They were sixty
miles from Thoreau's cabin, straight north, and for the twentieth time
Father Roland was telling him how well he had done.
"And to-morrow," he added, "we'll reach Tavish's."
It had grown upon David that to see Tavish had become his one great
mission in the North. What adventure lay beyond that meeting he did not
surmise. All his thoughts had centred in the single desire to let Tavish
look upon the picture. To-night, after the Missioner had joined Mukoki
in the silk tent buried warmly under the mass of cut balsam, he sat a
little longer beside the fire, and asked himself questions which he had
not thought of before. He would see Tavish. He would show him the
picture. And--what then? Would that be the end of it? He felt, for a
moment, uncomfortable. Beyond Tavish there was a disturbing and
unanswerable problem. The Girl, if she still lived, was a thousand miles
from where he was sitting at this moment; to reach her, with that
distance of mountain and forest between them, would be like travelling
to the end of the world. It was the first time there had risen in his
mind a definite thought of going to her--if she were alive. It startled
him. It was like a shock. Go to her? Why? He drew forth the picture from
his coat pocket and stared at the wonder-face of the Girl in the light
of the blazing logs.
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