owing eye as
our lantern set the yellow gleams writhing and twisting in it. We watched
it for a time, it looked so like breaking into sound every next moment. But
no sound came, and we picked up our can and went on.

"I do wish I knew if it is to-day or to-morrow," said Carette.

"Without doubt it is to-day."

"I don't believe it, Phil. It's either to-morrow or the day after, or the
day after that."

"But that milk would never have kept sweet."

"It would keep sweet a very long time here. The air is so fresh and cool."

"Well, even if it's to-morrow it's still to-day," I argued.

"I know. But what I want to know is--how long we've been in here, and it
feels to me like days and days."

But it was impossible to say how long we had slept, and until we got some
outside light on the matter we could not decide it.

So we gathered our beds into cushions and sat there side by side, and since
our supply of candles was not a very large one, and I could feel her in the
dark quite as well as in the light, I lit my pipe and put the lantern out.
And bit by bit she began to tell me of the dreary days when they waited for
news of me, and hope grew sick in them, but they would not let it die.

"Your mother was an angel and a saint, and a strong tower, Phil,--so sweet
and good. How she made me long for a mother of my own!"

"You shall have a share of mine!"

"I've made sure of my share already. It made the ache easier just to be
with her, and so I went often to Belfontaine, and she never failed me. She
was always full of hope and confidence. 'He will come back to us, my dear,'
she would say. 'And when we get him back we must try to keep him, though
that is not easy in Sercq.'"

"But you know why I went, Carette."

"Don't go again, Phil. It is very hard on the women to have their men-folk
go. All the fear and the heartache are ours."

"But it is for you we go--to win what we can for you."

"Ah, what is it all worth?--Just nothing at all. It's not what you bring in
your hands, but what is in your hearts for us, Phil. Better a cottage on
Sercq with our hearts together like this,"--and I could feel her sweet
heart beating through as she nestled up against me with my right arm round
her neck,--than all the plunder of Herm."

"Then I will never leave you again, my sweet," and I sealed that pledge in
kisses. "But how we are to live--"

"Aunt Jeanne will tell you, and I will tell you now. We are to live at
Beaumanoir. She sa