When Jean spoke it was in a strange voice and low.
"M'sieur!" Philip looked up.

In the fire-glow Jean was reaching out his hand to him.

In the faces of the two men was a new light, the birth of a new brotherhood.

Their hands clasped.

Silently they gazed into each other's eyes, while over them the beginning of storm moaned in the treetops and the clouds raced in snow-gray armies under the moon.
"Breathe no word of what may have come to you to-night," spoke Jean then.