him, and that something unexpected had taken her out into the
night. Before he could speak she led him swiftly through the hall
beyond, and did not pause until they had entered through another
door and stood in the room which he knew was her room. In a glance
he took in its exquisite femininity. Here, too, the bed was set
behind curtains, and the curtains were closely drawn.

She had faced him now, standing a few steps away. She was deathly
white, but her eyes had never met his more unflinchingly or more
beautiful. Something in her attitude restrained him from
approaching nearer. He looked at her, and waited. When she spoke
her voice was low and calm. He knew that at last she had come to
the hour of her greatest fight, and in that moment he was more
unnerved than she.

"In a few minutes my mother and father will be here, Philip," she
said. "The letter Jean brought me back there, where we first saw
each other, came up by way of Wollaston House, and told me I need
not expect them for a number of weeks. That was what made me happy
for a little while. They were in Montreal, and I didn't want them
to return. You will understand why--very soon. But my father
changed his mind, and almost with the mailing of the letter he and
my mother started home by way of Fond du Lac. Only an hour ago an
Indian ran to us with the news that they were coming down the
river. They are out there now--less than half a mile away--with
Jean and the dogs!"

She turned a little from him, facing the bed.

"You remember--I told you that I had spent a year in Montreal,"