o the window. It was still
open. The voice had undoubtedly come to him through that window, and he
fancied he could see where the screen netting was crushed a bit inward,
as though a face had pressed heavily against it. Outside the night was
beautifully calm. The sky, washed by storm, was bright with stars. But
there was not a ripple of movement that he could hear.

After that he looked at his watch. He must have been sleeping for some
time when the voice roused him, for it was nearly three o'clock. In
spite of the stars, dawn was close at hand. When he looked out of the
window again they were paler and more distant. He had no intention of
going back to bed. He was restless and felt himself surrendering more
and more to the grip of presentiment.

It was still early, not later than six o'clock, when Bateese came in
with his breakfast. He was surprised, as he had heard no movement or
sound of voices to give evidence of life anywhere near the bateau.
Instantly he made up his mind that it was not Bateese who had uttered
the mysterious words of a few hours ago, for the half-breed had
evidently experienced a most uncomfortable night. He was like a rat
recently pulled out of water. His clothes hung upon him sodden and
heavy, his head kerchief dripped, and his lank hair was wet. He slammed
the breakfast things down on the table and went out again without so
much as nodding at his prisoner.

Again a sense of discomfort and shame swept over David, as he sat down
to breakfast. Here he was comfortably, even luxuriously, housed, while
out there somewhere St. Pierre's lovely wife was drenched and even more
miserable than Bateese. And the breakfast amazed him. It was not so
much the caribou tenderloin, rich in its own red juice, or the potato,
or the pot of coffee that was filling the cabin with its aroma, that
roused his wonder, but the hot, brown muffins that accompanied the
other things. Muffins! And after a deluge that had drowned every square
inch of the earth! How had Bateese turned the trick?

Bateese did not return immediately for the dishes, and for half an hour
after he had finished breakfast Carrigan smoked his pipe and watched
the blue haze of fires on the far side of the river. The world was a
blaze of sunlit glory. His imagination carried him across the river.
Somewhere over there, in an open spot where the sun was blazing, Jeanne
Marie-Anne was probably drying herself after the night of storm. There
was but little d