is Eileen Brokaw."

Jeanne looked up, but only to point to the coffee.

"It is done," she advised, "unless you like it bitter."

XIII

Philip knew that Jeanne was watching him as he lifted the coffee from
the fire and placed the pot on the ground to cool. His mind was in a
hopeless tangle--a riot of things he would like to say, throbbing with
a hundred questions he would like to ask, one after another. And yet
Jeanne seemed bewitchingly unconscious of his uneasiness. Not one of
his references to names and events so vital to himself had in any way
produced a change in her. Was she, after all, innocent of all knowledge
in the things he wished to know? Was it possible that she was entirely
ignorant as to the identity of the men who had attacked Pierre and
herself on the cliff? Was it true that she did not know Eileen Brokaw,
that she had never heard of Lord Fitzhugh Lee, and that she had always
lived among the wild people of the north? By what miracle performed
here in the heart of a savage world could this girl talk to him in
German and Latin? Was she making fun of him? He turned to look at her
and found her dark, clear eyes upon him. She smiled at him in a tired
little way, and he saw nothing but sweetness and truth in her face. In
an instant every suspicion was swept away. He felt like a criminal for
having doubted her; and for a moment he was on the point of confessing
to her what had been in his thoughts. He restrained himself, and went
to the river to wash the pot-black from his hands. Jeanne was a mystery
to him, a mystery that delighted him and filled him each moment with a
deeper love. He saw the life and freedom of the forests in her every
movement--in the gesture of her hands, the bird-like poise of her
pretty head, the lithe grace of her slender body. She breathed the
forests. It glowed in her eyes, in the rich red of her lips, and
revealed its beauty and strength in the unconfined wealth of her
gold-brown hair. In a dozen ways he could see her primitiveness, her
kinship to the wilderness. She had told him the truth. Her eyes smiled
truth at him as he came up the bank. No other woman's eyes had ever
looked at him like hers; none had he seen so beautiful. And yet in them
he saw nothing that she would not have expressed in
words--companionship, trust, thankfulness that he was there to care for
her. Such eyes as those belonged only to the wilderness, brimming with
the flawless beauty of an undefiled na