Gregson seized the paper lazily, yawned, and slipped it under the
blanket which he had doubled up for a pillow.

"Do you mind if I keep it for a few days. Phil?" he asked.

"Not in the least, if you'll tell me why you want it," said
Philip.

"I will--when I discover a reason myself," replied his friend,
coolly, stretching himself out again in the bunk. "Remember when I
dreamed that Carabobo planter was sticking a knife into you,
Phil?--and the next day he tried it? Well, I've had a funny dream,
I want to sleep on this letter. I may want to sleep on it for a
week. Better turn in if you expect to get a wink between now and
morning."

For half an hour after he had undressed and extinguished the light
Philip lay awake reviewing the incidents of his night's adventure.
He was certain that his letter was in the hands of Pierre and
Jeanne, but he was not so sure that they would respond to it. He
half expected that they would not, and yet he felt a deep sense of
satisfaction in what he had done. If he met them again he would
not be quite a stranger. And that he would meet them he was not
only confident, but determined. If they did not appear in Fort
Churchill he would hunt out their camp.

He found himself asking a dozen questions, none of which he could
answer. Who was this girl who had come like a queen from out of
the wilderness, and this man who bore with him the manner of a
courtier? Was it possible, after all, that they were of the