lone. You are sure--he wants to see
me--alone?"

There was a tremble in her voice now.

"Yes." They came to his door and he tapped on it lightly. Instantly it
was opened. Josephine stared at Jean as she darted in.

"Jean--you have something to tell me?" she whispered, no longer hiding
the fear in her face. "You must see me--alone?"

"Oui, M'selle," murmured Jean, turning to Philip. "If M'sieur Philip
can arrange for us to be alone."

"I will be gone in a moment," said Philip, hastily beginning to put on
heavier garments. "Lock the door, Jean. It will not do to be
interrupted now."

When he was ready Josephine went to him, her eyes shining softly. Jean
turned to the window.

"You--your faith in me is beautiful," she said gratefully, so low that
only he could hear her. "I don't deserve it, Philip."

For a moment he pressed her hand, his face telling her more than he
could trust his lips to speak. Jean heard him turn the key in the lock,
and he turned quickly.

"I have thought it would be better for you to go out by the window,
M'sieur."

"You are right," agreed Philip, relocking the door.

Jean raised the window. As Philip dropped himself outside the
half-breed said:

"Go no farther than the edge of the forest, M'sieur. We will turn the
light low and draw the curtain. When the curtain is raised again return
to us as quickly as you can. Remember, M'sieur--and go no farther than
the edge of the forest."

The window dropped behind him, and he turned toward the dark wall of
spruce. There were six inches of fresh snow on the ground, and the
clouds were again drifting out of the sky. Here and there a star shone
through, but the moon was only a pallid haze beyond the gray-black
thickness above. In the first shelter of the spruce and balsam Philip
paused. He found himself a seat by brushing the snow from a log, and
lighted his pipe. Steadily he kept his eyes on the curtained window.
What was happening there now? To what was Josephine listening in these
tense minutes of waiting?

Even as he stared through the darkness to that one lighter spot in the
gloom he knew that the world was changing for the woman he loved. He
believed Jean, and he knew Jean was now telling her the story of that
day and the preceding night--the story which he had said would destroy
the hopes she had built up, throw their plans into ruin, perhaps even
disclose to him the secret which they had been fighting to hide. What
could that story b