Almost fiercely
he strove to fight back the signs of it from his face and voice. Never
had he played as on this night. His violin leaped with life, his voice
rose high in the wild forest songs of Jean de Gravois and Croisset, he
sprang aloft in the caribou dance until the tips of his fingers
touched the log beams overhead; and yet there was none of the flush of
excitement in his face, no joyous fire flashing from his eyes upon
Melisse.
She saw this, and wondered. A dozen times her eyes encountered his,
straight and questioning, when the others were not looking. She saw in
response only a dull, lusterless glow that was not like the Jan who
had pursued her that day on the mountain-top.
Jan was unaware of what was lacking in him. He smiled when she gave
him these glances; deep down in him his heart trembled at the beauty
of her flushed cheeks, the luster of her coiled hair, the swimming
depths of her clear eyes; but the mask of the thing at which she
wondered still remained.
After the others had gone, Cummins sat up to smoke a pipe. When he had
finished, he went to his room. Jan was now sleeping in a room at the
company's store, and after a time he rose silently to take down his
cap and coat. He opened the outer door quietly, so as not to arouse
Melisse, who had gone to bed half an hour before.
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