and knocking at the door. There followed an altercation, whispered, yet so full of fierceness and passionate gesture that Hugh, at his window, could feel the fury of their quarrel even there. It was almost like watching a dance of shadows, so noiseless did they manage to be, although now and then he caught a low-voiced sentence, couched in guttural Chippewa, and once, to his surprise, he heard his own name, spoken very distinctly by Laughing Mary.
She was not smiling now but speaking volubly, gesticulating, urging and insisting something, to which Jake slowly and determinedly shook his head. She kept pointing to the bale of furs still under his arm and seemed to be voicing her desire with such violence in the face of his continued refusal that finally, in angry impatience, he raised his arm as though to strike her. She winced and cowered, but still persisted, advancing her dark wrinkled face almost into his to utter her last word. Whatever she said seemed to have effect, for Jake’s arm dropped to his side and, muttering angrily, he stooped down to open his pack and
