MON
DIEU, when I found a part of the canoe wreckage far below I
thought that both of you were dead!"
Philip began to feel that he had foolishly overestimated his
strength. There was a weakness in his limbs that surprised him,
and a sudden chill replaced the fever in his blood. Jeanne placed
her hand upon his arm and thrust him gently toward the tent.
"You must not exert yourself," she said, watching the pallor in
his face. "You must be quiet, until after dinner."
He obeyed the pressure of her hand. Pierre followed into the tent,
and for a moment he was compelled to lean heavily upon the half-
breed.
"It is the reaction, M'sieur," said Pierre. "You are weak after
the fever. If you could sleep--"
"I can," murmured Philip, dizzily, dropping upon his balsam. "But,
Pierre--"
"Yes, M'sieur."
"I have something--to say to you--no questions--"
"Not now, M'sieur."
Philip heard the rustling of the flap, and Pierre was gone. He
felt more comfortable lying down. Dizziness and nausea left him,
and he slept. It was the deep, refreshing sleep that always
follows the awakening from fever. When he awoke he felt like his
old self, and went outside. Pierre was alone; a blanket was drawn
across the front of the balsam shelter, and the half-breed nodded
toward it in response to Philip's inquiring glance.
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