CHAPTER XV.
The balsam of the pine-trees, the quiet of the woods, failed to content for long the child who had so often found consolation and peace in his forest home. The burning fire in his heart parched his whole being. Back to the city he must go; the Indians could not cheer him, as they had so often done in times past. The priest, whose simple life he had shared so happily in other days, had no words of counsel now to help him. What did he know of love and its fierce pain, he whose life had been vowed to the worship of an immaculate goddess? Back to the city, where is no peace, no song of bird, no soft footstep of hidden wood-creature! His feet would fain tread the burning streets again because they led to her dwelling; while the odorous aisles strewn with pine-needles lose themselves in lonely thickets, fit only for happy lovers or for men wedded to their own thoughts!
After a short visit, the briefest he had ever made them, Robert left the village of his Indian friends and set his face towards the city. He
