had
given him the opportunity to go. He had planned to say other things to
Josephine that morning if they had not been interrupted, and he did not
believe that she would be long with her mother.

In this, however, he was doomed to disappointment. When he returned to
his room he found that Josephine had not forgotten the condition of his
wardrobe, and he guessed immediately why she had surprised them all by
rising so early. On his bed were spread several changes of shirts and
underwear, a pair of new corduroy trousers, a pair of caribou skin
leggings, and moccasins. In a box were a dozen linen handkerchiefs and
a number of ties for the blue-gray soft shirts Josephine had chosen for
him. He was not much ahead of Metoosin, who came in a few minutes later
and clipped his hair. When this was done and he had clad himself in his
new raiment he looked at himself in the mirror. Josephine had shown
splendid judgment. Everything fitted him.

For an hour he listened for footsteps in the hall, and occasionally
looked out of the window. He wondered if Josephine had seen the small
round hole with its myriad of out-shooting cracks where the bullet had
pierced the glass. He had made up his mind that she had not, for no one
could mistake it, and she would surely have spoken to him of it. He
found that the hole was so high up on the pane that he could draw the
curtain over it without shutting out much light. He did this.

Later he went outside, and found that the dogs regarded him with
certain signs of friendship. In him was a growing presentiment that
something had happened to Jean. He was sure that Croisset had taken up
the trail of the man who had shot at him soon after they had separated
at the gravesides. He was equally certain that the chase would be
short. Jean was quick. Dogs and sledge would be an impediment for the
other in the darkness of the night. Before this, hours ago, they must
have met. If Jean had come out of that meeting unharmed, it was time
for him to be showing up at Adare House. Still greater perturbation
filled Philip's mind when he recalled the unpleasant skill of the
mysterious forest man's fighting. He had been more than his equal in
swiftness and trickery; he was certainly Jean's.

Should he make some excuse and follow Jean's trail? He asked himself
this question a dozen times without arriving at an answer. Then it
occurred to him that Jean might have some definite reason for not
returning to Adare House im