mall balsam shelter, and Pierre was busy over a fire,
with his back turned to them. For a moment the two looked at each other
in silence, and then Jeanne came toward him, holding out one of her
hands. He saw that she was making a strong effort to appear natural,
but there was something in his own face that made her attempt a poor
one. The hand that she gave him trembled. Her lips quivered. For the
first time her eyes failed to meet his own in their limpid frankness.

"Pierre has told you what happened," she said. "It was a miracle, and I
owe you my life. I have had my punishment for being so careless." She
tried to laugh at him now, and drew her hand away. "I wasn't beaten
against the rocks, like you, but--"

"It was terrible," interrupted Philip, remembering Pierre's words, and
eager to put her at ease. "You have stood up under it beautifully. I am
afraid of after effects. You must not collapse under the strain now."

Pierre heard his last words and a smile flashed over his dark face as
he encountered Philip's glance.

"It is true, M'sieur," he said. "I know of no other woman who would
have stood up under such a thing as Jeanne has done. MON DIEU, when I
found a part of the canoe wreckage far below I thought that both of you
were dead!"

Philip began to feel that he had foolishly overestimated his strength.
There was a weakness in his limbs that surprised him, and a sudden
chill replaced the fever in his blood. Jeanne placed her hand upon his
arm and thrust him gently toward the tent.

"You must not exert yourself," she said, watching the pallor in his
face. "You must be quiet, until after dinner."

He obeyed the pressure of her hand. Pierre followed into the tent, and
for a moment he was compelled to lean heavily upon the half-breed.

"It is the reaction, M'sieur," said Pierre. "You are weak after the
fever. If you could sleep--"

"I can," murmured Philip, dizzily, dropping upon his balsam. "But,
Pierre--"

"Yes, M'sieur."

"I have something--to say to you--no questions--"

"Not now, M'sieur."

Philip heard the rustling of the flap, and Pierre was gone. He felt
more comfortable lying down. Dizziness and nausea left him, and he
slept. It was the deep, refreshing sleep that always follows the
awakening from fever. When he awoke he felt like his old self, and went
outside. Pierre was alone; a blanket was drawn across the front of the
balsam shelter, and the half-breed nodded toward it in response to
Phil