It was like the snow-summit of a mountain below
which are the ragged escarpments of trees and rocks, making a look of
storm and warfare.
"Where is she--the child of my Zoe?" Jean Jacques repeated with an almost
angry emphasis; as though the Young Doctor were hiding her from him.
"She is with the wife of Nolan Doyle, my partner in horse-breeding, not
very far from here. Norah Doyle was married five years, and she had no
child. This was a grief to her, even more than to Nolan, who, like her,
came of a stock that was prolific. It was Nolan who found your daughter
on the prairie--the driver dead, but she just alive when found. To give
her ease of mind, Nolan said he would make the child his own. When he
said that, she smiled and tried to speak, but it was too late, and she
was gone."
In sudden agony Jean Jacques threw up his hands. "So young and so soon to
be gone!" he exclaimed. "But a child she was and had scarce tasted the
world. The mercy of God--what is it!"
"You can't take time as the measure of life," rejoined the Young Doctor
with a compassionate gesture. "Perhaps she had her share of happiness--as
much as most of us get, maybe, in a longer course."
"Share! She was worth a hundred years of happiness!" bitterly retorted
Jean Jacques.
"Perhaps she knew her child would have it?" gently remarked the Young
Doctor.
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