"I don't need help," said Phil. "Oh, you think I'm mad, I suppose. I'm not. Ken--please go and look out--go to the house. Oh, Kirk!"
The Maestro shook his head and put a hand on Felicia's shoulder.
"Better go, Ken," he said quietly.
Kenelm stepped upon the terrace. Through the long window, which he left open behind him, a joyous voice came quite clearly to the library.
"And this is the poor empty pool that I told you about, that never has had any water in it since then--and aren't we at the terrace steps now?"
Felicia vowed afterward that she didn't faint. Yet she had no clear recollection of seeing Kirk between the time when she saw him drop the hand of the tall, strange man and run up the steps, and when they all were standing around her in the library, looking a little grave.
"Phil--Phil!" Kirk was saying then. "Oh, aren't you glad to see me at all? It's me--oh, Phil!"
His eager hands sought her face, to be sure it was she, so strange and quiet.
"Just a minute, lamb," she heard Ken say, with a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Phil doesn't feel quite right."
Then warm, delicious life rushed over her, and she could move again and fling her trembling arms around Kirk. She and Ken and the Maestro all managed to embrace Kirk at once, so that they embraced each other, too. And Ken was not ashamed of his tears, nor was the Maestro.