"And you--I will find you again?"
"They will know where I go from Oxford House. I will leave word--with
HER," said Jan.
"Good-by," said Thornton huskily.
Jan listened until his footsteps had died away, and for a long time
after that he sat with his head buried in his arms upon the little
table. And Kazan, whining softly, seemed to know that in the darkened
room had come to pass the thing which broke at last his master's
overburdened heart.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE MUSIC AGAIN
That night Jan Thoreau passed for the last time back into the shelter
of his forests; and all that night he traveled, and with each mile
that he left behind him something larger and bolder grew in his breast
until he cracked his whip in the old way, and shouted to the dogs in
the old way, and the blood in him sang to the wild spirit of the
wilderness. Once more he was home. To him the forest had always been
home, filled with the low voice of whispering winds and trees, and to-
night it was more his home than ever. Lonely and sick at heart, with
no other desire than to bury himself deeper and deeper into it, he
felt the life, and sympathy, and love of it creeping into his heart,
grieving with him in his grief, warming him with its hope, pledging
him again the eternal friendship of its trees, its mountains, and all
of the wild that it held therein.
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