It was on one of these days that Jean had gone along the edge of the
caribou swamp that lay between the barrens and the higher forest. As
he stopped to examine a fresh lynx trail that cut across the path
beaten down by dog and sledge, he heard the sound of voices ahead of
him; and a moment later he recognized them as those of Melisse and
Dixon. His face clouded, and his eyes snapped fire.
"Ah, if I was only Jan Thoreau--a Jan Thoreau with the heart of Jean
de Gravois--what a surprise I'd give that foreigner!" he said to
himself, leaping quickly from the trail into the thicket.
He peered forth from the bushes, his loyal heart beating a wrathful
tattoo when he saw that Dixon dared put his hand on Melisse's arm.
They were coming very slowly, the Englishman bending low over the
girl's bowed head, talking to her with strange earnestness. Suddenly
he stopped, and before Jean could comprehend what had happened he had
bent down and kissed her.
With a low cry, Melisse tore herself free. For an instant she faced
Dixon, who stood laughing into her blazing eyes. Then she turned and
ran swiftly down the trail.
A second cry fell from her startled lips when she found herself face
to face with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman was smiling. His
eyes glittered like black diamonds.
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