That night, when he saw Josephine again, he wanted to reach out his arms to her.  He wanted to make her understand how completely his wonderful love possessed him, and how utterly lost he was without her.  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.”

“You mean—­it will be winter.”

“Yes.  It is a long journey.  And”—­he was looking at her closely as he spoke—­“Peter God may not be there when I return.  It is possible he may have gone into another part of the wilderness.”

He saw her quiver as she drew back.

“He has been there—­for seven—­years,” she said, as if speaking to herself.  “He would not move—­now!”

“No; I don’t think he would move now.”

His own voice was low, scarcely above a whisper, and she looked at him quickly and strangely, a flush in her cheeks.

It was late when he bade her good-night.  Again he felt the warm thrill of her hand as it lay in his.  The next afternoon he was to take her driving.

The days and weeks that followed these first meetings with Josephine McCloud were weighted with many things for Philip.  Neither she nor her father enlightened him about Peter God.  Several times he believed that Josephine was on the point of confiding in him, but each time there came that strange fear in her eyes, and she caught herself.