Pierre. Through the two western
windows came the last glow of the western sun, like a golden
benediction finding its way into a sacred place. Here there was--
or had been--a great happiness, for only a great pride and a great
happiness could have made it as it was. Nothing that wealth and
toil could drag up out of a civilization a thousand miles away had
been too good for St. Pierre's wife. And about him, looking more
closely, David saw the undisturbed evidences of a woman's
contentment. On the table were embroidery materials with which she
had been working, and a lamp-shade half finished. A woman's
magazine printed in a city four thousand miles away lay open at
the fashion plates. There were other magazines, and many books,
and open music above the white keyboard of the piano, and vases
glowing red and yellow with wild-flowers and silver birch leaves.
He could smell the faint perfume of the fireglow blossoms, red as
blood. In a pool of sunlight on one of the big white bear rugs lay
the sleeping cat. And then, at the far end of the cabin, an ivory-
white Cross of Christ glowed for a few moments in a last homage of
the sinking sun.
Uneasiness stole upon him.
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