The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1885-03-25

impatience to remove Philippe grew
fiercer and tiercer. Moreover I had a
last made up my mind what to do Will
my precious charge. AS soon as sh'
was we'll enough to bear the journey
| resolved to take her to London, ant
place her in the hands of one of TIT
truest, noblest, tenderest women ir
the world, my mother.
She was in London, waiting for mt
to join her. / had written telling gel
that the serious illness of a friend pre-
vented me leaving my home for some
days. Now l resolved to 60 to her
and tell her all P%hilippa's sad tale-all
save the one dark chapter of which
she herself. 1 hoped. knew nothing.
l would take her to my mother. |
would tell my mother how I loved her;
1 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.
Philippe was by now thoroughly
convalescent. As 1 lay down my pen
for a moment and think of the
time, with it's fears and troubles, it is a
marvel to me that 1 could have dared
to wait so long before moving her
from the neighborhood. 1 can only
attribute my lingering to the sense of
fatality that all would 60 right, or to
the professional instinct which for
babe me urging q patient to do any
thing which might. retard recovery;
but the time had at last come.
Save for her quiet and subdued
manner, my love was almost her own
self again. Her words and manner
to me were tender, atfectionate and
sisterly. l need hardly say that dur
ing that time no word crossed my lips
which T would have recalled. Love il
not the thought Of it, I had laid aside
until happier days dawned; for Philip
pa was to me pure and innocent as or
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 as 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 well
enough to rise from her bed, and l
could for hours enjoy her society, we
talked of many things; but never of
Sir Mervyn Ferrand and the immedi-
ate past.
But nevertheless, there were times
when her look distressed me. Now
and again I found her gazing at me
with anxious, troubled eyes, as if try
ing to read something which 1 was
from her. Once she asked me
how she came to my house that night.
"Out of the whirling snow" I said
as lightly as 1 could. You came in
high state of fever and delirium."
"Where had I been? What had 7
been doing?'
"You came straight from Mrs. Will
sons. 1 suppose. l know no more"
Then she sighed and turned her head
away; but I soon found her troubled
dark eyes again fixed on my own. I
could do nothing but meet their gaze
bravely, and pray that my poor love
might never, never be able to fill those
hours which were at presents blank
to her.
At last, exactly a fortnight from the
fatal day, we left my home. I was
now what is legally termed m ascess-
Dry after the act, and was making ev-
cry effort to save the poor girl from
In order to avert suspicion, I
decided it was better not to shut up
my house; so l left the faithful Will
liam to take care of it, and await my
Instructions. At present it was adj
that any inquirers should learn
1 had gone to London with my
sister, and that the time Of our return
was uncertain. BY and by, if all
went well, l could get rid of my cot
in an ordinary way. I, for one,
never wish to visit the place
again.
Philippe acquiesedin all my arrange
nents. She was quite willing to &C
company me to town. She trusted me
with childish simplicity. "But Basil,
what afterward?" she
Even in the midst of the menacing
'eril it was all l could do to refrain
rom kneeling at her feet and telling
Ter that my love would solve the ques-
ion of the future.
II have a surprise for you in Lon
1 said, as cheerfuliy as 1 could.
Trust yourself to me; you will not
egret it,"
She took my hand. "Whom else
ave I to trust?" she said simply.
Basil you have been very good to me.
have made your life miserable; it is
90 late to atone; but Ishall never Tor.
ct these days."
Her eyes were full of tears.
kissed her hand reverently, and told
yer that when I saw the old smile back
pom her lips. all l had done would be
thousand times repaid; but as 1 spoke
trembled OF the thought of what
aight be in storef for both of us.
We drove to Roding, and were per-
orce obliged to take the road which
'assed by Mrs. Wilson's house. Phil
.pa half rose from her seat, and
eemed to be on the point Of asking me
ONE question: but she changed her
mind, and relapsed into silence. 1
cit a horrible dread lest the roadside
bjects and landmarks should awaken
ecollection, and my heart beat violent
Y as we neared the white heap by the
ledge. that heap which l believe
leld our secret. I felt that I grew
.eadly pale. l was forced to turn my
lead away and look out the opposite
My state of mind was not
made easier by knowing that Philippa
vas gazing at me with that troubled
ook in her eyes. Altogether 1 felt
hat the strain vas becoming too much
or me, and l hogan to wonder If my
ife would ever again know a happy or
ecure moment.
After a long silence Philippa spoke.
Tell me, Basil, have you heard from