Adare laughed, and ran a hand through his shaggy hair as if rousing himself from thought of a relentless struggle.  “But this isn’t working on my foxes, is it?  On second thought I think I shall postpone that until to-morrow, Philip.  I have promised Miriam that I will have Metoosin trim my hair and beard before dinner.  Shall I send him to you?”

“A hair cut would be a treat,” said Philip, rising.  He was surprised at the sudden change in the other’s mood.  But he was not sorry Adare had given him the opportunity to go.  He had planned to say other things to Josephine that morning if they had not been interrupted, and he did not believe that she would be long with her mother.

In this, however, he was doomed to disappointment.  When he returned to his room he found that Josephine had not forgotten the condition of his wardrobe, and he guessed immediately why she had surprised them all by rising so early.  On his bed were spread several changes of shirts and underwear, a pair of new corduroy trousers, a pair of caribou skin leggings, and moccasins.  In a box were a dozen linen handkerchiefs and a number of ties for the blue-gray soft shirts Josephine had chosen for him.  He was not much ahead of Metoosin, who came in a few minutes later and clipped his hair.  When this was done and he had clad himself in his new raiment he looked at himself in the mirror.  Josephine had shown splendid judgment.  Everything fitted him.

For an hour he listened for footsteps in the hall, and occasionally looked out of the window.  He wondered if Josephine had seen the small round hole with its myriad of out-shooting cracks where the bullet had pierced the glass.  He had made up his mind that she had not, for no one could mistake it, and she would surely have spoken to him of it.  He found that the hole was so high up on the pane that he could draw the curtain over it without shutting out much light.  He did this.

Later he went outside, and found that the dogs regarded him with certain signs of friendship.  In him was a growing presentiment that something had happened to Jean.  He was sure that Croisset had taken up the trail of the man who had shot at him soon after they had separated at the gravesides.  He was equally certain that the chase would be short.  Jean was quick.  Dogs and sledge would be an impediment for the other in the darkness of the night.  Before this, hours ago, they must have met.  If Jean had come out of that meeting unharmed, it was time for him to be showing up at Adare House.  Still greater perturbation filled Philip’s mind when he recalled the unpleasant skill of the mysterious forest man’s fighting.  He had been more than his equal in swiftness and trickery; he was certainly Jean’s.

Should he make some excuse and follow Jean’s trail?  He asked himself this question a dozen times without arriving at an answer.  Then it occurred to him that Jean might have some definite reason for not returning to Adare House immediately.  The longer he reasoned with himself the more confident he became that Croisset had been the victor.  He knew Jean.  Every advantage was on his side.  He was as watchful as a lynx.  It was impossible to conceive of him walking into a trap.  So he determined to wait, at least until that night.