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For a space Howland was blinded by it and it was not until the bearer of the lamp had advanced half-way to the table that he recognized his visitor as Jean Croisset. The Frenchman's face was wild and haggard. His eyes gleamed red and bloodshot as he stared at the engineer. "Mon Dieu, I had hoped to find you dead," he whispered huskily.
And he believed that Jean was the key to the situation. He felt a clammy chill creep over him as he asked himself how closely Jean Jacques Croisset himself was associated with the girl he loved. It was a thought that almost made him curse himself for giving it birth. And yet it clung to him like a grim and haunting spectre that he would have crushed if he could.
His first glance was at the man. In that same instant Jean Croisset stopped in his tracks and looked at Philip. Steadily, and apparently oblivious of Josephine's presence, they measured each other, the half-breed bent a little forward, the lithe alertness of a cat in his posture, his eyes burning darkly. He was a man whose age Philip could not guess. It might have been forty.
Down the Porcupine he went slowly, doubling to the east and west, until, at its junction with Gray Otter Creek, he met a Cree, who told him that twenty miles farther on there was an abandoned village of six teepees. Toward these he boldly set forth, praying as he went that the angels were guarding Melisse at Post Lac Bain. Croisset reached the post forty-eight hours after he had encountered Jan.
Mon Dieu, she has had enough sledge-riding of late, and I doubt if she will find pleasure in her dogs for a long time." "I had planned to use you," said Howland, "but I've lost faith in you. Honestly, Croisset, I believe you would stick me in the back almost as quickly as those murderers down there." "Not in the back, M'seur," smiled the Frenchman, unmoved. "I have had opportunities to do that.
They descended the hillside, hired a boat at Croisset, and spent the remainder of the afternoon beneath the willows in the soft, warm, spring air, and rocked gently by the rippling waves of the river. They returned at nightfall. The evening repast by candle-light was more painful to Madeleine than that of the morning. Neither Father Duroy nor his wife spoke.
"Is there anything more, Croisset? Safe from what, man? Safe from what?" "From those who wish to kill you, M'seur. You would not go into the South, so la belle Meleese has compelled you to go into the North, Comprenez-vous?" For a moment Howland sat as if stunned. "Do you understand, M'seur?" persisted Croisset, smiling. "I I think I do," replied Howland tensely. "You mean Meleese "
If it wasn't for the moral effect of the thing I'd shake hands with you on that. How far ahead of us do you suppose they are?" Croisset had fallen on his knees in the trail. "The crust is freshly broken," he said after a moment. "They have been gone not less than two or three hours, perhaps since morning.
He strained Meleese to him, and when he looked down into her face he saw her beautiful eyes flooded with tears, and yet shining with a great joy. Her lips trembled as she struggled to speak. Then suddenly she broke from his arms and ran to the door, and Jean Croisset came between them, with the wild bearded man still staring over his shoulder. "M'seur, will you come with us?" said Jean.
And yet when Jean hesitated for an instant before a blotch of gloom that was deeper than the others, he knew that they had come to an entrance. Croisset advanced softly, sniffing the air suspiciously with his thin nostrils, and listening, with Howland so close to him that their shoulders touched.
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