He went out. Father George was about to follow when Philip motioned him back.
"Will you wait outside for a few minutes?" he asked in a low voice. "We shall need you—alone—Josephine and I."
And now when they were gone, he raised Josephine's face, and said:
"They are all gone, Josephine—Lang, Thoreau, AND THE LETTERS. Lang and Thoreau are dead, and I have burned the letters. Jean was shot. He thought he was dying, and he told me the truth that I might better protect you. Sweetheart, there is nothing more for me to know. The fight is done. And Father George is waiting—out there—to make us man and wife. No one will ever know but ourselves—and Jean. I will tell Father George that it has been your desire to have a SECOND marriage ceremony performed by him; that we want our marriage to be consecrated by a minister of the forests. Are you ready, dear? Shall I call him in?"
For a full minute she gazed steadily into his eyes, and Philip did not break the wonderful silence. And then, with a deep sigh, her head drooped to his breast. After a moment he heard her whisper:
"You may call him in, Philip. I guess—I've got to be—your wife."
And as the logs of the Devil's Nest sent up a pall of smoke that rose to the skies, Metoosin crouched shiveringly far back in the gloom of the pit, wondering if the dogs he had loosed had come to the end of the trail.
THE END