“My Philip,” she whispered, and drew his face down and kissed him.  “Go to him now.  We will come—­soon.”

He returned to Adare like one in a dream—­a dream that was grief and pain, with its one golden thread of joy.  Jean was there now, and the Indian woman; and the master of Adare had the still little babe huddled up against his breast.  It was some time before they could induce him to give it to Moanne.  Then, suddenly, he shook himself like a great bear, and crushed Philip’s shoulders in his hands.

“God knows I’m sorry for you, Boy,” he cried brokenly.  “It’s hurt me—­terribly.  But you—­it must be like the cracking of your soul.  And Josephine, Mignonne, my little flower!  She is with her mother?”

“Yes,” replied Philip.  “Come.  Let us go.  We can do nothing here.  And Josephine and her mother will be better alone for a time.”

“I understand,” said Adare almost roughly, in his struggle to steady himself.  “You’re thinking of me, Boy.  God bless you for that.  You go to Josephine and Miriam.  It is your place.  Jean and I will go into the big room.”

Philip left them at Adare’s room and went to his own, leaving the door open that he might hear Josephine if she came out into the hall.  He was there to meet her when she appeared a little later.  They went to Moanne.  And at last all things were done, and the lights were turned low in Adare House.  Philip did not take off his clothes that night, nor did Jean and Metoosin.  In the early dawn they went out together to the little garden of crosses.  Close to the side of Iowaka, Jean pointed out a plot.

“Josephine would say the little one will sleep best there, close to her,” he said.  “She will care for it, M’sieur.  She will know, and understand, and keep its little soul bright and happy in Heaven.”

And there they digged.  No one in Adare House heard the cautious fall of pick and spade.

With morning came a strangely clear sun.  Out of the sky had gone the last haze of cloud.  Jean crossed himself, and said: 

“She knows—­and has sent sunshine instead of storm.”

Hours later it was Adare who stood over the little grave, and said words deep and strong, and quivering with emotion, and it was Jean and Metoosin who lowered the tiny casket into the frozen earth.  Miriam was not there, but Josephine clung to Philip’s side, and only once did her voice break in the grief she was fighting back.  Philip was glad when it was over, and Adare was once more in his big room, and Josephine with her mother.  He did not even want Jean’s company.  In his room he sat alone until supper time.  He went to bed early, and strangely enough slept more soundly than he had been able to sleep for some time.