knees beside him, and as she
clasped his chilled hands to her breast a glorious understanding
lighted up her face; and then she took Pierre's face between her hands,
and bowed her own close down to it, so that the two were hidden under
the beauteous halo of her hair. Philip gripped at his throat to hold
back a sob. A terrible stillness came into the room, and he dared not
move. It seemed a long time before Jeanne lifted her head, slowly,
tenderly, as if fearing to awaken a sleeping child. She turned to him,
and he read the truth in her face before she had spoken. Her voice was
low and calm, filled with the sweetness and tenderness and strength
that come only to a woman in the final moment of a great sorrow.

"Leave us, Philip," she said. "Pierre is dead."

XXIII

For a moment Philip bowed his head, and then he turned and went
noiselessly from the room, without speaking. As he closed the door
softly behind him he looked back, and from her attitude beside Pierre
he knew that Jeanne was whispering a prayer. A vision flashed before
him, so quick that it had come like a ray of light--a vision of another
hour, years and years ago, when Pierre had knelt beside HER, and when
he had lifted up his wild, half-thought prayer out in the death-chill
of the snowy barrens. And this was his reward, to have Jeanne kneel
beside him as the soul which had loved her so faithfully took its
flight.

Philip could not see when he turned his face to the light of the
office. For the first time the grief which he had choked back escaped
in a gasping break in his voice, and he wiped his eyes with his
pocket-handkerchief. He knew that MacDougall was looking upon his
weakness, but he did not at first see that there was another person in
the room besides the engineer. This second person rose to meet him,
while MacDougall remained in his seat, and as he came out into the
clearer light of the room Philip could scarce believe his eyes.

It was Gregson!

"I am sorry that I came in just at this time, Phil," he greeted, in a
low voice.

Philip stared, still incredulous. He had never seen Gregson as he
looked now. The artist advanced no farther. He did not hold out his
hand. There was none of the joy of meeting in his face. His eyes
shifted to the door that led into the death-chamber, and they were
filled with the gloom of a condemned man. With a low word Philip held
out his hand to meet his old comrade's. Gregson drew back.

"No--not no