In the fire-shadows he could not make out distinctly the features of the third man.  He was not dressed like the others.  He wore knickerbockers and high laced boots.  His face was beardless.  Beyond these things he could make out nothing more.  The three drew close together, and only now and then did he catch the low murmur of a voice.  Not once did he hear Jean.  For ten minutes he crouched motionless, his eyes shifting from the strange tableau to the spot of gloom where the others were hidden.  Then, suddenly, Josephine sprang back from her companions.  Jean went to her side.  He could hear her voice now, steady and swift—­vibrant with something that thrilled him, though he could not understand a word that she was speaking.  She paused, and he could see that she was tense and waiting.  The other replied.  His words must have been brief, for it seemed he could scarcely have spoken when Josephine turned her back upon him and walked quickly out into the forest.  For another moment Jean Croisset stood close to the other.  Then he followed.

Not until he knew they were safe did Philip rise from his concealment.  He made his way cautiously back to Adare House, and reentered his room through the window.  Half an hour later, dressed so that he revealed no evidence of his excursion in the snow, he knocked at Jean’s door.  The half-breed opened it.  He showed some surprise when he saw his visitor.

“I thought you were in bed, M’sieur,” he exclaimed.  “Your room was dark.”

“Sleep?” laughed Philip.  “Do you think that I can sleep to-night, Jean?”

“As well as some others, perhaps,” replied Jean, offering him a chair.  “Will you smoke, M’sieur?”

Philip lighted a cigar, and pointed to the other’s moccasined feet, wet with melting snow.

“You have been out,” he said.  “Why didn’t you invite me to go with you?”

“It was a part of our night’s business to be alone,” responded Jean.  “Josephine was with me.  She is in her room now with the baby.”

“Does Adare know you have returned?”

“Josephine has told him.  He is to believe that I went out to see a trapper over on the Pipestone.”

“It is strange,” mused Philip, speaking half to himself.  “A strange reason indeed it must be to make Josephine say these false things.”

“It is like driving sharp claws into her soul,” affirmed Jean.

“I believe that I know something of what happened to-night, Jean.  Are we any nearer to the end—­to the big fight?”

“It is coming, M’sieur.  I am more than ever certain of that.  The third night from this will tell us.”

“And on that night—­”

Philip waited expectantly.

“We will know,” replied Jean in a voice which convinced him that the half-breed would say no more.  Then he added:  “It will not be strange if Josephine does not go with you on the sledge-drive to-morrow, M’sieur.  It will also be curious if there is not some change in her, for she has been under a great strain.  But make as if you did not see it.  Pass your time as much as possible with the master of Adare.  Let him not guess.  And now I am going to ask you to let me go to bed.  My head aches.  It is from the blow.”