He sees that Phene's soul is, like a butterfly, half-loosed from its chrysalis, and ready for flight.
Nor should these be given Phene to hand Jules, for so Lutwyche would lose the delicious actual instant of the revelation.
He had brought a book, and by-and-by opened at the part commencing, "Do not die, Phene."
Phene will speak more when Jules and she are in their isle together—but never will she speak much: she is silence.
Jules, the sculptor, will wed his Phene to-day: nothing can disturb their happiness, their sunbeams are in their own breasts.
