member when I dreamed that
Carabobo planter was sticking a knife into you, Phil?--and the next day
he tried it? Well, I've had a funny dream, I want to sleep on this
letter. I may want to sleep on it for a week. Better turn in if you
expect to get a wink between now and morning."

For half an hour after he had undressed and extinguished the light
Philip lay awake reviewing the incidents of his night's adventure. He
was certain that his letter was in the hands of Pierre and Jeanne, but
he was not so sure that they would respond to it. He half expected that
they would not, and yet he felt a deep sense of satisfaction in what he
had done. If he met them again he would not be quite a stranger. And
that he would meet them he was not only confident, but determined. If
they did not appear in Fort Churchill he would hunt out their camp.

He found himself asking a dozen questions, none of which he could
answer. Who was this girl who had come like a queen from out of the
wilderness, and this man who bore with him the manner of a courtier?
Was it possible, after all, that they were of the forests? And where
was Fort o' God? He had never heard of it before, and as he thought of
Jeanne's strange, rich dress, of the heliotrope-scented handkerchief,
of the old-fashioned rapier at Pierre's side, and of the exquisite
grace with which the girl had left him he wondered if such a place as
this Fort o' God must be could exist in the heart of the desolate
northland. Pierre had said that they had come from Fort o' God. But
were they a part of it?

He fell asleep, the resolution formed in his mind to investigate as
soon as he found the opportunity. There would surely be those at
Churchill who would know these people; if not, they would know of Fort
o' God.

Philip found Gregson awake and dressed when he rolled out of his bunk a
few hours later. Gregson had breakfast ready.

"You're a good one to have company," growled the artist. "When you go
out mooning again please take me along, will you? Chuck your head in
that pail of water and let's eat. I'm starved."

Philip noticed that his companion had tacked the sketch against one of
the logs above the table.

"Pretty good for imagination, Greggy," he said, nodding. "Burke will
jump at that if you do it in colors."

"Burke won't get it," replied Gregson, soberly, seating himself at the
table. "It won't be for sale."

"Why?"

Gregson waited until Philip had seated himself before he answe