In all the fulness of her splendid womanhood Josephine had accepted his love, and had given him her own in return.

Every fibre in his being told him that this was so.

And yet she had uttered no word of love, and he had spoken none of the things that had been burning in his soul.
They had gone but a few steps when Josephine paused close to the fallen trunk of a huge cedar.

With her mittened hands she brushed off the snow, seated herself, and motioned Philip to sit beside her.
"Let us talk here," she said.

And then she asked, a little anxiously, "You left my father believing in you--in us ?" "Fully," replied Philip.