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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"Flower of the North"

"You
misunderstand me. I mean that you know as much of this whole
affair as I do, that you know what I know, and perhaps more."
The emotion which she had suppressed burst forth now in a choking
sob. She recovered herself in an instant, her eyes still upon
Philip.
"It was only a whim of mine that took us to Churchill," she went
on, before he could find words to say. "It is Pierre's secret why
we lived in our own camp and went down into Churchill but once--
when the ship came in. I do not know the reason for the attack. I
can only guess--"
"And your guess--"
Jeanne drew back. For a moment she did not speak. Then she said,
without a note of harshness in her voice, but with the finality of
a queen:
"Father may tell you that when we reach Fort o' God!"
And then she suddenly leaned toward him again and held out both
her hands.
"If you only could know how I thank you!" she exclaimed,
impulsively.
For a moment Philip held her hands. He felt them trembling. In
Jeanne's eyes he saw the glisten of tears.
"Circumstances have come about so strangely," he said, his heart
palpitating at the warm pressure of her fingers, "that I half
believed you and Pierre could help me in--in an affair of my own.


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