Was it possible that Miss Brokaw had reached Fort Churchill in
some other way than by ship? And, if not, was it possible that in
this remote corner of the earth there was another woman who
resembled her so closely? Philip took a step toward Gregson, half
determined to awaken him. And yet, on second thought, he knew that
Gregson could not explain. Even if the artist had learned of his
affair with Miss Brokaw and had secured a picture of her in some
way, he would not presume to go this far. He was convinced that
Gregson had drawn the picture of a face that he had seen that day.
Again he read the words at the bottom of the sketch, and once more
he experienced their curious effect upon him--an effect which it
was impossible for him to analyze even in his own mind.

He replaced the picture upon the table and drew the handkerchief
and bit of lace from his pocket. In the light of the lamp he saw
that both were as unusual as had been the picturesque dress of the
girl and her companion. Even to his inexperienced eyes and touch
they gave evidence of a richness that puzzled him, of a fashion
that he had never seen. They were of exquisite workmanship. The
lace was of a delicate ivory color, faintly tinted with yellow.
The handkerchief was in the shape of a heart, and in one corner of
it, so finely wrought that he could barely make out the silken
letters, was the word "Camille."

The scent of heliotrope rose more strongly in the closed room, and
from the handkerchief Philip's eyes turned to the face of Eileen
Brokaw looking at him from out of Gregson's sketch. It was a
curious coincidence. He reached over and placed the picture face
down. Then he loaded his pipe, and sat smoking, his vision
traveling beyond the table, beyond the closed door to the lonely