lf an hour passed, and during this time his mind
became still more uneasy. He had hoped that Croisset was hanging in the
edge of the forest, waiting for darkness. Each minute now added to his
fear that all had not gone well with the half-breed. He paced up and
down his room, smoking, and looking at his watch frequently. After a
time he went to the window and tried to peer out into the white swirl
of the night. The opening of his door turned him about. He expected to
see Adare. Words that were on his lips froze in a moment of speechless
horror.

He knew that it was Jean Croisset who stood before him. But it did not
look like Jean. The half-breed's cap was gone. He was swaying,
clutching at the partly opened door to support himself. His face was
disfigured with blood, the front of his coat was spattered with frozen
clots of it. His long hair had fallen in ropelike strands over his eyes
and frozen there. His lips were terrible.

"Good God!" gasped Philip.

He sprang forward and caught Jean as the half-breed staggered toward
him. Jean's body hung a weight in his arms. His legs gave way under
him, but for a moment the clutch of his fingers on Philip's shoulder
were viselike.

"A little help, M'sieur," he gasped. "I am faint, sick. Whatever
happens, as you love Our Lady, let no one know of this to-night!"

With a rattling breath his head dropped upon Philip's arm.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Scarcely had Jean uttered the few words that preceded his lapse into
unconsciousness than Philip heard the laughing voice of Adare at the
farther end of the hall. Heavy footsteps followed the voice. Impulse
rather than reason urged him into action. He lowered Jean to the floor,
sprang to the partly open door, closed it and softly locked it. He was
not a moment too soon. A few steps more and Adare was beating on the
panel with his fist.

"What, ho!" he cried in his booming voice. "Josephine wants to know if
you have forgotten her?" Adare's hand was on the latch.

"I am--undressed," explained Philip desperately. "Offer a thousand
apologies for me, Mon Pere. I will finish my bath in a hurry!"

He dropped on his knees beside Jean as the master of Adare moved away
from the door. A brief examination showed him where Croisset was hurt.
The half-breed had received a scalp wound from which the blood had
flowed down over his face and breast. He breathed easier when he
discovered nothing beyond this. In a few minutes he had him partially