lace of this other thing, which seemed to count
so little? Other men would have given much to have been in his favor
with Eileen Brokaw. He might have been in the front of this other
fight, the winning fight, the possessor of fortune, a beautiful woman--

He stopped suddenly. It seemed to him that he had heard a voice. He had
climbed from out of the shadow of the forest until he stood now on a
gray cliff of rock that reached out into the Bay, like the point of a
great knife guarding Churchill. A block of sandstone rose in his path,
and he passed quietly around it. In another instant he had flattened
himself against it.

A dozen feet away, full in the moonlight, three figures sat on the edge
of the cliff, as motionless as though hewn out of rock. Instinctively
Philip's hand slipped to his revolver holster, but he drew it back when
he saw that one of the three figures was that of a woman. Beside her
crouched a huge wolf-dog; on the other side of the dog sat a man. The
man was resting in the attitude of an Indian, with his elbows on his
knees, his chin in the palms of his hands, gazing steadily and silently
out over the Bay toward Churchill.

It was his companion that held Philip motionless against the face of
the rock. She, too, was leaning forward, gazing in that same steady,
silent way toward Churchill. She was bareheaded. Her hair fell loose
over her shoulders and streamed down her back until it piled itself
upon the rock, shining dark and lustrous in the light of the moon.
Philip knew that she was not an Indian.

Suddenly the girl sat erect, and then sprang to her feet, partly facing
him, the breeze rippling her hair about her face and shoulders, her
eyes turned to the vast gray depths of the world beyond the forests.
For an instant she turned so that the light of the moon fell full upon
her, and in that moment Philip thought that her eyes had searched him
out in the shadow of the rock and were looking straight into his own.
Never had he seen such a beautiful face among the forest people. He had
dreamed of such faces beside camp-fires, in the deep loneliness of long
nights in the forests, when he had awakened to bring before him visions
of what Eileen Brokaw might have been to him if he had found her one of
these people. He drew himself closer to the rock. The girl turned again
to the edge of the cliff, her slender form silhouetted against the
starlit sky. She leaned over the dog, and he heard her voice, soft and