now come to expect no
response to what he had written, he carefully examined the rocks about
him. Then he set out through the forest in the direction from which had
come the howling of the wolf-dog.

He searched until late in the afternoon, but found no signs of a recent
camp. For several miles he followed the main trail that led northward
from Fort Churchill. He crossed three times through the country between
this trail and the edge of the Bay, searching for smoke from the top of
every ridge that he climbed, listening for any sound that might give
him a clue. He visited the shack of an old half-breed deep in the
forest beyond the cliff, but its aged tenant could give him no
information. He had not seen Pierre and Jeanne, nor had he heard the
howling of their dog.

Tired and disappointed, Philip returned to Churchill. He went directly
to his cabin and found Gregson waiting for him. There was a curious
look in the artist's face as he gazed questioningly at his friend. His
immaculate appearance was gone. He looked like one who had passed
through an uncomfortable hour or two. Perspiration had dried in dirty
streaks on his face, and his hands were buried dejectedly in his
trousers pockets. He rose to his feet and stood before his companion.

"Look at me, Phil--take a good long look," he urged.

Philip stared.

"Am I awake?" demanded the artist. "Do I look like a man in his right
senses? Eh, tell me!"

He turned and pointed to the sketch hanging against the wall.

"Did I see that girl, or didn't I?" he went on, not waiting for Philip
to answer. "Did I dream of seeing her? Eh? By thunder, Phil--" He
whirled upon his companion, a glow of excitement taking the place of
the fatigue in his eyes. "I couldn't find her to-day. I've hunted in
every shack and brush heap in and around Churchill. I've hunted until
I'm so tired I can hardly stand up. And the devil of it is, I can find
no one else who got more than a glimpse of her, and then they did not
see her as I did. She had nothing on her head when I saw her, but I
remember now that something like a heavy veil fell about her shoulders,
and that she was lifting it when she passed. Anyway, no one saw her
like--that." He pointed to the sketch. "And she's gone--gone as
completely as though she came in a flying-machine and went away in one.
She's gone--unless--"

"What?"

"Unless she is in concealment right here in Churchill. She's gone--or
hiding."

"You have reason to su