"What is it?" she asked.

"He wants you to sing 'Jesus, Lover of my Soul.' I could just catch the words. It used to be a favourite hymn of his."

Jean was in no mood for singing, but she did the best she could. As her sweet voice filled the room, Norman opened his eyes, and a smile overspread his face.

"It's your mother, Dane; don't you hear her singing? And look, can't you see her? She's standing right there, just as she looked on her wedding-day."

He reached out, and his arms closed in a fond embrace, and for him his loved one was really there.

"Priscilla! Priscilla!" he whispered, and with that vision before him, his spirit left the weary body.

The next day the rangers arrived, with William Davidson in charge.

Pete was with them, and his delight was unbounded at seeing Jean. That afternoon Thomas Norman's body was laid by the side of his wife at the foot of the big pine. The ranger leader read the beautiful words of the Burial Service, after which his men filled in the grave. A rough wooden cross was erected over the spot, and there Jean and Dane stood after the others had gone back to the house. Their eyes were misty, and for a few minutes neither spoke.

"That is all we can do," Dane at length remarked with a sigh. "Oh, if he had only seen his mistake years ago, what a difference it would have made. It is wonderful how death has wiped out all bitterness toward him from my heart. I only think of him now as the loving father I once knew."

"This will always be a sacred spot to us," Jean replied. "I should like to come here in the summer when the birds are singing, and lay sweet flowers upon these graves."

"We shall indeed come, darling," and Dane's arm stole tenderly about the girl as he spoke. "We shall come next summer to this place which means so much to us."

The sun of the short winter day was dipping below the tops of the great trees, and the distant hills were aglow as Jean and Dane left the grove and walked slowly back to the house. Although sorrowing for the one they had just laid to rest, yet they knew that it was well. This common grief drew them nearer than ever to each other, making their love all the more beautiful and wonderful.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

AFTER MANY DAYS

Christmas was drawing near and the people of Loyal were looking forward to the season of cheer and goodwill. Their preparations were meagre, and they did not expect to celebrate as in the past. But they had provided what they could for their little ones, and the women had their cooking all done. The _Polly_, on her last trip, had brought extra supplies from Portland Point, so there was sufficient food for all.

The various houses were decorated with fragrant evergreens, and before blazing fires during the long evenings parents told their children of the happy Christmas seasons before the war.

In one home only there was no cheer, for Colonel Sterling was in no mood for any gaiety. He paid little heed to the preparations that were being made in the settlement, and listened in an absent-minded manner to Old Mammy's chatter. Even the little Indian baby, of which he was very fond, could not arouse him out of the apathy into which he had sunk. He would sit for hours gazing dreamily into the fire, and would only bestir himself when any of the neighbours called for a friendly chat. But of late such visitors were few, for after the first greeting, the Colonel always lapsed into silence. He would suddenly arouse when the callers were ready to depart, and tell them to come again.

All this was a great worry to Old Mammy. She found the house very lonely, and more often than ever dropped in upon her neighbours during the day.

"I'm sure troubled 'bout de Cun'l," she confided to Mrs. Watson one afternoon. "He jes sets an' sets an' says nuffin'. I know he's t'inkin' 'bout Missie Jean, but he nebber speaks 'bout her now. His po' ol' heart is jes broke, an' no wonder."

The tears flowed down Mammy's cheeks, telling plainly of her own grief.

She wiped them away with a corner of her ap.r.o.n, and swayed her stout body to and fro.

"An' dis is Christmas time, too," she continued. "How Missie Jean did lub Christmas. I kin see de dear lamb now, wif her eyes shinin', an'

her cheeks jes like two rosy apples. But to hear her happy laff was de bes' of all. An' she was so good to the chilluns. Why, de house was allus full of dem on Christmas day, an' Missie Jean, was jes like a chile herse'f, de dear lamb."

"I know she was," Mrs. Watson replied. "The very night she was stolen away I showed her the presents we made for Danny. She was so much interested in the toy boat, horse and cart John made. She was very bright and happy that night. Poor dear, she little knew what was in store for her."

It was the week after the great storm that the Colonel was sitting as usual one night before the fire. Mammy had put the baby to bed, and was busying herself about the room. The silent man was thinking of his lost daughter. He had given up all hope now of ever seeing her again.

The last spark had fled with Dane's arrival. He had been encouraged by the thought that the courier would bring some word of his loved one.

But the first glance at the young man's face had told him the worst.

There was no hope. Jean was either dead, or worse than dead. What he had endured since the night she had been stolen away he alone knew. He tried to be brave and to face life with the same courage as in the past. But he found this to be almost impossible. He was getting old, his loved ones had all been taken away, and he had nothing to live for.

This feeling of depression increased as Christmas drew near. He ate but little, and he found it difficult to sleep. He would rise long before daylight, and every morning Mammy found him huddled before the fire. He was as kind and gentle as of old, but he was not the Colonel Sterling who had played such an important part in the war.

Old Mammy had just replenished the fire, and the flames were licking merrily around a big hardwood stick, when a noise sounded outside.

Then the door was thrust suddenly open, and as the Colonel turned his head, Jean rushed across the room, threw her arms about his neck, and almost smothered him with rapturous kisses. With a great cry of joy and amazement the Colonel clutched the clinging girl, and staggered to his feet. He was trembling violently, and his excitement was intense.

He looked into her face, touched her hair, and laid his right hand upon her head, imagining it was all a dream. But when Jean laughed at him, drew off her hood, and stood erect before him, his last doubt was removed. He reached out and pa.s.sionately drew her to him, and silently held her to his breast. Then he sank down upon his chair, completely overcome by his emotion.

There was great excitement now in the room. Old Mammy had been impatiently waiting to embrace her "li'l lamb," and she would scarcely release her for a minute. She stroked the girl's hair, and held her hands, crying and laughing as if bereft of her senses, and murmuring words of endearment.

The neighbours soon heard the good news, and crowded into the house.

Jean laughingly declared that she had never been kissed so much before, and that she was almost bewildered by the attention she received. But when she explained how much Sam and Kitty had done for her, interest was at once directed to the faithful Indians who had been curiously watching all that was taking place. Pete was there, too, and it was a wonderful night for those three dusky wanderers of the trails. They were given plenty to eat and drink, and received the approving smiles of all.

The Colonel kept his eyes fixed upon his returned daughter as she moved about, talking and laughing in the gayest manner. The weary look had gone from his face, and his eyes glowed with a new light. His heart was overflowing with thankfulness, and as the neighbours were about to depart, he rose to his feet, and requested them to remain for a few minutes.

"This has been a wonderful night to me," he said. "The lost one has been restored, and my heart is so filled with grat.i.tude that I am going to ask you all to sing the Doxology. Jean, dear, you know the words, so suppose you start it."

The girl did as she was directed, and at once all lifted up their voices in the old familiar words of "Praise G.o.d from whom all blessings flow." It was no mere lip-service offered up there that night, but sincere grat.i.tude from humble thankful hearts.

The Colonel, Jean, and Dane sat late before the fire that night. It was a marvellous story the girl related of her rescue from her captors by Sam and Kitty. But when she spoke of Thomas Norman, her father was deeply moved. He leaned forward so as not to miss a single word.

"Poor Tom! Poor Tom," he said. "What a pity that such a life was wasted. If I could only have seen him before he was taken away. How wonderful, though, that my daughter should have been by his side when he died. That is some comfort, at any rate."

"But you have his son with you now," Jean replied.

"His son! What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. Dane is the only son of your old friend."

Jean never forgot the expression of astonishment upon her father's face at these words. He looked from one to the other to be sure that he was not being deceived.

"It is true, daddy," Jean smilingly told him. "Dane is really Thomas Norman's son, so his name is not 'Norwood' at all. Won't you believe me?"

"Yes, I believe you, dear, but I am greatly confused over what I have just heard. Why didn't you tell me this sooner? Did you know of this before you were stolen away?"

"Why, no. I only learned of it after I met Mr. Norman. But on our way down river Dane and I planned that we would keep this surprise until the last."

"I see, I see," the Colonel mused. "It is good of you. But, dear me, how wonderful everything has happened! Why didn't you tell me about your father?" he asked, turning to the courier. "You remember our conversation out in the hills the day you saved me from the moose. Why didn't you tell me then about your father?"

"For the same reason why I would not tell Major Studholme at Fort Howe when he asked me," Dane replied.

"And what was that?"

"I would not betray my father."

"Even though he was a rebel?"

"He was my father, remember, and I never forgot that, even though he drove me away from home. And more than that, for my mother's sake I could not betray him."

Dane ceased, and gazed thoughtfully into the fire. The Colonel was deeply stirred. Impulsively he reached out and seized Dane by the hand.