--I may have to leave you for a little time, Nada. But it will
not be for long. What are five years, when all life reaches out a
paradise before us? They are nothing--nothing--and will pass swiftly--"
"Yes, they will pass swiftly," she said, so gently that scarce did he
hear.
But on his breast she gave a little sob which would not choke itself
back, a sob which bravely she smiled through a moment later, and which
he--knowing that it was best--made as if he had not heard.
And so, this night, while Father John and Peter waited and watched in
the cabin, did they plan their future in the company of the stars.