Rat, tat, tat! Thump, thump! Bang!

So noisy and persistent an a.s.sault on my door roused me at length from a delicious slumber. I sat up, rubbing my blinking eyes.

"Who's there?" I called in a drowsy tone.

"It's nine o'clock, sir," responded the voice of Baptiste. "I thought you would wish to know it," he added, and with that he went shuffling down the corridor.

Nine o'clock! And I had slept several hours over my usual time of rising! This was the result of sitting up so late the night before. I was wide awake instantly. I sprang out of bed, broke the thin crust of ice on my basin, and plunged hands and face into the bitter cold water.

A brisk rubbing with a towel put me all aglow, and I felt what a good thing it was to be alive. The past, with its perils and hardships, was behind me like a dim dream, and the future was rose-colored in spite of the grim spectre of war that it held over us in those days.

This was to be an eventful morning, in a way, for I had a happy piece of news to impart to Flora; I thought of it constantly as I dressed--an operation to which of late I devoted much care and attention. From regions downstairs--I was in the factor's house--came the rattle of dishes and a murmur of voices. Out of doors the frosty air was filled with the hum of busy human life.

But I forget that I owe the reader an explanation. The day of which I write was the 9th of January, 1847, and just one week after we entered Fort Garry and exchanged the harsh monotony of travel for the comforts of this nourishing post in the western wilderness.

I need dwell but briefly on the interval. The journey from Fort Charter had been severe and trying, protracted by furious storms that held us in camp for days at a time. But we were not attacked on the way--indeed, we saw no signs of Indians--and every one of our little band had come safely down from the North, through the heart of the Great Lone Land. It had been a disappointment to spend Christmas in the wilderness, but our trials were forgotten when we reached the fort.

But of these matters enough for the present. I must return to where I left off, and continue the narrative. When I had finished dressing that morning I went downstairs to the factor's living room, meeting no one on the way except Christopher Burley, who was too absorbed in thought to return my greeting.

I opened the door softly, and beheld an attractive picture. The sunlight shone on rugs and easy-chairs, on walls hung with tastefully chosen prints, on a table spread for two, with snowy linen and white china. To my relief, the room had but one occupant, and that was Flora. She was standing by the window, and as I entered she turned round quickly. She looked radiantly beautiful in a frock of some pink material with her rich hair coiled in a new and becoming fashion.

"Denzil, how late you are!" she cried, with a roguish pout. "They have all finished breakfast long ago. But I waited for you, sir, and am nearly famished. You do not deserve--"

She got no further, for by this time I was at her side, and had stopped her pretty lips with a kiss--nay, a shower of them.

"Darling, I have news for you," I said, a moment later.

"Well, what is it?" she asked, blushing as she spoke.

"I had a long talk with Mr. Macdonald last night," I replied. "A better fellow never lived. I told him all, and--and he is anxious to have a wedding at Fort Garry."

"Is he?"

"Yes, that's what he said. It will sort of cheer up things, you know, and--"

"But he has one wife already."

"Don't be stupid," said I. "Listen: he is going to send a man off to-day for the priest, who is visiting a little settlement fifty miles to the south. In a week, if you are willing, we can be married."

"In a week!" she cried, with mock consternation.

"I am serious," I replied. "Do not play with me. Think how long I have waited. Say that you will be my wife in a week's time."

"You foolish boy!" She nestled closer to me, adding, in a different and tremulous voice: "I am yours, dearest. I will marry you whenever you wish."

Our lips met, and then I held her at arm's length, looking into her big, purple eyes, soft and shining with the light of love.

"I am the happiest man in the world," I said hoa.r.s.ely.

"You deserve it," Flora answered.

"And I am glad to feel that we are carrying out the wishes of Griffith Hawke. Poor fellow! he was a true friend; and so was Captain Rudstone. I often think of his sad fate."

"I never liked Captain Rudstone," said Flora. "I feared and mistrusted him. And I have seen him looking at you so queerly sometimes, Denzil."

"Have you?" I replied. "I have noticed the same thing myself. But I can't believe--"

"Hush! we won't talk of the past," Flora interrupted. "But the future worries me, dearest. I am afraid of war breaking out--"

"The cloud will likely blow over," said I; "but if trouble does come the Northwest Company will quickly get the worst of it. And I forgot to tell you, darling, that Mr. Macdonald has promised me a good post here at Fort Garry."

"How lovely," exclaimed Flora. "I don't want to return to the North, with its bitter memories."

Just then footsteps were heard approaching, and we drew apart in some confusion. The next instant the door opened and the factor himself appeared, nourishing a paper in one hand.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

GOOD NEWS.

Colin Macdonald, I have omitted to state, was rather more than sixty years of age; a stalwart, bearded, well-preserved Scotchman, who had grown gray in the service of the Hudson Bay Company. He was an old friend of mine, as I had visited Fort Garry on previous occasions.

"Good-morning, Carew," he began. "Overslept yourself--eh? Miss Hatherton would insist on waiting for you--lucky dog that you are! But here is something that will interest you."

"Dispatches?" I exclaimed eagerly.

"Right you are."

"From Quebec, I presume?"

"No; from the North. But sit down and have breakfast, man. You must be half-starved."

Curbing my impatience, I seated myself at the table. Flora sat on the left and poured out the coffee. The factor remained standing.

"I must be off directly," he said. "I knew you would want to hear the news. A special courier came in at daybreak--splendid fellow!--all the way from Fort Charter--left three weeks after your party."

"From Fort Charter?" I cried. "And what is the news?"

"I hope it is good news," said Flora.

"Well, yes, what there is of it is good," replied Macdonald, "and that's not so much after all. The dispatches come from Fort Charter, and contain information received there from Fort York and other northern posts. For one thing, my prediction was right. The Indians, instead of continuing on the war-path, have disbanded as mysteriously and swiftly as they a.s.sembled. A small force, collected from the different forts, has started out to pursue the scattered parties of the enemy."

"I hope they will succeed," said I. "Anything about Cuthbert Mackenzie?"

"Yes. That infernal ruffian was the leader, according to Indian spies who arrived at Fort York. But there is little hope of catching him. He is supposed to have fled south with a few followers. By Heaven, sir, if he comes back to the Red River, I'll arrest him at once! The whole North West Company shan't hinder me!"