-"

He dared not look at her often, but sat quite still through the long
miles, thrilling to the touch of her skirts when they blew against his
knees. The thoughts within him clamored so that sometimes he feared she
must be aware of them.

But Kate had forgotten that he was there. Her eyes gazed straight before
her down the white road, over which yellow August butterflies hovered
like drifting flowers; across the dappled, fragrant fields of the wide
valley they crossed to the hills, whose vanguard, Storm, was already to
be distinguished by the pennant of smoke flying from its tip. She longed
for her home with a great longing, as children who have been hurt yearn
for the comfort of their mother's arms.

Her mind was too bruised, too weary for consecutive thought. Sometimes
the dream she had at dawn came back to her.--How broken he was, how
frail! It did not seem to her that she had seen only a vision. It was
Jacques himself. She understood now what promise he had made her. He was
indeed never so far away that any need of hers could fail to reach him.
He was giving her back her child, giving her back the land she loved,
the work she loved; he was giving her what he could of happiness. But he
was taking with him the hope that had kept her young.

Storm stood out clearly now against its background of hills, and a cloud
of dust approached down the road, which presently revealed the galloping
figure of Jacqueline, waving a large bouquet.

"Your wedding bouquet, Mummy," she cried from afar off, with rather
tremulous gaiety. "Welcome home! Welcome home!"

Then, as her eyes made out the second figure in the phaeton, her
expressive face changed. "Why--it's only you, Philip? Where is _he_?"

Philip said huskily, "We do not know."

"You don't know! You--you haven't _lost_ him?"

Philip nodded. To his surprise he found that he was sobbing, crying as
he had not cried since he was a boy.

"Oh--_oh_!" gasped Jacqueline. Then, "Stop, please, Mummy. I want to get
in and comfort Phil."

She turned her horse loose with a slap on the flank, and clambered in
between them.

Jacqueline knew a great deal about comforting people. It was a knowledge
that had been given to her with her warm lips, and her crooning voice,
and her clinging, caressing hands. She said nothing, because she could
think of nothing to say; but for the rest of the way Philip was aware of
a young arm wound tight about his shoulders, and more than once of lips