ve a great breath. A warm flood seemed suddenly to engulf
Philip. Did he hear right? Could he believe? He fell upon his knees
beside Pierre and brushed his dark hair back from his face.

"Yes, I love her," he said, softly. "But I did not know that she loved
me."

"It is not strange," said Pierre, looking straight into his eyes. "But
you will understand--now--M'sieur. I seem to have strength, and I will
tell you all--from the beginning. Perhaps I have done wrong. You will
know--soon. You remember Jeanne told you the story of the baby--of the
woman frozen in the snow. That was the beginning of the long fight--for
me. This--what I am about to tell you--will be sacred to you, M'sieur?"

"As my life," said Philip.

Pierre was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be gathering his
thoughts, so that he could tell in few words the tragedy of years. Two
brilliant spots burned in his cheeks, and the hand which Philip held
was hot.

"Years ago--twenty, almost--there came a man to Fort o' God," he began.
"He was very young, and from the south. D'Arcambal was then
middle-aged, but his wife was young and beautiful. Jeanne says that you
saw her picture--against the wall. D'Arcambal worshiped her. She was
his life. You understand what happened. The man from the south--the
young wife--they went away together."

Pierre coughed. A bit of blood reddened his lips. Philip wiped it away
gently with his handkerchief, hiding the stain from Pierre's eyes.

"Yes," he said, "I understand."

"It broke D'Arcambal's heart," resumed Pierre. "He destroyed everything
that had belonged to the woman. He turned her picture to the wall. His
love turned slowly to hate. It was two years later that I came over the
barrens one night and found Jeanne and her dead mother. The woman,
M'sieur--Jeanne's mother--was D'Arcambal's wife. She was returning to
Fort o' God, and God's justice overtook her almost at its doors. I
carried little Jeanne to my Indian mother, and then made ready to carry
the woman to her husband. It was then that a terrible thought came to
me. Jeanne was not D'Arcambal's daughter. She was a part of the man who
had stolen his wife. I worshiped the little Jeanne even then, and for
her sake my mother and I swore secrecy, and buried the woman. Then we
took the babe to Fort o' God as a stranger. We saved her. We saved
D'Arcambal. No one ever knew."

Pierre stopped for breath.

"Was it best?"

"It was glorious," said Philip, trembling.