“Forever,” said Philip.

MacDougall came into the room, He brought a glass, partly filled with a colored liquid, and placed it to Pierre’s lips.  Pierre swallowed with an effort, and with a significant hunch of his shoulders for Philip’s eyes alone the engineer returned to the little room.

“Mon Dieu, how it burns!” said Pierre, as if to himself.  “May I lie down again, M’sieur?”

Philip lowered him gently.  He made no effort to speak in these moments.  Pierre’s eyes were dark and luminous as they sought his own.  The draught he had taken gave him a passing strength.

“I saw Thorpe again this afternoon,” he said, more calmly.  “D’Arcambal thought I had taken Jeanne to visit a trapper’s wife down the Churchill.  I saw Thorpe—­alone.  He had been drinking.  He laughed at me, and said that Jeanne and I were fools—­that he would not leave as he had said he would—­but that he would remain —­always.  I told Jeanne, and asked her again to let me kill him.  But she said no—­and I had taken my oath to her.  Jeanne saw him again to-night.  I was near the cabin, and saw you.  I told him I would kill him if he did not go.  He laughed again, and struck me.  When I came to my feet he was half across the open; I followed.  I forgot my oath.  Rage filled my heart.  You know what happened.  You will tell Jeanne—­so that she will understand—­”

“Can we not send for her?” asked Philip.  “She must be near.”

“No, M’sieur,” he replied, softly.  “It would only give her great pain to see me—­like this.  She was to meet me to-night—­at twelve o’clock—­on the trail where the road-bed crosses.  You will meet her in my place.  When she understands all that has happened you may bring her here, if she wishes to come.  Then—­to-morrow night—­ you will go together to fire the signal.”

“But Thorpe is dead,” said Philip.  “Will they attack without him?”

“There is another, besides him,” said Pierre.  “That is one secret which Thorpe has kept from Jeanne—­who the other is—­the one who is paying to have you destroyed.  Yes—­they will attack.”

Philip bent low over Pierre.

“I have known of this plot for a long time, Pierre,” he said, tensely.  “I know that this Thorpe, who for some reason has passed as Lord Fitzhugh Lee, is but the agent of a more powerful force behind him.  Have you told me all, Pierre?  Do you know nothing more?”

“Nothing, M’sieur.”

“Was it Thorpe who attacked you on the cliff at Churchill?”

“No, I am sure that it was not he.  If the attack had not failed—­ it would have meant loss—­for him.  I have laid it to the ruffians who wanted to kill me—­and secure Jeanne.  You understand—­”

“Yes, but I do not believe that was the motive for the attack, Pierre,” said Philip.  “Did Thorpe go to see any one in Churchill?”

“I don’t know.  He was concealing himself in the forest.”

A convulsive shudder ran through Pierre’s body.  He gave a low cry of pain, and his hand clutched at the babiche cord which held the locket about his neck.