picked up his axe.

Philip followed with his own, and they piled about Josephine's
tent a thick protection of spruce and cedar boughs. Then together
they brought three or four big logs to the fire. After that Philip
went into their own tent, stripped off his outer garments, and
buried himself in his sleeping bag. For a long time he lay awake
and listened to the increasing wail of the wind in the tall spruce
tops. It was not new to him. For months he had fallen asleep with
the thunderous crash of ice and the screaming fury of storm in his
ears. But to-night there was something in the sound which sunk him
still deeper into the gloom which he had found it impossible to
throw off. At last he fell asleep.

When he awoke he struck a match and looked at his watch. It was
four o'clock, and he dressed and went outside. The wind had died
down. Jean was already busy over the cook-fire, and in Josephine's
tent he saw the light of a candle. She appeared a little later,
wrapped close in a thick red Hudson's Bay coat, and with a marten-
skin cap on her head. Something in her first appearance, the
picturesqueness of her dress, the jauntiness of the little cap,
and the first flush of the fire in her face filled him with the
hope that sleep had given her better spirit. A closer glance
dashed this hope. Without questioning her he knew that she had
spent another night of mental torture. And Jean's face looked
thinner, and the hollows under his eyes were deeper.

All that day the sky hung heavy and dark with cloud, and the water
was rough. Early in the afternoon the wind rose again, and
Croisset ran alongside them to suggest that they go ashore. He