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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"Flower of the North"

Why else should they have been attacked
at Churchill? Such things had occurred before, he told Philip. The
little daughter of the factor at Nelson House had been stolen, and
held for ransom. With a hundred questions he wrung from Philip
every detail of the second fight and of the struggle for life in
the rapids. He betrayed no physical excitement, even in those
moments of Philip's description when Jeanne hung between life and
death; but in his eyes there was the glow of red-hot fires. At
last there came to interrupt them the low, musical tinkling of a
bell under the table.
D'Arcambal's face lighted up suddenly.
"Ah, I had forgotten," he exclaimed. "Pardon me, Philip. Dinner
has been awaiting us this last half-hour; and besides--"
He reached out and touched a tiny button, which Philip had not
observed before.
"I am selfish."
He had hardly ceased speaking when footsteps sounded in the hall,
and in spite of every resolution he had made to guard himself
against any betrayal of the emotions burning in his breast, Philip
sprang to his feet. Jeanne had come in under the glow of the lamps
and stood now a dozen feet from him, a vision so exquisitely
lovely that he saw nothing of those who entered behind her, nor
heard D'Arcambal's low, happy laugh at his side.


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