"Was it best?"
"It was glorious," said Philip, trembling.
"It would have come out right—in the end—if the father had not returned," said Pierre. "I must hurry, M'sieur, for it hurts me now to talk. He came first a year ago, and revealed himself to Jeanne. He told her everything. D'Arcambal was rich; Jeanne and I both had money. He threatened—we bought him off. We fought to keep the terrible thing from D'Arcambal. Our money sent him away for a time. Then he returned. It was news of him I brought up the river to Jeanne—from Churchill. I offered to kill him—but Jeanne would not listen to that. But the Great God willed that I should. I killed him to-night—over there!"
A great joy surged above the grief in Philip's heart. He could not speak, but pressed Pierre's hand harder, and looked into his glistening eyes.
Pierre's next words broke his silence, and wrung a low cry from his lips.
"M'sieur, this man Thorpe—Jeanne's father—is the man whom you know as Lord Fitzhugh Lee."
He coughed violently, and with sudden fear Philip lifted his head so that it rested against his shoulder. After a moment he lowered it again. His face was as white as Pierre's after that sudden fit of coughing.
"I talked with him—alone—on the afternoon of the fight on the rock," continued Pierre, huskily. "He was hiding in the woods near Churchill, and left for Fort o' God on that same day. I did not tell Jeanne—until after what happened, and I came up with you on the river. Thorpe was waiting for us at Fort o' God. It was he whom Jeanne saw that night beside the rock, but I could not tell you the truth—then. He came often after that—two, three times a week. He tortured Jeanne. My God! he taunted her, M'sieur, and made her let him kiss her, because he was her father. We gave him money—all that we could get; we promised him more, if he would leave—five thousand dollars—in three years. He agreed to go—after he had finished his work here. And that work—M'sieur—was to destroy you. He told Jeanne, because it made her fear him more. He compelled her to come to his cabin. He thought she was his slave, that she would do anything to be free of him. He told her of his plot—how he had fooled you in the sham fight with one of his men—how those men were going to attack you a little later, and how he had intercepted your letter from Churchill and sent in its place the other letter which made your camp defenseless. He was not afraid of her. She was in his power, and he laughed at her horror, and tortured her as a cat will a bird. But Jeanne—"
A spasm of pain shot over Pierre's face. Fresh blood dyed his lips, and a shiver ran through his body.
"My God!—water—something—M'sieur," he gasped. "I must go on!"