This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1900. Excerpt: ... PART III THE RIFT IN THE ISLAND A5HES as soft as down and as fine as the motes which swim unseen in the air blew from a pine fire toward the lodges. There were two of these conical houses, standing near together and facing the west. The space of fairly level grassy land was surrounded by oaks and beeches, which arose in strength, stretching their limbs abroad and making shady arcades all around it. Marie Paul sat on a bench in one of these shadows, her quill-work in her lap, watching the Indian grandmother drag fuel up from the forest. In times past she had put herself heartily to such tasks when George was not at hand, sparing the aged back which bent to so much labor. But now her gaze at the old woman saw nothing; it was indifferent to the outer signs of life. Her languid so head rested against the tree behind her; lacework of the pine-ashes formed upon her knee without being distorted by a movement. She was conscious of a stifling breath or two as the blue veil was curled around her by the wind. This was the second day Marie had crept to the bench that her Latin prejudices long before caused to be built in the camp. As for Wawatam and his grandmother, they preferred a mat on the ground, and George sat anywhere, with adaptability unusual in his race. But Marie must have a raised seat in the shadow of jutting trees. She listened for George's return. She had trusted him twice with the Englishman's food. The first day George did not find Henry in his camp, and she sent the boy back in the afternoon. Henry had then returned from tramping through the woods. "Brudder lonesome," declared George. "Brudder can't keep still." The squaw pushed her fagot under the pot, and squatted on the windward side of the fire. Her coarse hair hung down her back. A toothless sm...