The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1885-02-25
strife and fierce passions and disappoint-

latlng in the corner OF each pane.
went close to the window and peerec
out into the night.
Standing within a yard of me, gazing
into my dimly-lit room-hcr face sterl
and pale as death, her dark eyes nov
rivetcd on my own-was q woman; ant
that woman was Philippa, my love! =.
> For several seconds l stood, spell
bound, gazing at her. That | saw more
than 4 phantom of my Imagination dlo
not at once enter into my head. In
dreams I had seen the one l loved AGAR
and again, but this was the first time my
waking thoughts had conjured up suct
a vision. Vision, dream, reality! J
trembled as 1 looked; for the form was
that of Philippa in dire distress.
1t was seeing the hood which covered
her head grow whittier and whittier with
the f~ast-falling snow which aroused me
to my senses, and made every fiber thrill
with the thought that Philippa, in flesh
and blood, stood before me. With a low
cry of rapture I tore asunder the fasten'
ings of the French easement, threw the
sashes apart, and without q word my
love passed from the cold, bleak night
into my room.
She was wrapped from head to foot in
a rich, dark fur-trimmed cloak. AS she
swept by me 1 felt she was damp with
partially thawed snow. l closed the
window; then with q throbbins heart,
turned to greet my visitor. She stood
in the center of the room. Her mantle
had fallen to the ground, and through
the dusk 1 could sec her white face,
hands and neck. I took her hands in
mine; they were as cold as icicles.
"Philippa Philippa why are you
herew / whispered. "Welcome, thrice
welcome, whether you bring me JOY OF
SORROW"
A trembling ran through her. She
said nothing, but her cold hands clasped
mine closer. led her to the fire, which
I stirred until it blazcd brightly. She
kneeled before it and stretched out her
hands for warmth. How pale she looked;
how unlike the Philippa of old! But tc
my eyes how lovely!
As I looked down at the fair woman
kneeling at my feet, with her proud
head bent as in shame, l knew intuitive.
" that l should be called upon to keep
my oath; and knowing this, l re.regis-
tered it in all its entirety.
At last she raised her face to mine. In
her eyes was a somber fire, which until
now | had never seen there. "Phlllp.
pa! Philippa" 1 cried again.
"Fetch a light" she whispered.
"Let me see q friends face once more
if you are still my friend"
"Your friend, your true friend for
ever" 1 said, as 1 fastened to obey her.
AS 1 placed the lamp on the table
Philippa rose from her knees. I could
now see that she was in deep mourning.
Was the thought that flashed through
me, that it might be that she was a
widow, one of JOY or sorrow2 l hope
7 try to believe it was the latter.
We stood for some moments in
silence. My agitation, my rapture at
seeing her once more seemed to have dc.
prived me of speech. I could do little
more than to gaze at her and tell myself
that I was not dreaming; that Philippa
was really here; that it was her voice
that l had heard, her hands l claspcd.
Philippa it was, but not the Philippe OF
old!
The rich, warm, glowing beauty
seemed toned down. Her face had lost
its exquisite color. Moreover, it was the
face of one who has suffercd-one who
is suffering. To me it looked as if i'll.
ness had refined it, as it sometimes will
refine a face. Yet, ii she had been ill,
her illness could not have been of long
duration. Her figure was as superb, her
arms as finely rounded, as ever. She
stood firm and erect. Yet 1 trembled as
1 gazed at that pale proud face and those
dark solemn eyes. I dared not for the
while ask her why she sought me.
She was the first to break silence.
"You are changed, Basil" she said.
"Time changes every one" l an
swered, forcing a smile.
evil YOU believe me-" she continued,
"when I say that the memory of your
face as I saw it last has haunted even my
most joyful moments2 All me, Basil,
had been true to myself 1 think I
might have learned to love you"
She spoke regretfully, and as
n who has finished with life
and its love. My heart beat
rapidly; yet 1 knew her words were not
spoken in order to hear me tell her that
flowed her passionately as ever.
"Ihave heard of you once or twice"
she said, softly. "You are rich now,
they tell me, but unhappy"
"Iloved you and lost you, " Ianswered.
Chow could I be happy2"
"And men can love like this?" she
said, sadly. "All men arc not alike,
them"
Enough of me-" I said. "Tell me
of yourself. Tell me how I can aid you.
Your husband -"
She drew a sharp, quick breath. The
color rushed back to her cheek. Her
eyes glittered strangely. Nevertheless,
she spoke calmly and distinctly.
Husband! 1 have none" she said.
SIS he dead2"
"No" she spoke with surprising bitter
ness-"No; 1 should rather say never
was q wife. Tell me, BASIL" she o
tinued iercely, did you ever hate a
MANI" ,
eyes, I answered ~emphatically and
truly. Hate a man! From the moment ]
cav the wretch with whom Philippa fled
1 hated him. Now that my worst sus
p~icions were true, what were my feel
ings2 -,
I felt that my lips compressed them
selves. I knew that when l spoke my
voice was as stern and bitter as Philippa's.
"Sit down." l said, land tell me all.
Tell me how you knew I was herc-where
you have come FROM"
Let me but learn whence she came,
and I felt sure the knowledge would en-
able me to lay my hand on the man
wanted. All! life now held something
worth living for!
81 have been here some months" said
Philippa.
Here! In this neighborhood9"
eyes. l have seen you several times.
I have been living at a house about three
miles away. felt happier in knowing
in case of need I had one friend neal
me-" ..,
pressed her hands. $50 on" said
hoarsely.
ssHe sent me here. He had grown
weary of me. I was about to have
child. l was in his way-a trouble to
him"
Her scornful accent as she spoke was
ind~escribable.
"Philippa! Philippa"I groaned, "had
YOU sunk so low as to do his bidding9'
She laid her hand on my arm. More,
she said. "Listen! Before we parted
he struck me. Struck-mc! He cursed
me and struck mel Basil, did you evel
hate a man?"
II threw out my arms. Ny heart wa:
full of rage and bitterness. "And YOU
went away with this man rather than be-
come my wife" ! gasped. Neither my
love nor her sorrow could stop this re-
proach from passing my lips.
She sprang to her feet. you" she
cried. "Do you-think-do you i'm:
agine- Read! Only this morning
learned it,
She threw a letter toward me-.threW
- I'LL -,,.o &c loofb;po 90 IN