“Nothing had happened,” he said, barely above a whisper.  “I found her, and I thank God for that I loved her, and my theory was doubly shattered, a thousand times cursed.  She is my wife, and I am the happiest of men—­except for these haunting memories.  Before I married her I told her all, and together we have tried to make restitution for my crime, for I shall always deem it such.  I found that the man who died was supporting a mother, and that the girl’s parents lived on a little mortgaged farm in Michigan.  We sent the mother ten thousand dollars, and the parents the same.  We have built a little church in the village where they died.  The third couple,” finished the doctor, dropping Philip’s hand, “came up here.  When I got back from the south I found that several of my checks had been returned.  I wrote letter after letter, but could find no trace of these last of my experimenters.  I sent an agent into the North and he returned without news of them.  They had never appeared at Fort Smith.  And now—­I have come up to hunt for them myself.  Perhaps, in your future wanderings, you may be of some assistance to me.  That is why I have told you this—­with the hope that you will help me, if you can.”

With a flash of his old, quick coolness the doctor turned to one of Pierre Thoreau’s bunks.

“Now,” he said, with a strained laugh, “I’ll follow your suggestion and go to bed.  Goodnight.”

Chapter XIV.  What Came Of The Great Love Experiment

For an hour after he had gone to bed Philip lay awake thinking of the doctor’s story.  He dreamed of it when he fell asleep.  In a way for which he could not account, the story had a peculiar effect upon him, and developed in him a desire to know the end.  He awoke in the morning anxious to resume the subject with McGill, but the doctor disappointed him.  During the whole of the day he made no direct reference to his mission in the North, and when Philip once or twice brought him back to the matter he evaded any discussion of it, giving him to understand, without saying so, that the matter was a closed incident between them, only to be reopened when he was able to give some help in the search.  The doctor talked freely of his home, of the beauty and the goodness of his wife, and of a third member whom they expected in their little family circle in the spring.  They discussed home topics—­politics, clubs and sport.  The doctor disliked society, though for professional reasons he was compelled to play a small part in it, and in this dislike the two men found themselves on common ground.  They became more and more confidential in all ways but one.  They passed hours in playing cribbage with a worn pack of Pierre’s cards, and the third night sang old college songs which both had nearly forgotten.  It was on this evening that they planned to remain one more day in Pierre’s cabin and then leave for Fort Smith.

“You have hope—­there,” said Philip in a casual way, as they were undressing.