"
By the fire, burning lower as the moon climbed higher, Philip lay very
quiet. Somehow the moonlit stillness of the forest had altered
indefinably. Its depth and shadows jarred. Fair as it was, it had
harbored things sinister and evil. And who might say--there was peace
of course in the moon-silver rug of pine among the trees, in the
gossamer cobweb there among the bushes jeweled lightly in dew, in the
faint, sweet chirp of a drowsy bird above his head--but the moon-ray
which lingered in the heart of the wild geranium would presently
cascade through the trees to light the horrible thing of lead which had
menaced the life of his lady.
Well, one more pipe and he would go to bed. Johnny must be tired of
waiting. Philip slipped his hand into his pocket and whistled.
"So," said he softly, "the hieroglyphic cuff is gone! It's the first
I'd missed it."
"Like as not it dropped out of my pocket when I fell last night," he
reflected a little later. "I'd better go to bed. I'm beginning to
fuss."
CHAPTER XIII
A WOODLAND GUEST
There was gray beyond the flap of Philip's tent, a velvet stillness
rife with the melody of twittering birds. Already the camp fire was
crackling. Philip rose and dressed.
Beyond, through the ghostly trees where the river glimmered in the gray
dawn with a pearly iridescence, a girl was fishing.
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