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His eyes dwelt on it long he recalled the scene: a night with stars and no moon, a huge bonfire to light the Indians, at their dance, and Marcey, Laforce, and many others there, among whom was Lucille, the little daughter of Gyng the Factor.
"I was desperately sleepy last night, certainly; but not too sleepy, I should have thought, to have made a mistake about that. I feel sure he was in the next room." "He was, sir," the servant said, "but Doctor Marcey, when he came to see you just after you got into bed ordered him to be carried at once into another room, in order that he might not disturb you.
"The thing may be all wrong to others, but if it's right to yourself that's it mais oui! If he comes," he added "if he comes back, think of him as well as Marcey. Marcey is sleeping what does it matter? If he is awake, he has better times, for he was a man to make another world sociable. Think of Laforce, for he has his life to live, and he is a man to make this world sociable.
And I wasn't ready no no no how could I be! I didn't care so much about the gaol, but he had killed John Marcey. The gaol what was that to me! There was no real shame in it unless he had done a mean thing. He had been wicked not mean. Killing is awful, but not shameful. Think the difference if he had been a thief!" Pierre nodded. "Then some one should have killed him!" he said. "Well, after?"
Ah, yes, ten years Abroad, John Marcey!" Then, as if still musing, he turned to the girl: "He had no father or mother no one, of course; so that it wasn't so bad after all. If you've lived with the tongue in the last hole of the buckle as you've gone, what matter when you go! C'est egal it is all the same."
Stroke Laforce had given himself up, had himself ridden to Winnipeg, a thousand miles, and told his story. Then the sergeant's stripes had been stripped from his arm, he had been tried, and on his own statement had got twelve years' imprisonment. Ten years had passed since then since Marcey was put away in his grave, since Pierre left Fort Ste.
And I wasn't ready no no no how could I be! I didn't care so much about the gaol, but he had killed John Marcey. The gaol what was that to me! There was no real shame in it unless he had done a mean thing. He had been wicked not mean. Killing is awful, but not shameful. Think the difference if he had been a thief!" Pierre nodded. "Then some one should have killed him!" he said. "Well, after?"
Well, I remember sitting on the porch till the folks came home from prayer meeting and I remember going to bed and lying awake all night, crying and shivering. "I didn't see John Marcey again. I stayed only a week longer and then I came to Chicago to study music. My folks were able to finance me for a time. But I never forgot him. It was John who had started me for Chicago.
"The thing may be all wrong to others, but if it's right to yourself that's it mais oui! If he comes," he added "if he comes back, think of him as well as Marcey. Marcey is sleeping what does it matter? If he is awake, he has better times, for he was a man to make another world sociable. Think of Laforce, for he has his life to live, and he is a man to make this world sociable.
They tried to take the child away, but she would not go; and when they carried Marcey on the shutter she followed close by, resisting her father's wishes and commands. And just before they made a prisoner of Laforce, she said to him very quietly so like a woman she was "I will give you back the basket, and the riding-whip, and the other things, and I will never forgive you never no, never!"
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