There was, for the moment, no
thought of right or wrong, misery or disaster, past or future, only--this
is she! In the wild whistle of arctic winds he had sworn that he would
cease to remember, but her voice ran laughing through them as it did
through the blossoms of the locust trees at Tellavie, and he could not
forget. When the mists rose from the blue lake on a summer plain, the rosy
breath of the sun bearing them up and scattering them like thistledown, he
said that he would think no more of her; but, stooping to drink, he saw
her face in the water, as in the hill spring at Tellavie, and he could not
forget. When he rode swiftly through the long prairie grass, each pulse
afire, a keen, joyful wind playing on him as he tracked the buffalo, he
said he had forgotten, but he felt her riding beside him as she had done
on the wide savannas of the south, and he knew that he could not forget.
When he sat before some lodge in a pleasant village and was waited on by
soft voiced Indian maidens and saw around him the solitary content of the
north, he believed that he had ceased to think; but, as the maidens danced
with slow monotony and grave, unmelodious voices, there came in among them
an airy, sprightly figure, singing as the streams do over the pebbles, and
he could not forget.
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