he heard her voice, soft and caressing, but he could not
understand her words. The man lifted his head, and he recognized
the swarthy, clear-cut features of a French half-breed. He moved
away as quietly as he had come.

The girl's voice stopped him.

"And that is Churchill, Pierre--the Churchill you have told me of,
where the ships come in?"

"Yes, that is Churchill, Jeanne."

For a moment there was silence. Then, clear and low, with a wild,
sobbing note in her voice that thrilled Philip, the girl cried:

"And I hate it, Pierre. I hate it--hate it--hate it!"

Philip stepped out boldly from the rock.

"And I hate it, too," he said.





VI


Scarce had he spoken when he would have given much to have
recalled his words, wrung from his lips by that sobbing note of