He did not tell Melisse that he had returned
to Lac Bain to be near her once more, nor did he confide in Jean. He
had anticipated that this winter at the post would be filled with a
certain painful pleasure for him--but he had not anticipated Dixon.
Day after day he saw Melisse and the Englishman together, and while
they awakened in him none of the fiery jealousy which might have
rankled in the bosom of Jean de Gravois, the knowledge that the girl
was at last passing from him for ever added a deeper grief to that
which was already eating at his heart.
Dixon made no effort to conceal his feelings. He loved Melisse.
Frankly he told this to Jean one day, when they were on the Churchill
trail. In his honest way he said things which broke down the last of
Jean's hereditary prejudices, and compelled him to admit that this was
a different sort of foreigner than he had ever known before.
"Diable, I like him," he said to himself; "and yet I would rather see
him in the blessed hereafter than have him take Melisse from Jan!"
The big snow decided.
It came early in December. Dixon had set out alone for Ledoq's early
in the morning. By noon the sky was a leaden black, and a little later
one could not see a dozen paces ahead of him for the snow. The
Englishman did not return that day.
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