Weekly commercial herald. (Vicksburg, Miss.) 1884-18??, 1885-09-04

"Has she heard from Sir Merpyng' asked
Mrs. Wilson.
After walking a few PAGES Mrs. Wilson
turned and came back to me. ''Give ne an
address" she said, II may want to write to
you"
Ihesitated; then l told her that any let
tiers sent to my bankers in London would
reach me sooner or later. 1t was too soon to
excite suspicion by concealment Of ones
movements.
1t vas after l had gazed at that white
tomb by the roadside that my impotence to
remove Philippe grew lercer and fercer.
Moreover, l had at last made up my mind
what to do with my precious charge. As
SOON as she would be well enough to bear the
Journey, Iresolved to take her to London
and place her In the hands Of one Of the
truest, noblest, tenderest women in the
world-my mother.
She was in London, waiting for me to join
her. | had written, telling her that the Sc
rious illness of a friend prevented me from
leaving my home for some days. Now re-
solved to go to her, and tell her all Philip
pas sad tale-all ave the one dark chapter
Of which she herself, hoped, knew nothing.
would take her to my mother. would tell
my mother how l loved her; l would appeal
to her love for me, and ask her to take my
poor stricken girl to her heart, even as she
would take a daughter; and l dared to hope
that, if only for my sake, my prayer would
be granted.
Philippa was now thoroughly GONZALES
cent. AS l lay down my pen for a moment
and think Of that time, with its fears and
tuO,,6Joa ~ Ss "a voor~a1 70 ~ fhot I oO,IJ
have dared to wait SO long before removing
her from the neighborhood. l can only at
tribute my lingering to the sense Of fatality
that all would go right, or to the professional
instinct which forbade me urging a patient
to do anything which might retard recovery:
but the time had at last come.
Save for her quiet and subdued manner,
my love was almost her old self again. Her
words and manner to me were tender, affec-
tionate and sisterly. Ineed hardly say that
during that time no word crossed my lips
which 1 would have recalled. Love, if not
the thought of it, l had laid aside until hap
pier days dawned; for-I say it advisedly,
and at risk of censure-Philippa was to ne
pure and innocent as on the day when first
we met. If her hands were stained with the
blood of Sir Mervyn Ferrand, she knew it
not. Her wrongs had goaded her to mad
ness, and her madness was responsible for
the act, not she herself.
The mans name never crossed her lips.
For all she spoke of him he might never have
existed, or, at the most, been but a part of a
forgotten dream. As soon as she was we'll
enough to rise from her bed, and / could for
hours enjoy her society, we talked Of many
things; but never Of Sir Mervyn Ferrand
and the immediate past.
But, nevertheless, there were times when
her look distressed me. Now and again l
found her gazing at me with anxious,
troubled eyes, as if trying to read some
thing which 1 was hiding from her. Once
she asked me how she came to my house
that night.
"Out of the whirling snow" l said as
lightly as / could. "You came in a high
state of fever and delirium."
"Where had 1 been9 What had l been
doingg"
"You cam straight from Mrs. Wilson's. I
suppose. know no more"
Then she sighed and turned her head
away; but | soon found her troubled dark
eyes again fixed on my own l could do
nothing but meet their gaze bravely, and
pray that my poor love might never, never
be able to gil those hours which were at
present a blank to her.
At last, exactly g fortnight from the fatal
day, we left my home. was now what is
legally termed an accessory after the act,
and was making every effort to save the
poor girl from justice. In order to avert
suspicion, decided it was better not to shut
up my house; so / left the faithful William
to take care Of it, and await my instruc-
tions. At present it was advisable that any
i~nquirers should learn that / had gone to
London with my sister, and that the time
OF our return was uncertain. By and by,
IT all went well, I could set rid of my cot
tage in an ordinary way. |, for one, should
never wish to visit the place again.
Philippa acquiesced in all my arrange
ments. She was quite willing to accompany
me to town. She trusted mo with childish
simplicity. "But, Basil, afterward-what
a~fterwardp she asked.
Even in the midst Of the menacing peril It
was all I could do to refrain from kneeling
at her feet and telling her that my love
would solve the question Of the future.
have a surprise for you in London l
said, as cheerfully as | could. "Trust
yourself to me; you will not regret it"
She took my hand. "Whom else have I
to trust" she said simply. "Basil, you
have been very good to me-. / have made
your life miserable: it is too late to atone;
but l shall never forget. these days"
Her eyes were full Of tears. / kissed her
hand reyerently, and told her that when |
saw the old smile back upon her lips, all !
had done would be a thousand times repaid:
but as / spoke l trembled at the thought Of
what might be in store for both of us.
We drove to Roding. and were perforce
obliged to take the road which passed by
Mrs. Wilson's house. Philippe half rose
from her seat. and seemed to be on the
point Of asking me some question; but she
changed her mind, and relapsed into silence.
l felt a horrible dread lest the roadside OBJ
jects and landmarks should awaken recol-
lection, and my heart beat violently as we
neared the white heap by the hedge, that
heap which | believed held our secret. felt
that grewdeadly pale. Twas forced to turn
my head away and look out Of the opposite
window. Ny state Of mind was not made