laughed a little. "I thought--and think--you were trying to summon
up courage to ask me for my Jacqueline!"

He had risen to take his blow standing. In the dusk that filled the room
above the fire-line, she could not see his face.

She went on after a moment, "And I can't, _can't_ tell you how happy it
made me, how secure.--For a while I was so troubled. Channing, you
know--I thought I should have to give up my hopes.--But now he has gone,
and you are here; dear, faithful fellow, so big and true! For years I've
dreamed of this, ever since she was born. You and Jacqueline, his child
and mine, finding together all that we have missed. And some day, your
children--Ah, my dear, don't waste your moments! Years go so fast, and
they do not come back."

He made a queer, hoarse sound in his throat. Kate peered up at him, for
the first time suspecting something amiss. "Philip," she exclaimed, "why
don't you say something? Aren't you glad that I am glad?"

Glad!--In the chaos that was his mind, only one thing stood out clear to
him. His fingers unconsciously gripped the small gold cross that hung at
his belt, and clung to it. He had dedicated his life to service, first
of God and second of his fellow-men, chief of whom was the woman before
him. All his life he had dreamed of serving her. In his boyish heroics
he had defended her from lions, rescued her and her children from
Indians, carried her on his back out of burning houses. Lonely youth and
lonely man, dreams formed a greater part of his life than of most men's,
and all of them centered about the great figure of his existence, Kate
Kildare.

Now the opportunity was come. He was to serve her indeed, and
sacrificially. He saw with a horrible clarity where his duty lay, and
wondered that he had not seen it before. She needed him for Jacqueline
as she would never need him for herself. Young Benoix was of the stuff
of which martyrs are made; but as he stood there, gripping the little
cross of his calling, he prayed wordlessly, desperately, that his cup
might pass from him.

Kate had risen too, and stood dismayed by his silence, trying to read
his face by the flickering light. "Philip, what is it? Have I made a
mistake after all? Don't you love Jacqueline?" Her heart began to beat
rather fast. Something of what was in the air she sensed, but without
understanding.

What was it she was asking him? Oh, yes--whether he loved Jacqueline.
Dear little clinging, pathetic child! o