To be alone, even after the painful parting with Pierre, was in one way a relief to Philip, for with the disappearance of the lonely half-breed over the mountain there had gone from him the last physical association that bound him to Jeanne and her people.  With Pierre at his side, Jeanne was still with him; but now that Pierre was gone there came a change in him—­one of those unaccountable transmutations of the mind which make the passing of yesterdays more like a short dream than a long and full reality.  He walked slowly over the plain, and, when he came to the trail beaten by the hoofs of his own teams he followed it mechanically.  In his measurement of things now, it seemed only a few hours since he had traveled over this trail on his way to Fort Churchill; it might, have been that morning, or the morning before.  The weeks of his absence had passed with marvelous swiftness, now that he looked back upon them.  They seemed short and trivial.  And yet he knew that in those weeks he had lived more of his life than he had ever lived before, or would ever live again.  For a brief spell life had been, filled with joy and hope—­a promise of happiness which a single moment in the shadow of the Sun Rock had destroyed forever.  He had seen Jeanne in another man’s arms; he had read the confirmation of his fears in Pierre’s grief-distorted face, in the strange tremble of his voice, in the words that he had spoken.  He was sorry for Pierre.  He would have been glad if that other man had been the lovable half-breed; if Jeanne, in the poetry of life and love, had given herself to the one who had saved the spark of life in her chilled little body years and years ago.  And yet in his own grief he unconsciously rejoiced that it was a man like Pierre who suffered with him.

This thought of Pierre strengthened him, and he walked faster, and breathed more deeply of the clear night air.  He had lost in the fight for Jeanne as he had lost in many other fights; but, after all, there was another and bigger fight ahead of him, which he would begin to-morrow.  Thoughts of his men, of his camps, and of this struggle through which he must pass to achieve success raised him above his depression, and stirred his blood with a growing exhilaration.  And Jeanne—­was she hopelessly lost to him?  He dared to ask himself the question half an hour after he had separated from Pierre, and his mind flew back to the portrait-room where he had told Jeanne of his love, and where for a moment he had seen in her eyes and face the sweet surrender that had given him a glimpse of his paradise.  But what did the sudden change mean?  And after that—­the scene in the starlight?