by the slow, dismal rising of the cry and the infinite sadness
with which it as slowly died away until lost in the whisperings of
the forest and the gentle wash of the sea. Pierre was returning.
He was coming back through the forest. Perhaps Jeanne would be
with him.

For the third time Philip climbed back to the great moonlit rock
at the top of the cliff. Eagerly he faced the north, whence the
wailing cry of the wolf-dog had come. Then he turned to the spot
where he had dropped the handkerchief, and his heart gave a sudden
jump.

There was nothing on the rock. The handkerchief was gone!





VII


Philip stood undecided, his ears strained to catch the slightest
sound. Ten minutes had not elapsed since he had dropped the
handkerchief. Pierre could not have gone far among the rocks. It
was possible that he was concealed somewhere near him now. Softly
he called his name.

"Pierre--ho, Pierre Couchee!"

There was no answer, and in the next breath he was sorry that he