;
he knew that there was a note upon his knee which purported to be from
her. Each of these things was quite clear and separate in his mind;
the strange thing about them was that they had in some way lost
significance to him.

Presently, with a start, he took his pipe from his lips and ran a hand
across his forehead. What was he sitting here like a fool for? Either
Ygerne had written that note or she had not. If she had written it she
had done so either in jest or seriously. He turned back toward the
Settlement. He did not think of the jewelled thing hidden under a bit
of bark or the cardboard box in its nest in the grass.

He went swiftly. The town was sleeping, would not awake for another
hour. His eyes were upon Marquette's house as soon as the rambling
building came into view. There were no fires; window shades were
drawn, doors closed.

He came to Ygerne's window. It, too, was closed. Here, also, the
shade was down. He tapped softly. When there was no answer he tapped
again. Then he went to Marquette's door and knocked sharply.

"_Nom de nom_." It was Pere Marquette's voice, sleepy and irritable.
The old man was fumbling with the bar or the lock or whatever it was
that fastened his door. He seemed an eternity in getting the thing
done. Then his towsled head and blinking eyes appeared abruptly.

"Where is Miss Bellaire?" said Drennen quietly. "I want a word with
her."

"Mees Bellaire? _Hein_?"

"Yes," answered Drennen a trifle impatiently, though he was holding
himself well in hand. "Miss Bellaire. I know it is early, but . . ."

Pere Marquette blinked at him curiously with brightening, birdlike
eyes. He didn't like Drennen; God knows he had little enough reason to
see any good in this gaunt, wolf-like man. There was a dry cackle in
the old man's voice as he spoke again, the door closing slowly so that
only half of his face with one bright eye looked out.

"Early? _Mais, non, m'sieu_! It is late! M'am'selle, she is gone _il
y a quelques heures_, already! Pouf! Like that, in a hurry."

"Gone?" demanded Drennen. "Where? When?"

"Where? Who knows? When?" He shrugged. "Two, t'ree, four hours,
_peutetre_ six."

"Who was with her?"

"Ho," cackled the old man so that Drennen's hands itched to be at the
withered throat, "where she go, there are men to follow! Me, when I am
yo'ng, before Mamma Jeanne make me happy, I . . ."

"Damn you and your Mamma Jeanne!" cried Drennen.