ed, and it was dawn when he went to
his hotel. He was like a boy living in the anticipation of a great
promise--restless, excited, even feverishly anxious all day. He made
inquiries about Colonel James McCloud at his hotel. No one knew him, or
had even heard of him. His name was not in the city directory or the
telephone directory. Philip made up his mind that Josephine and her
father were practically strangers in the city, and that they had come
from Canada--probably Montreal, for he remembered the stamp on the box
of cigars.

That night, when he saw Josephine again, he wanted to reach out his
arms to her. He wanted to make her understand how completely his
wonderful love possessed him, and how utterly lost he was without her.
She was dressed in simple white--again with that bank of filmy lace at
her throat. Her hair was done in those lustrous, shimmering coils, so
bright and soft that he would have given a tenth of his mica mountain
to touch them with his hands. And she was glad to see him. Her
eagerness shone in her eyes, in the warm flush of her cheeks, in the
joyous tremble of her voice.

That night, too, passed like a dream--a dream in paradise for Philip.
For a long time they sat alone, and Josephine herself brought him the
box of cigars, and urged him to smoke. They talked again about the
North, about Fort MacPherson--where it was, what it was, and how one
got to it through a thousand miles or so of wilderness. He told her of
his own adventures, how for many years he had sought for mineral
treasure and at last had found a mica mountain.

"It's close to Fort MacPherson," he explained.

"We can work it from the Mackenzie. I expect to start back some time in
August."

She leaned toward him, last night's strange excitement glowing for the
first time in her eyes.

"You are going back? You will see Peter God?"

In her eagerness she laid a hand on his arm.

"I am going back. It would be possible to see Peter God."

The touch of her hand did not lighten the weight that was tugging again
at his heart.

"Peter God's cabin is a hundred miles from Fort MacPherson," he added.
"He will be hunting foxes by the time I get there."

"You mean--it will be winter."

"Yes. It is a long journey. And"--he was looking at her closely as he
spoke--"Peter God may not be there when I return. It is possible he may
have gone into another part of the wilderness."

He saw her quiver as she drew back.

"He has been there--for