Stunned, Philip dropped the letter. He lifted his eyes, and a strange
cry burst from his lips. Nothing that Gregson had written could have
wrung that cry from him. It was Jeanne. She stood in the open door of
the tent. But it was not the Jeanne he had known. A terrible grief was
written in her face. Her lips were bloodless, her eyes lusterless; deep
suffering seemed to have put hollows in her cheeks. In a moment she had
fallen upon her knees beside him and clasped one of his hands in both
of her own.
"I am so glad," she whispered, chokingly.
For an instant she pressed his hands to her face.
"I am so glad--"
She rose to her feet, swaying slightly. She turned to the door, and
Philip could hear her sobbing as she left him.