She was
dressed in simple white--again with that bank of filmy lace at her
throat. Her hair was done in those lustrous, shimmering coils, so bright
and soft that he would have given a tenth of his mica mountain to touch
them with his hands. And she was glad to see him. Her eagerness shone in
her eyes, in the warm flush of her cheeks, in the joyous tremble of her
voice.
That night, too, passed like a dream--a dream in paradise for Philip. For
a long time they sat alone, and Josephine herself brought him the box of
cigars, and urged him to smoke. They talked again about the North, about
Fort MacPherson--where it was, what it was, and how one got to it through
a thousand miles or so of wilderness. He told her of his own adventures,
how for many years he had sought for mineral treasure and at last had
found a mica mountain.
"It's close to Fort MacPherson," he explained.
"We can work it from the Mackenzie. I expect to start back some time in
August."
She leaned toward him, last night's strange excitement glowing for the
first time in her eyes.
"You are going back? You will see Peter God?"
In her eagerness she laid a hand on his arm.
"I am going back. It would be possible to see Peter God."
The touch of her hand did not lighten the weight that was tugging again
at his heart.
"Peter God's cabin is a hundred miles from Fort MacPherson," he added.
"He will be hunting foxes by the time I get there.
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