And now Josephine turned to Philip, taking his face between her two hands, and her soul looking at him through a blinding mist of tears.
"My Philip," she whispered, and drew his face down and kissed him.

"Go to him now.

We will come--soon." He returned to Adare like one in a dream--a dream that was grief and pain, with its one golden thread of joy.

Jean was there now, and the Indian woman; and the master of Adare had the still little babe huddled up against his breast.

It was some time before they could induce him to give it to Moanne.