She was wrapped as usual in her fur-lined cloak and
hood. She looked to him inquiringly, with perhaps just a touch of
indignant displeasure in her expression, waiting for him to explain, as
if he had come on purpose to interrupt her.
"I am sorry. I had no idea you were here, or I would not have come."
The next moment he marvelled at himself as to how he had known that this
was the right thing to say; for it did not sound polite.
Her displeasure was appeased.
"You have found my pictures, then," she said simply.
"Only this hour, and by chance."
By this time he was wondering by what road she had got there. If she had
ridden alone across the bay from Harbour Island, where the Pembrokes
lived, she had done a bold thing for a woman, and one, moreover, which,
in the state of health in which he had seen her last, would have been
impossible to her.
Madame Le Maitre had begun to move slowly, as one who wakes from a happy
dream. He perceived that she was making preparations to mount.
"I cannot understand it," he cried; "how can these pictures come just by
chance? I have heard of the Picture Rocks on Lake Superior, for
instance, but I never conceived of anything so distinct, so lovely, as
these that I have seen."
"The angels make them," said Madame Le Maitre. She paused again (though
her bridle had been gathered in her hand ready for the mount), and
looked up again at the rock.
Pages:
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196