So painfully intent was I on his every low-spoken word that I
scarce dared breathe as the story of my mother slowly unfolded.
"Guy Johnson and I took the young woman and her child to
Edward," he said. "Her name was Marie Loskiel, and she told us that
she was the widow of a Scotch fur trader, one Ian Loskiel, of Saint
Sacrament."
There was another silence, as though he were not willing to
continue. Then in a quiet voice I bade him speak; and he spoke,
very gravely:
"Your mother's religion and Guy Johnson's were different. If
that were the reason she would not marry him I do not know. Only
that when he went away, leaving her at Edward, they both wept. I
was standing by his stirrup; I saw him— and her.
"And— he rode away, Loskiel… . Why she tried to follow him the
next spring, I
