his that I am beauty-proof. God bless this little woman,
MacGregor--and you--and I--will never ask where she has gone."
MacGregor's hand reached out and gripped his own in silence. In that
hand-clasp there was sealed a pact between them, and Philip returned to
his barracks room to write a letter, in care of his father, to the man
and woman whom he had helped to escape into the south. He spent the
greater part of that day writing. It was late in the afternoon that
Moody came in with the mail.
"One for you, Phil," he said, tossing a letter on Philip's table. "Looks
as though it had been through a war."
Philip picked up the letter as the sergeant left him. He dropped his pen
with a low whistle. He could see at a glance that the letter had come an
unusual journey. It was dirty, and crumpled, and ragged at the ends--and
then, on the back of it, he found written in ink, "Lac Bain." His
fingers trembled as he tore open the envelope. Swiftly he read. His
breath came in a gasping cry from between his lips, his face turned
as white as the crumpled paper, and then, as suddenly, a flush of
excitement leaped into his cheeks, replacing the pallor. His eyes
seemed blinded before he had half finished the letter, and his heart was
pounding with suffocating force.
This was what he read:
My Dear Philip Steele:
Your letter, and the skull, came to us to-day. I thank God that chance
brought me into my Isobel's room in time, or I fear for what might have
happened. It was a terrible punishment, my dear Steele, for her--and for
me. But I deserved it more than she. That very night--after Isobel left
the table--she insisted that I explain. When I returned to the room
below, you were gone. I waited, and then went to your cabin. You
know why I did not find you. Steele, Isobel is not my wife. She is my
daughter.
Mrs. Becker had planned to come with me to Lac Bain from Fort Churchill,
and we wrote the factor to that effect. But we changed our plans. Mrs.
Becker returned on the London ship, and Isobel came with me. In a spirit
of fun she suggested that for the first few hours she be allowed to pass
as--well, you understand. The joke was carried too far. When she
met you--and Bucky Nome--it ceased to be a joke, and almost became a
tragedy. For those few minutes before the fire Isobel used her disguise
as a test. She came to me, before you joined us, and whispered to me
that Nome was a scoundrel, and that she would punish him before the
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