"Men and women who live in dreams," she added. "And with such
dreams there must always be grief."

There was a moment of the old pain in her face, a little catch in
her breath, and then she turned and looked at the forest ridge to
which he had called her attention.

"We go deep into that forest," she said. "We enter a creek just
beyond where Jean is waiting for us, and Adare House is a hundred
miles to the south and east." She faced him with a quick smile.
"My name is Adare," she explained, "Josephine Adare."

"Is--or was?" he asked.

"Is," she said; then, seeing the correcting challenge in his eyes
she added quickly: "But only to you. To all others I am Madame
Paul Darcambal."

"Paul?"

"Pardon me, I mean Philip."

They were close to shore, and fearing that Jean might become
suspicious of his tardiness, Philip bent to his paddle and was
soon in the half-breed's wake. Where he had thought there was only
the thick forest he saw a narrow opening toward which Jean was
speeding in his canoe. Five minutes later they passed under a
thick mass of overhanging spruce boughs into a narrow stream so
still and black in the deep shadows of the forest that it looked
like oil. There was something a little awesome in the suddenness