God's Country-And the Woman

and upon it, and then entered. Philip was close behind him. His first glance swept the room in search of the girl. She had di

a fireplace large enough to hold a pile of logs six feet in length, and in this a small fire was smouldering. In the centre of the room was a long, massive table, its timber carved by the axe, and on this a lamp was burning. The floor was strewn with fur rugs, and on th

dern. His breath stopped short when he saw in the shadow of the farther wall a piano, with a bronze lamp suspended from the ceiling above it. His eyes caught the shadowy outline of cases filled with boo

s, the easy chairs, the small table covered with books and magazines, and the richly furred rugs on the floor, he experienced a new and strange feeling of restfulness and pleasure which for the moment overshadowed his more excited sensations. Jean was already on his knees before a fireplace touching a match to a pil

come in ahead of us, Jean," he chuckled. "W

clothes of your own you will find garments behind the curtains. I think so

-sized wardrobe. He glowed with warmth and comfort when he had finished dressing. The chill was gone from his blood. He no longer felt the ache in his arms and back. He lighted his pipe, and for a few moments stood with his back to the crackling fire, listening and waiting. Through the thick walls no sound

it eagerly. To his disappointment neither Jean nor the girl stood there, but the Indian woman who had brought him the hot water, carrying in her hand

che hooyun?" he

e of fruit cake and half a dozen pickles, and he knew that at least Josephine had helped to prepare his supper. Half an hour later the Indian woman returned as silently as before and carried away the dishes. He followed her to the door and stood for a few moments looking down the hall. He looked at his watch. It was after ten o'clock. Where w

s gone. But in that brief space Philip had seen enough to hold him like one turned to stone, still staring where the face had been, his heart beating like a hammer. As the face disappeared he had seen a hand pass swiftly through the l

as up. His one impulse now was to come face to face with Jean Croisset and demand an explanation. He knew that if he had stood another moment with his back to the window Jean would have killed him. Murder was in the half-breed's eyes. His pistol was ready. Only Philip's quick turning from the door had saved him. It was evident that Jean had fled from the window as quickly as Philip had run out into the hall. Or, if he had not fled, he was hiding in the gloom of the building. At the thought that Jean might be crouc

d fiercely in the deep fur of a coat. In the same breath an exclamation of astonishment came from his own lips as he looked into the white, starin

he gasped. "What a

oat, no hat ..." Her hands gripped his arm. "I

not explain prompted him

he said. "When I heard you in the darkness it

ngers clutched deeper and mo

n no one else

prompted to k

hour?" he laughed. "I was just returning to my room to go to bed, J

things have happened since we came to Adare House to-night. I

that sound died away when there followed it the full-throated voice of the

e night and the storm. She had on a thin, shimmering dress of white, and her hair was coiled in loose golden masses about her head. On her breast, just below her white, bare throat, she wore a single red rose. It did not seem remarkable that she should be wearing a rose. To him the wonderful thing was that the rose, the clinging beauty of her dress, the glowing softness of her hair ha

autiful. Something in her attitude restrained him from approaching nearer. He looked at her, and waited. When she spoke her voice was

ber of weeks. That was what made me happy for a little while. They were in Montreal, and I didn't want them to return. You will understand why-very soon. But my father changed his mind, and almost with the mailing of the l

ttle from him,

nt a year in Montreal," she went on. "I

drew the curtains aside. Scarcel

she whispered,

r head and continued softly, as if fear

forests. But after I returned I found that-I couldn't. Perhaps you may understand. Up here-among the forest people-the mother of a baby-like that-is looked upon as the most terrible thing in the world. She is called La bete noir-the black beast. Day by day I came to realize that I couldn't tell the truth, that I must live a great lie to save other hearts from being crus

rld after all. It was perhaps the oldest of all stories. He had heard it a hundred times before, but never had it left him quite so cold and pulseless as he was now. And yet, even as the palace of the wonderful ideal he had builded crumbled about him in ruin, there rose up out of the dust of it a thing new-born and tangible for him. Slowly his eyes turned to the beautiful head bowe

WOULD NOT GUESS THE TRUTH IF YOU LIVED A THOUSAND YEARS." And could this that he had heard, and this that he looked upon be anything but the truth? Another step and he was at her side. For a moment all barriers wer

he great, rumbling voice of a man, half laughter, half shout; and then there were other voices, the slammi

onne-Ma J

osephine still cl

ove