"Yes, Jography, I do forgive you," answered Cecile. "It was a dreadful temptation; it was too strong for you, poor Jography. Yes, perhaps my heart is broken; but I quite forgive you. I have not much pain. All the bad news does not hurt as it ought. I have a weight here," pointing to her breast, "and my head is very light, and something is singing in my ears; but I know quite well what has happened: little Maurice is gone! Little, little darling Maurice is quite and really lost! and Lovedy's purse is stolen away! And--I think perhaps the dream is right--and there is--no--_Jesus Christ_. Oh, Joe, Joe--the--singing--in my head!" Here the tightly folded hands relaxed their strained tension, the blue eyes closed, and Cecile lay unconscious at Joe's feet. CHAPTER XXIV. "A CONSIDERING-CAP." When Cecile sank down in a swoon in the hut, Toby, who had been lying on the ground apparently half asleep, had risen impatiently. Things were by no means to this dog's liking; in fact, things had come to such a pass that he could no longer bear them quietly. Maurice gone; Joe quite wild and distracted; and Cecile lying like one dead. Toby had an instinct quite through his honest heart that the time had come for _him_ to act and with a wild howl he rushed into the forest. Neither of the two he left behind noticed him; both were too absorbed in the world into which they had entered--Cecile was lying in the borderland between life and death, and Joe's poor feet had strayed to the edge of that darker country where dwells despair. The dog said to himself: "Neither of them can act, and immediate steps must be taken. Maurice must be found; I, Toby, must not rest until I bring Maurice back."