"How industrious you are. Time was when you never touched a needle, and now you are always at work."

"I am developing good habits, that is all. There is no saying what I shall take to next; you must never be surprised."

"I know the cause, and I love you for it."

"What is the cause?"

"You only do it because you are obliged to spend so much time indoors with me. You don't acknowledge it because you are so dear and sweet, but I know well enough all you have given up for me."

"Wait until we get to the Magical Island where it is always warm. We can be out there together all day long."

"Just you and I together?"

"Just you and I together," she repeated; "unless you want any one else."

"I want nothing and no one in the world but only you."

A little thrill ran through her at the thought of his utter dependence on her, for she was literally his whole world.

He stood, but for her, absolutely isolated, absolutely alone--the friends of his early life forgotten, wiped out as though they had never been; but what matter since it made him more entirely hers?

Each day brought Philippa its draught of Love's elixir, and she drank it lingeringly, unwilling to lose a drop. And in some curious way the potion wrought a change in her. She adopted a new personality. It was not that of Phil--the Phil she had undertaken to represent, for she would have had recollections of old days to linger over with him--but a new Phil, reborn in a wonderful present, with no past because he could not share it, and with a future veiled in half-fearful, wholly delicious mystery.

To-day, the glorious Now, was his and hers, they were together on the hill where Hope stands smiling, and if, somewhere below that dizzy alt.i.tude, there was a valley where Memory lurked, she could not see it for the rainbow clouds of joy that wrapped her round.

Francis had walked to the uncurtained window and was standing looking out, and after a while his voice broke in upon her thoughts.

"Come and look at the sunset, sweetheart."

The sky behind the clump of tall elms was tinged with tenderest rose, and here and there wisps of greyish-purple cloud were floating across the glow. All was very calm, very still, the silence broken only by the low notes of the birds who sung their vesper hymn. Side by side they watched the shadows creep softly over a drowsy earth.

"A sleeping world--a world of dreams," Francis said gently. "You and I in a beautiful world of dreams."

She made no answer, and after a minute he added, "To-morrow it will wake. Must we wake too, dear love?"

"Oh no," she cried quickly. "Why do you say that?"

"Somewhere out there," he continued thoughtfully, "there is a world of action. I wonder if it will call to us?"

"If it calls we will not listen."

"I have lost count of much, I think. I seem to have lived long in dreamland. Perhaps it is because I still feel weak, that at times illusive, intangible thoughts come into my mind. I cannot hold them.

When I try to grasp them they are gone. It is rather a horrid feeling, not to be able to master your own thoughts. There is so much that I have forgotten--so much that seems blank. But, thank G.o.d, I have still my memory of you. All through my illness you were the anchor to which I clung when everything else drifted away from me."

It had become such a habit with Philippa to speak the word which would turn him from any effort to remember, that she did it now almost unconsciously. It was never very difficult, for he was only too ready to follow any lead she gave him towards the subject of their contentment in each other, or the safe topic of the existing moment.

"Do not try to remember, dearest. Think only that we are together."

She felt his arm go round her and she leaned towards him.

"You are my life," he said earnestly, "and nothing matters when you are beside me. I think I have reason to be grateful to the long hours when I was weak and ill. They have taught me what you really are--an angel of tenderness and patience. It was a dark time, my darling, but the remembrance only intensifies the present joy."

"Ah, yes," she repeated softly; "the present joy."

"And a future to be glorified by our love lies all before us. What is a little weakness of body when weighed against all the precious possessions which are mine?"

He held her closer until her head was resting on his breast. It seemed to Philippa then that life could hold no moment more charged with utter bliss than this--she and the man she loved, together in a vast encircling peace.

CHAPTER XX

BITTER-SWEET

"Full from the fount of love's delicious joys Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings."--BYRON.

The low carriage jolted over the deep ruts left by the carts which had carried the bracken the previous autumn, as the stout pony threw himself into the collar with a will. On either side of the narrow lane were high, sandy banks, riddled with rabbit-holes and crowned with a tangle of brambles and briars. The leaves were just beginning to turn, and the hips and haws had already clothed themselves in their winter finery, and shone in flaming scarlet against the blue sky overhead.

There was a pleasant coolness in the air, and the birds twittered merrily in tune with Nature's cheerful mood.

Francis was in excellent spirits, and Philippa, noticing the unwonted colour in his cheeks, told herself that she had never seen him look so well, and that surely the journey to the Magical Island might soon be undertaken.

They were paying the long-talked-of visit to Bessmoor, and Philippa, who had before now explored most of the roads near Bessacre, had chosen this unfrequented lane in preference to the usual road which led through the village; partly because of its beauty, and partly because she had no wish that they should meet Isabella Vernon, who so often walked upon the upper part of the moor.

She had seen her on the preceding day, and had given her a full account of the invalid, but she did not intend that he should be confronted by an old acquaintance if it could possibly be avoided. It was, of course, possible that he would not recognise her, but safer to run no risks.

Slowly they climbed the incline, the pony slipping and stumbling as the sand crumbled away from under his feet.

"It is a hard pull for the poor old thing," said Philippa penitently; "I ought not to have come this way."

"We'll give him a rest when we get to the top. It won't hurt him, but it makes me feel as if I ought to get out and walk."

"You ought to do no such thing," she retorted quickly. "The very idea is preposterous."

Francis laughed at her vehemence. "You need not think that you are going to pamper me like this for the rest of my life. We shall be taking long walks together, you and I, very soon. Oh, it is a joy to be alive on such a day as this. Look at that rabbit scuttling away up the lane. It reminds me----" He stopped and hesitated "I can't remember--but I seem to---- Oh, drive on, Phil. Yes,"--he spoke excitedly,--"it is coming back to me now--that tree and that gate."

They had reached the top of the hill where the lane ended at the edge of the moor. There was a crooked oak-tree standing on the right at the junction of two banks which divided some cultivated land from the heath, and under the tree was a gate, broken from its hinges and lying half upon the ground.

"Phil, darling, this is the place. I know now why you brought me here.

It was so dear of you to think of it." He laid his hand on hers, and then lowered his voice as the groom who had been walking behind the carriage came forward to the pony's head. "Hang the man!" he said boyishly, "let him wait here while we go on a little further. I want to talk to you. Oh, I can see you now. We had been walking up the field. It was planted with turnips, and a rabbit ran out just here.

Then--oh, sweetheart, I am glad to have remembered. It is one more memory of you. It was the happiest day of my life. You had on a scarlet cap. I wish you had put it on to-day--I always loved you in it."

A little chill of some inexplicable feeling ran through Philippa. It was not dismay, for he had often alluded to some detail of Phil's appearance which he recalled. She had never failed to satisfy him with some light answer--she could not make it out. However, it was gone in a moment, and she listened again to what he was saying.

"Don't think me silly, darling, but I had waited so long for you.

Surely you like to remember it too--the day you gave yourself to me. I had given you my heart long before, and you have it still. Oh, I am glad to have seen this place again."