me, what it has meant to me, and I thank you."

She bowed her head, and again he restrained the impulse to gather her
close up in his arms. When she looked up he was holding something
toward her in the palm of his hand. It was a little Bible, worn and
frayed at the edges, pathetic in its raggedness.

"A long time ago, my mother gave me this Bible," he said. "She told me
that as long as I carried it, and believed in it, no harm could come to
me, and I guess she was right. It was her first Bible, and mine. It's
grown old and ragged with me, and the water and snow have faded it.
I've come to sort of believe that mother is always near this Book. I'd
like you to have it, Josephine. It's the only thing I've got to offer
you on your birthday."

While he was speaking he had taken one of her hands and thrust his
precious gift into it. Slowly Josephine raised the little Bible to her
breast. She did not speak, but for a moment Philip saw in her eyes the
look for which he would have sacrificed the world; a look that told him
more than all the volumes of the earth could have told of a woman's
trust and faith.

He bent his head lower and whispered:

"To-night, my Josephine--just this night--may I wish you all the hope
and happiness that God and my Mother can bring you, and kiss
you--once--"

In that moment's silence he heard the throbbing of her heart. She
seemed to have ceased breathing, and then, slowly, looking straight
into his eyes, she lifted her lips to him, and as one who meets a soul
of a thing too sanctified to touch with hands, he kissed her. Scarcely
had the warm sweetness of her lips thrilled his own than she had turned
from him, and was gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

For a time after they had cleared up the supper things Philip sat with
Jean close to the fire and smoked. The half-breed had lapsed again into
his gloom and silence. Two or three times Philip caught Jean watching
him furtively. He made no effort to force a conversation, and when he
had finished his pipe he rose and went to the tent which they were to
share together. At last he found himself not unwilling to be alone. He
closed the flap to shut out the still brilliant illumination of the
fire, drew a blanket about him, and stretched himself out on the top of
his sleeping bag. He wanted to think.

He closed his eyes to bring back more vividly the picture of Josephine
as she had given him her lips to kiss. This, of all the unusual
happenings of tha