Her eyes shone gloriously this morning, and about her mouth there was a tenderness and a sweetness which had not been there the night before.

The lines that told of her strain and grief were gone.

She seemed like a different Josephine now, confessing in this first thrilling moment of their meeting that she, too, had been living in the memory of what had passed between them a few hours before.

And yet in the gentle welcome of her smile there was a mingling of sadness and of pathos that tempered Philip's joy as he came to her and took her hands.
"My Josephine," he cried softly.
She did not move as he bent down.

Again he felt the warm, sweet thrill of her lips.