He was afraid that his appearance just now would
betray the mental excitement which he must hide. He drew back deeper
into the shadow of the wall and waited, and while he waited he thought
of Jean. It was not the old Jean that had returned this night, the Jean
with his silence, his strange repression, the mysterious something that
had seemed to link him with an age-old past. Out of that spirit had
risen a new sort of man--the fighting man. He had seen a new fire in
Jean's eyes and face; he had caught new meaning in his words, Jean was
no longer the passive Jean--waiting, watching, guarding. Out in the
forest something had happened to rouse in him what a word from
Josephine would set flaming in the savage breasts of her dogs. And the
excitement in Philip's blood was the thrill of exultation--the joy of
knowing that action was close at hand, for deep in him had grown the
belief that only through action could Josephine be freed for him.

Suddenly, softly, there came floating to him the low, sweet tones of
the piano, and then, sweeter still, the voice of Josephine. Another
moment and Miriam's voice had joined her in a song whose melody seemed
to float like that of spirit-voices through the thick fog walls of
Adare House. Soundlessly he moved toward the room where they were
waiting for him, a deeper flush mounting into his face now. He opened
the door without being heard, and looked in.

Josephine was at the piano. The great lamp above her head flooded her
in a mellow light in which the rich masses of her hair shimmered in a
glorious golden glow. His heart beat with the knowledge that she had
again dressed for him to-night. Her white neck was bare. In her hair he
saw for a second time a red rose. For a space he saw no one but her.
Then his eyes turned for an instant to Miriam. She was standing a
little back, and it seemed to him that he had never seen her so
beautiful. Against the wall, in a great chair, sat the master of Adare,
his bearded chin in the palm of his hand, looking at the two with a
steadiness of gaze that was more than adoration. Philip entered. Still
he was unheard. He stood silent until the song was finished, and it was
Josephine, turning, who saw him first.

"Philip!" she cried.

Adare started, as if awakening from a dream. Josephine came to Philip,
holding out both her hands, her beautiful face smiling with welcome.
Even as their warm touch thrilled him he felt a sudden chill creep over
him. A swift gla