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Updated: June 12, 2025
Marie looked quickly up, ever ready to pounce on the first gleam of aught that might ripen into a love interest, but she saw Maren's eyes, cool and shining, watching the swaggering figure with a look that measured its slim strength, its suggestion of reserve, its gay joy of life, and naught else. "A pretty fellow," she said, with a touch of disappointment.
He raises the ax and brings it down on her bright head in one tremendous blow, and she sinks without a sound and lies in a heap, with her warm blood reddening the snow. Then he deals her blow after blow, almost within reach of Maren's hands, as she stands at the window.
They closed the door and entered the last room of the four that the house contained that farthest from the road, in an angle of the building. Here the candle in Mr. Maren's hand was suddenly extinguished as by a draught of air. Almost immediately followed the sound of a heavy fall. When the candle had been hastily relighted young Mr.
It must be unusually lively at Aunt Maren's to make Uncle Frederick stop there until after ten. At last he seemed to discern a small white object far up the avenue; it was Uncle Frederick's white waistcoat approaching. Hans rose from the bench and said very seriously, "Good-evening!"
Maren's strongly modelled chin twitched a bit while the little flame of tenderness that flickered ever behind the graveness of her eyes leaped up. She longed for their speech that she might go among them and ask.
For that, they were well provided for since he had left with Jacques Baptiste the savings of his life, not much, but enough to bring both of them to the marriage age. And well and tenderly had old Jacques and his wife fulfilled the trust, Maren's dark eyes were often misty as she recalled the parting at Grand Portage.
The weather had always played a great part in Maren's life; not so much the weather that was, as that to come. This was the fishergirl in her; she took after her mother and her mother again from the time she began to take notice she would peer at the skies early and late.
At that moment there was a flurry among the pressing men around, a sound above the many voices wishing them luck, and little Francette broke through. "Ma'amselle!" she cried, looking up into Maren's eyes with conflicting expressions on her small face, misery and solemn joy and hatred that strove to soften itself beneath a better emotion; "Ma'amselle, I would thank you! Oh, bon Dieu!
There was uproar, they swarmed upon the two and bound them." Maren's eyes were growing large with the remembered excitement of that moment. The tall Irishman was watching her keenly. "They bound them and struck away to the north, taking them along, and the burden of their cry was, 'A skin for a skin!
The land was poor, two or three acres of downs where a few sheep struggled for their food, and this was all that remained of a large farm which had once been there, and where now seagulls flocked screaming over the white surf. The rest had been devoured by the ocean. It was Sören's, and more particularly Maren's foolish pride that his forefathers had owned a farm.
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