The
terrible fear that had fallen upon him at MacDougall's words held
him motionless, and his brain worked upon but one idea--one
determination. If it was Jeanne who came in this way, he would
kill Thorpe. If it was another woman, he would give Thorpe that
night to get out of the country. He waited. He heard the gang-
man's voice frequently, once in a loud, half-mocking laugh. Twice
he heard a lower voice--a woman's. For an hour he watched. He
walked back and forth in the gloom of the spruce, and waited
another hour. Then the light went out, and he slipped back to the
corner of the cabin.
After a moment the door opened, and a hooded figure came out, and
walked rapidly toward the trail that buried itself amid the
spruce. Philip ran around the cabin and followed. There was a
little open beyond the first fringe of spruce, and in this he ran
up silently from behind and overtook the one he was pursuing. As
his hand fell upon her arm the woman turned upon him with a
frightened cry. Philip's hand dropped. He took a step back.
"My God! Jeanne--it is you!"
His voice was husky, like a choking man's. For an instant Jeanne's
white, terrified face met his own. And then, without a word to
him, she fled swiftly down the trail.
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