. He felt still the thrill of her breast against
his own, the touch of her hair upon his lips, the gentle clinging of
her arms. The spirit of her moved, and sat awake, and talked with him,
just as the old spirit of his dreams had communed with him a thousand
times in his loneliness. Dreams were at an end. Now had come reality.

He looked up into the sky. The moon had dropped below the southwestern
forests, and there were only the stars above him, filling a gray-blue
vault in which there was not even the lingering mist of a cloud. It was
a beautifully clear night, and he wondered how the light fell so that
it did not reveal Jeanne in her nest. The thought that came to him then
set his heart tingling and made his face radiant. Even the stars were
guarding Jeanne, and refused to disclose the mystery of her slumber. He
laughed within himself. His being throbbed, and suddenly a voice seemed
to cry softly, trembling in its joy:

"Jeanne! Jeanne! My beloved Jeanne!"

With horror Philip caught himself too late. He had spoken the words
aloud. For an instant reality had transformed itself into the old
dream, and his dream-spirit had called to its mate for the first time
in words. Appalled at what he had said, Philip bent over and listened.
He heard Jeanne's breathing. It was deeper than before. She was surely
asleep!

He straightened himself and resumed his paddling. He was glad now that
he had spoken. Jeanne seemed nearer to him after those words.

Before this night he never realized how beautiful the wilderness was,
how complete it could be. It had offered him visions of new life, but
these visions had never quite shut out the memories of old pain. He
watched and listened. The water rippled behind his canoe; it trickled
in a soothing cadence after each dip of his paddle; he heard the gentle
murmur of it among the reeds and grasses, and now and then the gurgling
laughter of it, like the faintest tinkling of dainty bells. He had
never understood it before; he had never joined in its happiness. The
night sounds came to him with a different meaning, filled him with
different sensations. As he slipped quietly around a bend in the river
he heard a splashing ahead of him, and knew that a moose was feeding,
belly-deep, in the water. At other times the sound would have set his
fingers itching for a rifle, but now it was a part of the music of the
night. Later he heard the crashing of a heavy body along the shore and
in the distance