He explained this to her in a sere reach of the garden. It was
afternoon, the sun low and a haze on the hills. Ludowika had on a
scarlet wrap, curiously vivid against the withered, brown aspect of the
faded flower stems. "You and me," he repeated. She gazed, without
answering, at the barrier of hills that closed in Myrtle Forge. From
the thickets came the clear whistling of partridges, intensifying the
unbroken tranquillity that surrounded the habitations. Howat was
suddenly conscious of the pressure of vast, unguessed regions, primitive
forces, illimitable wildernesses. It brought uppermost in him a
corresponding zest in the sheer spaciousness of the land, a feeling
always intensified by the thought of England. "The Province," he said
disjointedly, "a place for men. Did you see those that followed the road
this morning? Perhaps five with their women, some pack horses, kitchen
tins and hide tents. The men wore buckskin, and furred caps, and the
women's skirts were sewed leather. One was tramping along with a feeding
baby. Well, God knows where they have been, how many days they have
walked; their shoes were in shreds. And their faces, thin and serious,
have looked steadily over rifles at death. The women, too. You'll only
get them here, in a big country, a new--"
"They were terrible," Ludowika declared; "savage.
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