gh about to
faint. She fell in a crumpled heap before he could reach her side.

"You are hurt!" he exclaimed. "Jeanne! Jeanne!"

He was upon his knees beside her, crying out her name, half holding her
in his arms.

"No, no! I am not hurt--much," she replied, trying to recover herself.
"It is my ankle. I sprained it--on the cliff. Now--"

She became heavier against his arm. Her eyes were limpid with pain.

Rising, Philip caught her in his arms. The crashing of brush was within
pistol-shot distance of them, but in that moment he felt no fear. Life
leaped back into his veins. He wanted to shout back his defiance as he
ran with Jeanne along the path to the river. He could feel her pulsing
against him. His lips were in her hair. Her heart was beating wildly
against his own. One of her arms was about his shoulder, her hand
against his neck. Life, love, the joy of possession swept through him
in burning floods, and it seemed in these first moments of his contact
with Jeanne, in the first sound of her voice speaking to him, that the
passionate language of his soul must escape through his lips. For this
moment he had risked his life, had taken a hundred chances; he had
anticipated, and yet he had not dreamed beyond a hundredth part of what
it would mean for him. He looked down into the white face of the girl
as he ran. Her beautiful eyes were open to him. Her lips were parted;
her cheek lay against his breast. He did not realize how close he was
holding her until, at last, he stopped where he had hidden the canoe.
Then he felt her beating and throbbing against him, as he had felt the
quivering life of a frightened bird imprisoned in his hands. She drew a
deep breath when he opened his arms, and lifted her head. Her loose
hair swept over his breast and hands.

He spoke no word as he placed her in the canoe. Not a whisper passed
between them as the canoe sped swiftly from the shore. A hundred yards
down the stream Philip headed straight across the river and plunged
into the shadows along the opposite bank.

Jeanne was close to him. He could hear her breathing. Suddenly he felt
the touch of her hand.

"M'sieur, I must ask--about Pierre!"

There was the thrill of fear in the low words. She leaned back, her
face a pale shadow in the deep gloom; and Philip bent over until he
felt her breath, and the sweetness of her hair filled his nostrils.
Quickly he whispered what had happened. He told her that Pierre was
hurt, but not b