Philippa

by Mrs. Molesworth

all this time?" he said, harshly. "It isinconceivable. But what can be your reason for changing so suddenly? Ihave a right to ask, and a right to know."

  "Yes," she said, "perhaps you have, though I do not know that my reasonwill much enlighten you. It is simply this. I am entirely convincedthat we are utterly unsuited to each other, and that in marrying you Ishould be entering upon what would prove a tremendous mistake. You donot, and never would, understand me; surely that should suffice."

  He smiled, bitterly enough. Something in her manner carried convictionhome to him, through all the thick folds of his self-esteem.

  "And may I inquire further," he said, "what has thus magically causedthe scales to fall from your eyes as regards my poor desserts? For youallow, you could not indeed do otherwise, that the change, howevercomplete, is a very sudden one?"

  She turned and looked at him. There was a strange wistfulness in herexpression.

  "No," she said, sadly; "I am sorry if I have caused you any pain, but Icannot explain anything more. You would not understand. I am verytired," she continued, "I do not want to go farther. Would you mindwalking back to meet my brother-in-law and tell him I have gone straighthome to Palden? I can find my way from here."

  He bowed without speaking and turned away, too absorbed by his ownintense mortification to give much heed to her last words, or to feelany compassion for the suffering too plainly betrayed by her white faceand faltering voice.

  The sound of his retreating footsteps on the crisp, dry path diedrapidly away, and Philippa was alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

  ENDED.

  For a few moments the withdrawal of the intense restraint she had putupon herself caused all other feelings to be merged in that of relief.Philippa glanced round her, and seeing a moss-covered tree stump a fewpaces off, she made her way to it and sat down.

  Then slowly, but all too surely, crept up, one by one, the reflectionsshe could not but face.

  It seemed to her that years had passed since Evelyn and her husband hadturned back, leaving her and her late companion by themselves.

  Yes, indeed, to use his own words; "the scales had fallen from hereyes," and yet how almost intangible it all seemed! How little somepeople would understand the terrible and complete revulsion of feelingwhich had overwhelmed her!

  "Nothing," she thought, "nothing can be quite so horrible as to findthat one has been worshipping an idol of clay; a thing which did notexist except in my own imagination. I have no right to feel resentful.Taking him for what he is, he did not behave badly. He evidently_meant_ to be generous and chivalrous. But the pain of it to me is nonethe less. It is far, far worse, at least so it seems to me just now,than to have found out that he did not care for me as I did for him, andyet to have kept my ideal. `Disillusionment' is horrible."

  The tears slowly welled up into her eyes. She brushed them awayindignantly.

  "What a weak fool I am!" she thought. "If I had any strength ofcharacter, I _should_ be, I suppose, glad to have found it out in time."

  For bitterly as she was suffering, she was spared the misery of anywavering as to the necessity of her decision. It was done, once forall, done! But other considerations could not be altogether stifled,and Philippa was still very young.

  "It is so disappointing," she said, half audibly, "in smaller ways, too.Poor Evey, I know how she has been wishing for it, and, I am afraid,mamma! I am only thankful not to have let myself go further, even infancy. I shall soon be able to pull myself together," and a sort ofwave of courage and even relief seemed to sweep over her, to her ownsurprise.

  How was it that she was not more crushed? After all, she asked herselfin the clearer light of her present vision, _was_ the "disillusionment"so entirely unexpected? Had she, unconsciously, blinded herself, andrefused to admit the possibility of the "something wanting" in BernardGresham's character? If not, whence had arisen her constantself-questionings as to how her confession would be received? Why thedoubts that _were_ there all the time? often as she had repeated toherself that after all she had done nothing wrong, nothing reallycalling for shame or self-abasement.

  But her mind was growing too wearied and confused to think out this newsuggestion. She shivered slightly.

  "Oh, how I wish I were at home," she thought, "and could tell mammaeverything! She would understand better than I do myself. It is justas if a door had shut in front of me and all was blank!"

  It was really growing cold, for the evenings were still chilly, with thechilliness of early spring, and the sun had gone down some time before.Philippa got up. How long she had sat there she could not tell, andconfidently as she had spoken of knowing her way to Palden, she wasreally slightly at a loss, though familiar with the general directionshe should keep to. She retraced her steps for some little distancetill she came to a point whence another path should lead to thehigh-road. She came upon this side-path more quickly than she hadexpected, but turned into it without misgiving, and satisfied that shewould come out at the right place, she walked on, allowing her thoughtsto re-absorb her. In spite of herself her imagination persisted inre-enacting, mistily yet painfully, the events of the afternoon, tillshe almost felt that she could bear it no longer. But there came adiversion. Suddenly it struck her that the distance to the high-roadwas strangely long. She stopped short and looked about her. There wasno sign of the wood coming to an end; on the contrary, the trees seemedthicker than before.

  "I must have taken the wrong path," she thought, drearily. "Indeed,this is scarcely like a path at all. I had better go back again, Isuppose; I may come across the other."

  She turned and went on, looking about her attentively. Some twentyyards or so farther back, the footpath she was on joined another.

  "I must have gone wrong here," she said, and, though with some littlehesitation, she turned again.

  But it was no use; she only seemed to plunge deeper into the wood,though she tried more than one intercepting path. She was growing verytired, and a feeling of irritation at herself added to her discomfort.

  "I really need not have brought this upon myself," she thought, "If Idon't find my way home soon, there will be a hue and cry after me;nothing could be more odious."

  It was with a feeling of relief that at last she heard the sound of someone approaching. Scarcely of footsteps; it was more a rustle among thestill thickly strewn dead leaves of the previous autumn, which bydegrees grew into a patter of little feet.

  "Solomon!" she exclaimed, as the dog rushed at her in effusive greeting.

  But Solomon's appearance meant that of his master as well.

  "I must make the best of it," thought Philippa, as she realised this."He will at any rate be able to show me the way to Palden, and if he hasnot met his cousin he need not suspect anything. I will just tell him Ihave lost my way."

  A second or two later, Michael Gresham came within view. He started inastonishment as he caught sight of the girl.

  "Miss Raynsworth!" he exclaimed, naturally quite forgetful of the factthat this was the first time he had met her in her own character."How--why--are you alone?"

  She looked up at him. It was evident, to her relief, that his firstsensation at seeing her was that of pure surprise. But as his glancefell on her white, almost drawn face, and her unmistakable look ofexhaustion, his expression warmed into one of deep concern.

  "Something has happened," he thought to himself. "That mean-spiritedfellow. Can I have made mischief when I meant to shield her? Hisclumsy vanity has done it, no doubt."

  But it was with matter-of-fact kindliness only that he went on to speakto her.

  "You are looking so dreadfully tired," he said. "Where are the others?I thought you all started together. Have you lost your way?"

  "Yes," said Philippa, with a kind of gasp. "Evelyn, my sister, gottired, and they turned back. I--I thought I could find the road toPalden by myself."

  The very incoherence of her explanation enlightened him.

  "
Get off, Solomon," he exclaimed, in a gruffer tone than the dachshund,still leaping and jumping about Philippa, was accustomed to. "He hasnot forgotten you, you see," Michael went on, eager to say something oranything to hide his own suspicion of the situation. Then the colourrose quickly to his face as he realised the awkwardness of the allusion.

  "I should say--" he began again, but Philippa, oblivious of any causefor embarrassment in his words, answered, quietly:

  "No, the dear dog, and I have never forgotten him. But will you put meon my road home? I _am very_ tired," she added, faintly, though tryingto smile.

  It seemed to Michael that her white face grew still whiter as she spoke.He half started forward fearing she was going to fall, but she pulledherself together