fate without argument. In an instant he
would have fought ten men--a hundred, naked-handed, if such a fight
would have given him a chance of winning Jeanne; he would have died,
laughing, happy, if it had been in a struggle for her. But Jeanne
herself had dealt him the blow.

For a long time he sat motionless in the chair facing the picture on
the wall. Then he rose to his feet, picked up the note, and went to one
of the little square windows that looked out into the night. The moon
had risen, and the sky was full of stars. He knew that he was looking
into the north, for the pale shimmer of the aurora was in his face. He
saw the black edge of the spruce forest; the barren stretched out, pale
and ghostly, into the night shadows.

He made an effort to open the window, but it was wedged tightly in its
heavy sill. He crossed the room, opened the door, and went silently
down the hall to the door through which Pierre had led him a few hours
before. It was not locked, and he passed out into the night. The fresh
air was like a tonic, and he walked swiftly out into the moonlit
spaces, until he found himself in the deep shadow of the Sun Rock that
towered like a sentinel giant above his head. He made his way around
its huge base, and then stopped, close to where they had landed in the
canoe. There was another canoe drawn up beside Pierre's, and two
figures stood out clear in the moonlight.

One of these was a man, the other a woman, and as Philip stopped,
wondering at the scene, the man advanced to the woman and caught her in
his embrace. He heard a voice, low and expostulating, which sounded
like Otille's, and in spite of his own misery Philip smiled at this
other love which had found its way to Fort o' God. He turned back
softly, leaving the lovers as he had found them; but he had scarce
taken half a dozen steps when he heard other steps, and saw that the
girl had left her companion and was hurrying toward him. He drew back
close into the shadow of the rock to avoid possible discovery, and the
girl passed through the moonlight almost within arm's reach of him. At
that moment his heart ceased to beat. He choked back the groaning cry
that rose to his lips. It was not Otille who passed him. It was Jeanne.

In another moment she was gone. The man had shoved his canoe into the
narrow stream, and was already lost in the gloom. Then, and not until
then, did the cry of torture fall from Philip. And as if in echo to it
he heard the s