"I'll go with you at once, but we must see Miss Wyndam safely back.... She'll be more comfortable in the carriage with you, and we can hurry," Charter declared. He held his arms to her and lifted her down. "How I pity you!" she whispered. "You are weary unto death, but I am so glad--so glad you are safely back from the mountain." "Thank you.... You, too, are trembling with weariness. It would not do, not to go to Father Fontanel--would it?" "No, no!" At the hotel, Charter took a few moments to put on fresh clothing. Paula waited with Peter Stock on the lower floor until he appeared. The capitalist did not fail to see that they wanted a word together, and clattered forth to see the "pilot of his deep-sea hack." "You'd better go aboard to-morrow morning," Charter said. "Yes, to-morrow, possibly,--we shall know then. You will be here in the morning--the first thing in the morning?" "Yes." There was a wonder-world of emotion in his word. "And you will not go to the wine-shop, before you see me--in the morning?" He shook his head. His inner life was facing the East, listening to a Skylark song. "There is much to hear and say," she whispered unsteadily. "But go to Father Fontanel--or I--or you will not be in time! He must not die without seeing you--and take my love and reverence----" They were looking into each other's eyes--without words.... Peter Stock returned from the veranda. Charter shivered slightly with the return to common consciousness, clenched his empty left hand where hers had been. "The times are running close here," he whispered huskily. "Sometimes I forget that we've only just met. Father Fontanel alone could call me from here to-night. Somehow, I dread to leave you. You'll have to forgive me for saying it." "Yes.... But in the morning--oh, come quickly.... Good-night." She turned hastily to the staircase, and Charter's remarks as he rode townward with the other, were shirred, indeed.... TWENTY-FOURTH CHAPTER HAVING TO DO ESPECIALLY WITH THE MORNING OF THE ASCENSION, WHEN THE MONSTER, _PELÉE_, GIVES BIRTH TO DEATH The old servant met them at the door with uplifted finger. Father Fontanel was sleeping. They did not wish to disturb him but sat down to wait in the anteroom, which seemed to breathe of little tragedies of Saint Pierre. On one side of the room was the door that was never locked; on the other, the entrance to the sleeping-room of the priest. Thus he kept his ear to the city's pulse. Peter Stock drowsed in the suffocating air. Charter's mind slowly revolved and fitted to the great concept.... The woman was drawn to him, and there had been no need of words.... Each moment she was more wonderful and radiant. There had not been a glance, a word, a movement, a moment, a breath, an aspiration, a lift of brow or shoulder or thought, that had not more dearly charmed his conception of her triune beauty.