w her quickly into his arms--so quickly that
there was no time for her to escape, so closely that her sweet face lay
imprisoned upon his breast, as he had held it once before, under the
picture at Fort o' God. He felt her straining to free herself; he saw
the fear in her eyes, and he tried to speak calmly, while his heart
throbbed with the passion of love which he wished to pour into her ears.

"Listen, Jeanne," he said. "Pierre has sent me to you. He has told me
everything--everything, my sweetheart. There is nothing to keep from me
now. I know. I understand. And I love you--love you--love you--my own
sweet Jeanne!"

She trembled at his words. He felt her shuddering in his arms, and her
eyes gazed at him wonderingly, filled with a strange and incredulous
look, while her lips quivered and remained speechless. He drew her
nearer, until his face was against her own, and the warmth of her lips,
her eyes, and her hair entered into him, and near stifled his heart
with joy.

"He has told me everything, my little Jeanne," he said again, in a
whisper that rose just above the crackling of the pine. "Everything. He
told me because he knew that I loved you, and because--"

The words choked in his throat. At this hesitation Jeanne drew her head
back, and, with her hands pressing against his breast, looked into his
face. There were in her eyes the same struggling emotions, but with
them now there came also a sweet faltering, a piteous appeal to him, a
faith that rose above her terrors, and the tremble of her lips was like
that of a crying child. He drew her face back, and kissed the quivering
lips, and suddenly he felt the strain against him give way, and
Jeanne's head sobbed upon his breast. In that moment, looking where the
roaring pine sent its pinnacles of flame leaping up into the night, a
word of thanks, of prayer, rose mutely to his lips, and he held Jeanne
more closely, and whispered over and over again in his happiness,
"Jeanne--Jeanne--my sweetheart Jeanne."

Jeanne's sobs grew less and less, and Philip strengthened himself to
tell her the terrible news of Pierre. He knew that in the selfishness
of his own joy he had already wasted precious minutes, and very gently
he took Jeanne's wet face between his two hands and turned it a little
toward his own.

"Pierre has told me everything, Jeanne," he repeated. "Everything--from
the day he found you many years ago to the day your father returned to
torture you." He spoke c