The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1886-11-14
CHAPTER XIX.


took her old seat at the head of the table. But
the meal was different from those they
had been wont to share together in the past
This was new Philippa who poured out the
tea and handed him the toast She was no
longer loving enthusiast; she looked at him
with clear, far-siehted eyes, whose steady
brightness disturbed his equanimity.
''You have changed greatly. Phil" he said to
her. "Brackencleugh has had a singular effect
upon you"
eyes," she answered, briefly, 81 think am
changed"
But if she was not very responsive. she was,
- Rt least very attentive to his little wants She
Sememb ered all the trifiing tasks she had been
in the habit of performing. She brought his hat
and gloves, and brushed his coat when he was
going OUT but she scarcely returned his KISS
and after the front door closed upon him he was
1npieasantly haunted by the remembrance of
his last view OF her-a slight, erect figure, stand
ing at the head of the dark, narrow stairs, a
pale face whose shadowy eyes looked down upon
him with cold air of ungirlish sternness and
silent reproach.
1t was hard enough for Phil to turn back to
The empty room. The whole world seemed
empty, and only three days ago it had been so
full. But, hard as it was to-day, it became hard
Or to face on the many dull desolate days that
Followed. Sometimes she could not bear it, and
was obliged to put her hat and 60 out into
the streets to get rid of it. She got into the
habit of wandering about good deal in an aim
less fashion, trying to become interested in the
outside world, staring at shop windows without
eomprohending what they contained, endeavor-
Ing to fnd mute companionshlp in the people
who elbowed her as they passed. But on
bne such exc ursion as this, she was so suddenly
Stricken with new sense OF her utter loneliness
among the busy throng that she was over
whelmed She burst into tears behind the shell
Ter of her veil and hurried home, feeling almost
frightened. She was utterly alone among
these hurrying thousands; she had no claim upon
sny one; she might have dropped dead in the
wide, noisy street, and the tramp would not have
ceased for her-no one would have known who
she was-the idle crowd that stood and stared at
her white face would have forgotten it in
ment and scarcely remembered that they had
been passing when human heart had ceased to
beat
That day, when she came home, she found
Mrs Dorothys letter waiting for her. and when
khe had read it she laid her cheek against it on
The table and cried afresh.
''Wilfred has left me-" it said. "He could not
eest He said to me, the night before he went,
that the place full of ghosts. and it was driv-
Ing him mad. He has been very wretched and
III. He is totally unlike himself. Some day,
PhilIppa, [ feel sure that you will see him again.
] think he will come to you in spite. of himself;
Enough, when tried to speak of you to him, he
would only smile pteously and shake his head.
He loved you very truly. Phil, my dear, and not.
sVithstanding his misery, can see that he loves
kou very truly still"
'sBut he will never forgive me-" wept Phil; "or
af he forgave me he could never forget. There
Is no hope for me. Oh, Wil-Wil! we have lost
bach otherl"
Kindly, hesrt- warming letters came to her
from Mrs. Dorothy at intervals, but none of them
told her that Wifred had returned, or had
spoken of returning He was in Berlin; he was
In Vienna; he had gone to Stockholm; he was on
bis way to Constantinope and dozen other
places. 81 never know whore my letters will
ind him." Mrs. Dorothy said. "And he does
not give me any very clear idea Of what he is do
In fact, he was doing nothing but wandering
Aimessly here and there, and everywhere. Re-
naming in one place for day. or week, or
month, and then suddenly leaving it when the
caprice seized him. He was intolerably emu
led and constantly intolerably irritated and
less. And this such new experience for
him that it was wearing him out and working
him harm, both mental and physical He had
liv ed in the sun, heretofore, and had felt chill
Of adversely. His own temperament had been
sunny one, and now 1t seemed wholly altered
He was becoming morbid, nervous. petulant and
fancful He had given up his first struggle to
conquer his unhappy passion. He had
found it unconquerabe; it grew with his
Eretchedness instead of waning He could
blink of nothing but Philippa and Bracken-
plough. He fell into moods of desolate brooding
he lived the old, bright scenes over again. He
was stretched upon the heather famed by the
soft west wind. Phil sat near him, flushed and
radiant, beautiful, and to be believed in. He
beard her laugh or he saw her turn her face
away, with the tears in her eyes. thousand
times she said again to him, DO you love me
very much--very, very much2 Is there any
ehing you could not forgive me- if confessed it
b you and told you that was sorry with all my
beartW And then came the memory of how he
had kissed her cheek, and they had gone down
Ehe hillside back to the world and sorrow, hand
IN hand, like couple of children. She said
hat she was glad that the world seemed bright
30 him that morning, and yet she had brought
hpon him the first bitter grief he had ever
known.
When Phil lay awake in her little room in
London, Wilfre6 tossed upon his pillow in some
continental city. And each of the young hearts
Dried out in vain to the other He could never
forgive me. said Phil. ''She never loved me-"
Eroaned the poor fellow. 1t was scarcely harder
for one than for the other; but, if there was any
difference in the weight of the burden to be
borne, the extra heaviness was on Phllippas
Pide. Pore was poverty for her, and dull care
and growing anxiousness, which stood apart
srom all else. Philip Fairfax was failing fast
There were days when he lay helplessly upon the
sofa, from morning until night. He was so frail
chat his cough shook him from head to foot
IN spite of his efforts TO hold his own And
bruly, he made effort enough. He would not give
pp. When he we'll enough to be up he in
sisted on keeping up the pretense of being in per-
feet health. He went out and dned with his
friends, and played, and tried to live his accus-
toned life And then he came home at night
hollow eyed and hagaard, or excited and flushed
With fever, frightening Phil into heartache, and
secret tears. But, at last, he grew restless. He
was tired of London; he was tired of England
It was beginning to be damp and chilly and the
fogs increased his cough. They must go away
What did Phil say to going away-to France or
Germany2
Phil answered him weariedly She did not
care; she had nothing to say. If the change
would do him good she was ready to accompany
him.
Well. he thought it would do him good At
any rate, it would do him no harm, and he
wanted little excitement. So she might make
her little preparations and they would 60.