reakfast, Mon Pere."

He closed the door behind him when he left the room, and he went at
once to rouse Josephine if she was still in bed. He was agreeably
surprised to find that both Miriam and Josephine were up and dressing.
With this news he returned to Adare.

Three quarters of an hour later they met in the breakfast-room. It took
only a glance to tell him that Josephine was making a last heroic
fight. She had dressed her hair in shining coils low over her neck and
cheeks this morning in an effort to hide her pallor. Miriam seemed
greatly changed from the preceding night. Her eyes were clearer. A
careful toilette had taken away the dark circles from under them and
had added a touch of colour to her lips and cheeks. She went to Adare
when the two men entered, and with a joyous rumble of approval the
giant held her off at arm's length and looked at her.

"It didn't do you any harm after all," Philip heard him say. "Did you
tell Mignonne of your adventure, Ma Cheri?"

He did not hear Miriam's reply, for he was looking down into
Josephine's face. Her lips were smiling. She made no effort to conceal
the gladness in her eyes as he bent and kissed her.

"It was a hard night, dear."

"Terrible," she whispered. "Mother told me what happened. She is
stronger this morning. We must keep the truth from HIM."

"The TRUTH?"

He felt her start.

"Hush!" she breathed. "You know--you understand what I mean. Let us sit
down to breakfast now."

During the hour that followed Philip was amazed at Miriam. She laughed
and talked as she had not done before. The bit of artificial colour she
had given to her cheeks and lips faded under the brighter flush that
came into her face. He could see that Josephine was nearly as surprised
as himself. John Adare was fairly boyish in his delight. The meal was
finished and Philip and Adare were about to light their cigars when a
commotion outside drew them all to the window that overlooked one side
of the clearing. Out of the forest had come two dog-teams, their
drivers shouting and cracking their long caribou-gut whips. Philip
stared, conscious that Josephine's hand was clutching his arm. Neither
of the shouting men was Jean.

"An Indian, and Renault the quarter-blood," grunted Adare. "Wonder what
they want here in November. They should be on their trap-lines."

"Perhaps, Mon Pere, they have come to see their friends," suggested
Josephine. "You know, it has been a long time since some of