"Thank God, M'sieur!" he heard. "We have been waiting for this.
You are saved!"
"Pierre!" he gasped.
Memory returned to him. He was awake. He felt weak, but he knew
that what he saw was not the vision of a dream.
"I came the day after you went through the rapids," explained
Pierre, seeing his amazement. "You saved Jeanne. She was not hurt.
But you were badly bruised, M'sieur, and you have been in a
fever."
"Jeanne--was not--hurt?"
"No. She cared for you until I came. She is sleeping now."
"I have not been this way--very long, have I, Pierre?"
"I came yesterday," said Pierre. He bent over Philip, and added:
"You must remain quiet for a little longer, M'sieur. I have
brought you a letter from M'sieur Gregson, and when you read that
I will have some broth made for you."
Philip took the letter and opened it as Pierre went quietly out of
the tent. Gregson had written him but a few lines. He wrote:
MY DEAR PHIL,--I hope you'll forgive me. But I'm tired of this
mess. I was never cut out for the woods, and so I'm going to
dismiss myself, leaving all best wishes behind for you. Go in and
fight. You're a devil for fighting, and will surely win. I'll only
be in the way.
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