How long he held her there, whispering over and over again the words that made her grief his own, he could not have told; but after a time he knew that some one else had entered the room, and he raised his eyes to meet those of John Adare.
The face of the great, grizzled giant had aged five years.

But his head was erect.

He looked at Philip squarely.

He put out his two hands, and one rested on Josephine's head, the other on Philip's shoulder.
"My children," he said gently, and in those two words were weighted the strength and consolation of the world.
He pointed to the door, motioning Philip to take Josephine away, and then he went and stood at the crib-side, his great shoulders hunched over, his head bowed down.
Tenderly Philip led Josephine from the room.

Adare had taken his wife to her room, and when they entered she was sitting in a chair, staring and speechless.