d, so very low that
it was almost a whisper,

"I have passed many years in the wilderness, Roger, many years trying
to look into the hearts of people--and of God. And this--this love of
Nada's--is the greatest of all the miracles I have witnessed in a life
that is now reaching to its three score and five. Do you see the wonder
of it, son? And does it make you happy, and fearless now?"

He did not wait for an answer, but turned slowly and went in the
direction of the cabin, leaving Roger alone under the thickening stars.
And McKay's face was like Father John's, filled with a strange and
wonderful radiance when he looked up. But with that light of happiness
was also the fiercer underglow of a great determination. For Nada--for
THE BABY--the worst should not happen; he breathed the thought aloud,
and in the words was a prayer that God might help him, and make
unnecessary the sacrifice from which Father John had taken the sting of
fear. And yet, if that sacrifice came, he saw clearly now that it would
not be a great tragedy but only a brief shadow cast over the
undying happiness in his soul. For they--NADA AND THE BABY--would be
waiting--waiting--

Suddenly he was conscious of a sound very near, and he beheld Nada,
taller and slimmer and more beautiful than ever, it seemed to him, in
the starlight.

"I have told him," Father John had whispered to her only a moment
before. "I have told him, so that he will not fear prison--either for
himself or for you."

And she had come to him quietly, all of the pretty triumph and
playfulness gone, so that she stood like an angel in the soft glow of
the skies, much older than he had ever seen her before, and smiled at
him with a new and wonderful tenderness as she held out her hands to
him.

Not until she lay in his arms, looking up at him from under her long
lashes, did he dare to speak. And then,

"Is it true--what Father John has told me?" he asked.

"It is true," she whispered, and the silken lashes covered her eyes.

Her hand crept up to his face in the silence that followed, and rested
there; and with no desire to hear more than the three words she had
spoken he crushed his lips in the sweet coils of her hair, and
together, in that peace ands understanding, they listened to the gentle
whisperings of the night.

"Roger," she whispered at last.

"Yes, my NEWA--"

"What does that mean, Roger?"

"It means--beloved--wife"

"Then I like it. But I shall like the others-