"Jeanne—"
No more—and yet against each other their hearts told what it was futile for their lips to attempt. They looked out through the window. Beyond that window, as far as the vision could reach, swept the barrens, over which Pierre had brought the little Jeanne. Something sobbing rose in the girl's throat. She lifted her eyes, swimming with love and tears, to Philip, and from his breast she reached up both hands gently to his face.
"They will bring Pierre—to-day—-" she whispered.
"Yes—to-day."
"We will bury him out yonder," she said, stroking his face, and he knew that she meant out in the barren, where the mother lay.
He bowed his face close down against hers to hide the woman's weakness that was bringing a misty film into his eyes.
"You love me," she whispered. "You love me—love me—and you will never take me away, but will stay with me always. You will stay here—dear—in my beautiful world—we two—alone—"
"For ever and for ever," he murmured.
They heard a step, firm and vibrant with the strength of a new life, and they knew that it was the master of Fort o' God.
"Always—we two—forever," whispered Philip again.