slowly died away until lost in the whisperings of the forest and the
gentle wash of the sea. Pierre was returning. He was coming back
through the forest. Perhaps Jeanne would be with him.

For the third time Philip climbed back to the great moonlit rock at the
top of the cliff. Eagerly he faced the north, whence the wailing cry of
the wolf-dog had come. Then he turned to the spot where he had dropped
the handkerchief, and his heart gave a sudden jump.

There was nothing on the rock. The handkerchief was gone!

VII

Philip stood undecided, his ears strained to catch the slightest sound.
Ten minutes had not elapsed since he had dropped the handkerchief.
Pierre could not have gone far among the rocks. It was possible that he
was concealed somewhere near him now. Softly he called his name.

"Pierre--ho, Pierre Couchee!"

There was no answer, and in the next breath he was sorry that he had
called. He went silently down the trail. He had come to the edge of
Churchill when once more he heard the howl of the dog far back in the
forest. He stopped to locate as nearly as he could the point whence the
sound came, for he was certain now that the dog had not returned with
Pierre, but had remained with Jeanne, and was howling from their camp.

Gregson was awake and sitting on the edge of his bunk when Philip
entered the cabin.

"Where the deuce have you been?" he demanded. "I was just trying to
make up my mind to go out and hunt for you. Stolen--lost--or something
like that?"

"I've been thinking," said Philip, truthfully.

"So have I," said Gregson. "Ever since you came back, wrote that
letter, and went out again--"

"You were asleep," corrected Philip. "I looked at you."

"Perhaps I was--when you looked. But I have a hazy recollection of you
sitting there at the table, writing like a fiend. Anyway, I've been
thinking ever since you went out of the door, and--I'd like to read
that Lord Fitzhugh letter again."

Philip handed him the letter. He was quite sure from his friend's
manner of speaking that he had seen nothing of the handkerchief and the
lace.

Gregson seized the paper lazily, yawned, and slipped it under the
blanket which he had doubled up for a pillow.

"Do you mind if I keep it for a few days. Phil?" he asked.

"Not in the least, if you'll tell me why you want it," said Philip.

"I will--when I discover a reason myself," replied his friend, coolly,
stretching himself out again in the bunk. "Re