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Updated: June 4, 2025
He staggered back, and clutched Father Roland by the shoulders, and his voice was almost sobbing in its excitement as he cried, whisperingly: "Then you you are Michael O'Doone the father of Marge and Tavish Tavish...." His voice broke. The Missioner's face had gone white. They went back into the moonlight again, so that they should not awaken the woman.
He lowered his rifle and advanced a few steps. "Who ... what ..." he managed to say; and stopped. He was powerless to go on. But she seemed to understand. Her body stiffened. "I am Marge O'Doone," she said defiantly, "and this is my bear!"
I told him a big lie told him the kid died, an' that I'd heard the woman had killed herself, and that O'Doone was in a lunatic asylum. Mebby he did have a conscience, the fool! Guess he was a little crazy himself. Went away soon after that. Never heard of him since. An' I've been hanging round until the girl was old enough to live with a man. Ain't I done right, Mac? Don't she belong to me?
Had she sent the picture to her when she realized that the end of her own time was drawing near? There was something unreasonable in this too, but it was the only solution that came to him. He was still pacing his room when the creaking of the door stopped him. It was opening slowly and steadily and apparently with extreme caution. In another moment Marge O'Doone stood inside.
It was a mad thought, an impossible thought, but it set his heart throbbing for a moment. And then suddenly it seemed to stand still. A key rattled, turned; the door opened and Marge O'Doone stood before him! She was panting sobbing, as if she had been running a long distance. She made no effort to speak, but dropped at his feet and began sawing at the caribou babiche with a knife.
She sank back, the look of hope in her face dying out like a passing flash. "I thank you," she murmured. "I thought perhaps you might know of a man whom I am seeking a man by the name of Michael O'Doone." She did not expect him to speak again. She drew her heavy coat about her and turned her face toward the window.
His mind leaped back to that scene of years ago, when Marge O'Doone's mother had run shrieking out in the storm of night to escape Tavish. But she had not died! That was the thought that burned in David's brain now. She had lived. She had searched for her husband Michael O'Doone; a half-mad wanderer of the forests at first, she may have been. She had searched for years.
The girl was plainly expecting him to say something, and he reiterated this fact that the woman in the coach was very anxious to find a man whose name was O'Doone, and that it was quite reasonable to suppose that her name was O'Doone, especially as she had with her this picture of a girl bearing that name. It seemed to him a powerful and utterly convincing argument.
His eyes half closed, gleaming in narrow, shining slits. His chin dropped on his chest. David prodded him on. "Bucky got her to run away with him," continued Brokaw. "Her and the kid, while she was still out of her head. Bucky even got her to write a note, he said, telling O'Doone she was sick of him an' was running away with another man. Bucky didn't give his own name, of course.
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