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.
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