Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Courage of Marge O'Doone by James Oliver Curwood (best free e reader .TXT) 📖
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his arm and started down the valley. A strange force held David silent, an indefinable feeling that something tremendous and unexpected was impending. He heard the other's quick breath, caught the glow in his eyes, and his heart was thrilled. They walked so swiftly that it seemed to him only a few moments when they came to a little clump of low trees, and into these Father Roland led David by the hand, treading lightly now.
In another moment they stood beside someone who was sleeping. Father Roland pointed down, and spoke no word.
It was a woman. The moonlight fell upon her, and shimmered in the thick masses of dark hair that streamed about her, concealing her face. David choked. It was his heart in his throat. He bent down. Gently he lifted the heavy tresses, and stared into the sleeping face that was under them--the face of the woman he had met that night on the Transcontinental!
Over him he heard a gentle whisper.
"My wife, David!"
He staggered back, and clutched Father Roland by the shoulders, and his voice was almost sobbing in its excitement as he cried, whisperingly:
"Then you--you are Michael O'Doone--the father of Marge--and Tavish--Tavish...."
His voice broke. The Missioner's face had gone white. They went back into the moonlight again, so that they should not awaken the woman.
* * * * *
Out there, so close that they seemed to be in each other's arms, the stories were told, David's first--briefly, swiftly; and when Michael O'Doone learned that his daughter was in David's camp, he bowed his face in his hands and David heard him giving thanks to his God. And then he, also, told what had happened--briefly, too, for the minutes of this night were too precious to lose. In his madness Tavish had believed that his punishment was near--believed that the chance which had taken him so near to the home of the man whose life he had destroyed was his last great warning, and before killing himself he had written out fully his confession for Michael O'Doone, and had sworn to the innocence of the woman whom he had stolen away.
"And even as he was destroying himself, God's hand was guiding my Margaret to me," explained the Missioner. "All those years she had been seeking for me, and at last she learned at Nelson House about Father Roland, whose real name no man knew. And at almost that same time, at Le Pas, there came to her the photograph you found on the train, with a letter saying our little girl was alive at this place you call the Nest. Hauck's wife sent the letter and picture to the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, and it was sent from inspector to inspector, until it found her at Le Pas. She came to the Chateau. We were gone--with you. She followed, and we met as Metoosin and I were returning. We did not go back to the Chateau. We turned about and followed your trail, to seek our daughter. And now...."
Out of the shadow of the trees there broke upon them suddenly the anxious voice of the woman.
"Napao! where are you?"
"Dear God, it is the old, sweet name she called me so many years ago," whispered Michael O'Doone. "She is awake. Come!"
David held him back a moment.
"I will go to Marge," he said quickly. "I will wake her. And you--bring her mother. Understand, dear Father? Bring her up there, where Marge is sleeping...."
The voice came again:
"_Napao--Napao!_"
"I am coming; I am coming!" cried the Missioner.
He turned to David.
"Yes--I will bring her--up there--to your camp."
And as David hurried away, he heard the sweet voice saying:
"You must not leave me alone, _Napao_--never, never, never, so long as we live...."
* * * * *
On his knees, beside the Girl, David waited many minutes while he gained his breath. With his two hands he crumpled her hair; and then, after a little, he kissed her mouth, and then her eyes; and she moved, and he caught the sleepy whisper of his name.
"Wake," he cried softly. "Wake, little comrade!"
Her arms rose up out of her dream of him and encircled his neck.
"_Sakewawin_," she murmured. "Is it morning?"
He gathered her in his arms.
"Yes, a glorious day, little comrade. Wake!"
THE END
Imprint
In another moment they stood beside someone who was sleeping. Father Roland pointed down, and spoke no word.
It was a woman. The moonlight fell upon her, and shimmered in the thick masses of dark hair that streamed about her, concealing her face. David choked. It was his heart in his throat. He bent down. Gently he lifted the heavy tresses, and stared into the sleeping face that was under them--the face of the woman he had met that night on the Transcontinental!
Over him he heard a gentle whisper.
"My wife, David!"
He staggered back, and clutched Father Roland by the shoulders, and his voice was almost sobbing in its excitement as he cried, whisperingly:
"Then you--you are Michael O'Doone--the father of Marge--and Tavish--Tavish...."
His voice broke. The Missioner's face had gone white. They went back into the moonlight again, so that they should not awaken the woman.
* * * * *
Out there, so close that they seemed to be in each other's arms, the stories were told, David's first--briefly, swiftly; and when Michael O'Doone learned that his daughter was in David's camp, he bowed his face in his hands and David heard him giving thanks to his God. And then he, also, told what had happened--briefly, too, for the minutes of this night were too precious to lose. In his madness Tavish had believed that his punishment was near--believed that the chance which had taken him so near to the home of the man whose life he had destroyed was his last great warning, and before killing himself he had written out fully his confession for Michael O'Doone, and had sworn to the innocence of the woman whom he had stolen away.
"And even as he was destroying himself, God's hand was guiding my Margaret to me," explained the Missioner. "All those years she had been seeking for me, and at last she learned at Nelson House about Father Roland, whose real name no man knew. And at almost that same time, at Le Pas, there came to her the photograph you found on the train, with a letter saying our little girl was alive at this place you call the Nest. Hauck's wife sent the letter and picture to the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, and it was sent from inspector to inspector, until it found her at Le Pas. She came to the Chateau. We were gone--with you. She followed, and we met as Metoosin and I were returning. We did not go back to the Chateau. We turned about and followed your trail, to seek our daughter. And now...."
Out of the shadow of the trees there broke upon them suddenly the anxious voice of the woman.
"Napao! where are you?"
"Dear God, it is the old, sweet name she called me so many years ago," whispered Michael O'Doone. "She is awake. Come!"
David held him back a moment.
"I will go to Marge," he said quickly. "I will wake her. And you--bring her mother. Understand, dear Father? Bring her up there, where Marge is sleeping...."
The voice came again:
"_Napao--Napao!_"
"I am coming; I am coming!" cried the Missioner.
He turned to David.
"Yes--I will bring her--up there--to your camp."
And as David hurried away, he heard the sweet voice saying:
"You must not leave me alone, _Napao_--never, never, never, so long as we live...."
* * * * *
On his knees, beside the Girl, David waited many minutes while he gained his breath. With his two hands he crumpled her hair; and then, after a little, he kissed her mouth, and then her eyes; and she moved, and he caught the sleepy whisper of his name.
"Wake," he cried softly. "Wake, little comrade!"
Her arms rose up out of her dream of him and encircled his neck.
"_Sakewawin_," she murmured. "Is it morning?"
He gathered her in his arms.
"Yes, a glorious day, little comrade. Wake!"
THE END
Imprint
Publication Date: 12-08-2009
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