Mrs. Hubert Barclay

“ I was sitting waiting for you, when suddenly something seemed to tell me to go into the churchyard—and just inside the gate I saw her grave—and then I knew. It was just as if a veil had been torn from my eyes—and still I could not understand. For mother was not old when I saw her last. I was afraid I was mad, until Isabella explained. And I thought and thought while I was waiting, and I knew you could not be Phil, for although you are exactly like my memory of her—in face—she would be much older. ”

“ The chain that binds us close; come good or ill,
The golden radiance floods life's pathway ever,
The scent of violets lingers round us still."
How many years was it since the simple words had been sung in that house, and the notes of the old piano sounded to the lilting cadence of its melody? And now, of the two who had sung it together, one was gone, and the other—well, for the other some of the golden radiance still shone after all the bitter years fate had meted out; and the scent of the violets lingered still.
Philippa dropped her face until it touched the faded bunch upon her breast. ”

“ Oh, Isabella, doesn't it seem extraordinary to think of all that has happened in these last few weeks? I was in such a stupid frame of mind when I came here—so self-centred and so dissatisfied—and now, everything is changed for me. First came all the interest and the intense pity I felt, and then, little by little, love grew without my knowing it until it filled my heart, and I know that whatever happens life can never be the same again to me. It seems so wonderful that everything can be changed in a moment. Does love always come like that? The realisation of it, I mean. ”

“ I take comfort in the fact that no one connects Ian Verity with an elderly and unattractive spinster hidden in a hermitage on Bessmoor. You will not betray me, I know, and it is good of you to come and visit me in my solitude. I am growing old and you have all your life before you. I have crossed to the shady side of the road while you walk still in the sunshine. I have thought of you often since we met."
"And I of you," answered Philippa quietly, and then after a moment's pause she added, "You do not ask me what I have been doing." ”

“ On the threshold a woman was standing, a woman of advanced years and rather stern appearance. She wore a dark gown, and her grey hair was covered with a cap of some soft white material. She moved aside to allow the girl to pass, and then said in a cold and perfectly emotionless voice, "I will show you to your room."
Philippa followed her, blindly, stumblingly, for her knees were shaking now, and there was such an air of resentment in the other's demeanour that it jarred upon her overstrung nerves.
In silence they passed down the long corridor until they arrived at their destination. ”

“ Philippa drew her chair closer, and laying a hand on her shoulder she waited, knowing instinctively that the tears would bring healing, and that the overstrained nerves must find relief before words would come.
At last she grew quieter, and said brokenly, "He knew me! You heard him! 'Goody! Goody will understand!' I that have nursed him and tended him from babyhood! And never to know me—never to know his old Goody all these weary years! At last! At last! Oh! if my lady were but here to see!"
"Will you try and realise that I know nothing?" Philippa said gently. ”

“ Had she not known him as a lover, wooing Phil with all the strength of his early manhood, all the force of the flood-tide of his love? Had she not seen him curbing that love lest any demonstration of too open affection might harm his cause with the woman who had not "liked heroics," wooing with innocent devices and tender subtlety? And she could almost hear the words he must have spoken when again he wooed. Small wonder that Philippa's heart had awaked to his appeal. The fact of her own affection, although it did not entirely blind her, distorted her outlook. ”

“ There seems to be no variety and no rest, I remember as I landed from the trooper at Southampton after the South African war, hearing a Tommy say with a sigh of relief, 'Thank Gawd for a blooming grey sky,' and I quite agreed with him."
"I love the sunshine," said Marion, "and certainly we don't get too much of it here."
"No," replied Philippa; "but you do get the most wonderful cloud effects. Driving here this evening the sky was perfectly beautiful—a great bank of clouds like mountains and soft fleecy ones touched with pink overhead." ”

“ Philippa went to the front door, and stood on the step breathing in the freshness of the morning. The sun was shining brightly, the dew lay heavy on the lawns, and here and there a faint veil of mist was hovering, soon to be dispersed by the warmth of the new day. All Nature seemed refreshed and cleansed by the healing and rejuvenating power of the night.
The girl herself in her simple suit of white serge looked as fresh as the morning, although a careful observer might have noticed a shadow telling of mental disquiet under the clear steadfast eyes. ”

“ She was a wonderful woman—one of the old type. She had no notion of admitting the outside world into her affairs, or of discussing her inmost feelings with any one. A woman of dauntless courage, old Lady Louisa; and if some people thought her hard it was not to be wondered at; she was a bit hard, but it was merely a sort of armour she put on in self-defence. She fought every inch of the way—every inch. She never lost patience, even after hope was gone. Everything she could think of she did, trying endless devices to interest and amuse him—for years Francis drove with her every day. ”

“ A thing to wonder at;'"
she quoted, smiling. "The wooden spoon is mine, and I suppose I ought to cultivate a decent gratitude for favour received."
"What nonsense!" said Philippa, laughing. "You are not a loser. You have won a great deal more than you know. Some day you will learn how deep an affection your readers have for you, and your heart will be warmed by the knowledge of the happiness you have given to thousands."
Isabella smiled. "Well, well; we shall see," she said serenely.
"You will be dragged from your retirement when that day comes," continued Philippa. ”

“ Will you give her my dear love?' And then he looked round for the violets which were beside his bed. 'Give her these, will you, old fellow, and tell her I shall see her as soon as I can get on the soft side of old Rob.' He does not look to me as if he could live long."
"Then we will make him happy, until—as long as he lives. Do not trouble any more about it—my share of it, I mean. Just try and think of me as if I were really Phil, not Philippa any more. Will you help me?"
"I wish Marion were here," repeated the Major earnestly. "But it is impossible; she cannot leave the boy. ”

“ It was a dark time, my darling, but the remembrance only intensifies the present joy."
"Ah, yes," she repeated softly; "the present joy."
"And a future to be glorified by our love lies all before us. What is a little weakness of body when weighed against all the precious possessions which are mine?"
He held her closer until her head was resting on his breast. It seemed to Philippa then that life could hold no moment more charged with utter bliss than this—she and the man she loved, together in a vast encircling peace. ”

“ Isabella had made no appeal for sympathy, had not suggested that there was any room for pity. She did not wish to forget.
Into Philippa's heart there crept a faint realisation of the infinite power and the infinite patience of a great love, and with it a longing, half wistful, half eager, that she too might one day know its thrall. Francis Heathcote had loved, and his love had survived years of darkness and longing, but there had been plighted vows and lovers' sweet delights to weld the chain of his affection ”

“ There is no need for pity," she said earnestly. "Isabella—if I lost him—to-morrow—still, I have known—but he is not going to die, he is going to live."
"The doctor thinks so?"
"Yes; he says there is no reason why he should not live out his allotted span of life—those were his words."
Isabella did not speak—she was thinking only of Francis, and not at all of the girl beside her. Which was best for him? Would it not be kinder, happier, if he died now before he knew? Her face was very grave and sad; so much so, indeed, that Philippa repeated the words she had spoken, "He will not die. ”

“ Perhaps I attempt the impossible. It may be that I have shot at the highest and hit mediocrity. I think that is more likely."
"I think you do not know the fame of Ian Verity," said Philippa.
"Oh, I don't thank you for personal fame. I would prefer something less showy but of far more value. But as a matter of fact, what I should choose had got very little to do with it."
"We all know what we should like, but we can't choose our prize."
"No," rejoined Isabella quickly, "You are quite right, we cannot choose and we cannot all win. ”

“ It is not you he loves," continued Marion relentlessly. "Oh, my dear! my dear! can you not see your mistake? It is you who do not understand. His love is not for you. Every word of love he speaks, every bit of the love in his heart belongs to another woman. He does not think of you. You are not in it at all, or if you are, you are only a supplanter taking what is not meant for you."
Marion was crying openly now, the tears coursing unheeded down her cheeks, but Philippa did not notice them. ”

“ You may wonder why I told you about Ian Verity; perhaps it seems to you a small thing—but it was all I had, all that I valued outside the story that I am telling you now, and I gave you my confidence, craving yours in return. It was nothing to you. But now you have broken the silence."
"How does he look?" she asked suddenly. "I have always remembered him as he used to be, and yet, of course, he must be changed."
"His hair is white," said Philippa gently; "but he looks young in spite of that. He is so slim and upright—not like a man of his age." ”

“ Everything depended on his answer, for the man would undoubtedly be shot if he could not prove his innocence, and the officer lied unhesitatingly. 'I remember perfectly,' he said. 'You were there.' What would you have done?"
"I should have done the same," said Philippa quickly.
"So should I," agreed Isabella. "I am absolutely certain of it. But I don't know that that proves the morality of it. Ours is a woman's point of view, and I am not at all sure that there isn't some foundation for the statement that a woman's idea of honour is easier than a man's. It is a humiliating reflection. ”

“ She realised that Philippa's new-found joy was built upon a delusion, that at any moment it might come tumbling about her ears, but that was hardly worth consideration, although it aroused in her a sense of pity.
She had said "Love brings suffering," and in the words she had recited a clause in her creed of life. Had she not been taught by bitter experience? Love brings suffering, yes; but that was no reason for shrinking from Love. The greater the value of anything, the greater the price which must be paid. ”

“ One lies on the shelf and gets dusty as the world goes on. Are you going this way? May I walk with you? This is an unconventional meeting. Will you count it sufficient introduction that I knew your aunt many years ago? My name is Isabella Vernon, but that probably conveys nothing to you."
"By all means let us walk together," answered Philippa readily. "I had been watching the sunset, and the moor seemed so solitary."
"It is. That is why I love it. Dear Bessmoor. Ever changing, yet ever the same—suiting all moods—sympathetic—enveloping. ”

“ You are all that is sweet and dear and good, but oh, how I long to hear you tell me, just once, that you love me! My darling, if you have even a little love for me, I will teach you love's fullness." He bent his head to hers and rested his face for a moment on the dark softness of her hair. Then he held her from him, and looked eagerly into her eyes. "Do you love me, sweetheart?" he whispered.
Somewhere in the back of her mind Philippa had always known that this was the question he would some day ask. ”