Philip turned to Brokaw and the factor, who were close behind
them.

"I am compelled to leave you here," he explained. "I have excused
myself to Miss Brokaw, and will rejoin you almost immediately."

He lost no time in hurrying back to the shore of the Bay. As he
had expected, Jeanne and her companion were no longer in sight.
There was only one direction in which they could have disappeared
so quickly, and this was toward the cliff. Once hidden by the
fringe of forest, he hastened his steps until he was almost
running. He had reached the base of the huge mass of rock that
rose up from the sea, when down the narrow trail that led to the
cliff there came a figure to meet him. It was an Indian boy, and
he advanced to question him. If Jeanne and Pierre had passed that
way the boy must surely have seen them.

Before he had spoken the lad ran toward him, holding out something
in his hand. The question on Philip's lips changed to an
exclamation of joy when he recognized the handkerchief which he
had dropped upon the rock a few nights before, or one so near like
it that he could not have told them apart. It was tied into a
knot, and he felt the crumpling of paper under the pressure of his
fingers. He almost tore the bit of lace and linen in his eagerness
to rescue the paper, which a moment later he held in his fingers.
Three short lines, written in a fine, old-fashioned hand, were all
that it held for him. But they were sufficient to set his heart,
beating wildly.