He leaned over Channing, studying intently and anxiously the nervous, sensuous, intelligent face in its betraying relaxation of slumber. He shook his head presently, as if in doubt. "But she will not see; perhaps she will never see. Yes, she is Kate's own child!" He sighed, and shrugged. "At least there is Philip on guard," he said to himself, finally. "My sturdy, pious young Atlas, with the world so heavy on his shoulders!--" The smile on the teacher's lips was mocking and sad, and very tender. CHAPTER XXIX It was broad daylight when Jacqueline was awakened by some one calling her by name, and shaking her none too gently. "Come, come, Jacqueline, you must wake up, please! I have no time to waste." She rubbed her eyes, yawning. "Let me alone, Phil! I'm half dead with sleep.--Heavens, where am I? Why are you so cross? Oh, Phil," she gasped, memory returning in a flood. "How is he? Is he conscious yet?" "Who, Channing? Extremely conscious, I should say, and very much ashamed of himself. He is making an excellent breakfast in the next room." His stern voice caused her to hang her head. "I suppose you're dreadfully mad at us, Reverend! Were you anxious?" "Fortunately I didn't miss you till the school-teacher's messenger woke us with the news that you and Channing had been found lost in the woods somewhere. I've brought your clothes. It is a wonder you did not take pneumonia, wandering about half-dressed!" She winced, and put out a wheedling hand, "My wrapper is just as warm as a dress, and--and it looks almost like one. See! it's--it's quite long, too, Phil!--I don't think he even noticed that my stockings weren't on." "No?" He looked at her searchingly, and his face softened. The gaze that met his was deprecating and embarrassed, but frank as a child's. "Still," she admitted, "it was a dreadful thing to do." "It was a very silly thing to do, and as it turned out, very dangerous. These mountaineers are a wild lot, especially with a little moonshine in them. You might very well have been shot, instead of Channing." "I wish I had been--oh, I _wish_ I had been!" Her lip quivered. "You're so cross to me," she wailed, "and I've been through _such_ a lot!" He relented. "I don't mean to be cross, little girl. But you must see that I can't take the responsibility of such a madcap any longer. You will have to go back to civilization." Her face fell. "Oh, Phil! You don't mean that you are going to give up the missionary expedition because of what I've done?" "I do not," he said crisply. "I came to accomplish certain things up here, and I shan't leave till they are done. But I shall have to manage without my choir. You are going back to Storm, you and Mr. Channing." "When must we go?" she asked meekly. "To-day. At once." "Oh, but Philip, we can't! Mr. Channing couldn't be moved so soon. His poor leg--"