I can see now the tall shining heights of Quebec, the pretty
wooded Island of Orleans, the winding channel, so deep, so strong. The
sun was three-fourths of its way down in the west, and already the sky
was taking on the deep red and purple of autumn. Somehow, the thing that
struck me most in the scene was a bunch of pines, solemn and quiet, their
tops burnished by the afternoon light. Tears would have been easy then.
But my pride drove them back from my eyes to my angry heart. Besides,
there were my Indians waiting, and the long journey lay before us. Then,
perhaps because there was none nearer to make farewell to, or I know not
why, I waved my hand towards the distant village of Lachine, and, with
the sweet maid in my mind who had so gently parted from me yesterday, I
cried, 'Good-bye, and God bless you.'"
He paused. Pierre handed him a wooden cup, from which he drank, and then
continued:
"The journey went forward. You have seen the country. You know what it
is: those bare ice-plains and rocky unfenced fields stretching to all
points, the heaving wastes of treeless country, the harsh frozen lakes.
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