Philippa explained, and for a moment a hope shot through Marion"s mind that this woman might succeed where she had failed.
"What does she think of it all?" she asked rather nervously.
"She entirely agrees with me, because--you see--she has loved Francis all her life, and she only thinks of him."
Marion sighed with disappointment. If that was the case any appeal for interference from that quarter was useless.
"She would come if I wanted her," continued Philippa, "and I see her fairly constantly." And with that Marion was forced to be content.
As she journeyed back again that evening her thoughts hovered anxiously between her child in his weakness and her friend in her mistaken contentment. If only it were possible to divide herself, she thought piteously, between these two who both needed her so much! But, after all, did Philippa need her? Not consciously, certainly, and yet Marion told herself miserably that things would never have tangled themselves into this knot if she had been at Bessacre. She could not leave d.i.c.kie, for even his father could not satisfy him for any length of time. It was his mother he clung to in the weariness of convalescence, and it was out of the question to move him yet.
There was nothing to do but to let things take their course. For a moment she had an idea of sending her husband home, but after all what could Bill do? There was not much chance of his being able to persuade Philippa where she had failed, and, indeed, Bill had already made one effort in that direction, and was by no means over-anxious to undertake a second attempt to stem the torrent of a woman"s will.
CHAPTER XIX
HALCYON DAYS
"Love keeps his revels where there are but twain."--_Venus and Adonis_.
Even Dr. Gale, who constantly preached caution lest strength should be over-taxed, could find no fault with Francis" progress during these halcyon days of happiness.
There was a wide terrace on the sunny side of the house, just below his rooms, and there, whenever the weather permitted, he and Philippa would spend the warmest morning hours.
Francis was carried down-stairs in obedience to the doctor"s orders, but once on the level he was allowed to walk a little. Leaning on her arm he was able to accomplish the length of the house, but that had up to the present been all that he had been equal to.
On two or three occasions they had driven in a low four-wheeled pony-chaise for half-an-hour or so, but they had not yet ventured beyond the confines of the park.
Francis had expressed no surprise at anything he had seen, indeed he had not appeared to notice any particular details, but he had repeatedly spoken of his delight in being out of doors again, and had said that he was looking forward to the day when he should see Bessmoor again.
During the early afternoon he rested, and she joined him again later, to spend the remainder of the day with him in his sitting-room, which now held for her so many a.s.sociations.
There had been a time when she had wondered what they would find to talk about, what line of conversation could be pursued with one whose mentality was bounded by such extraordinary limitations; whose outlook was that of a man, with a man"s rational intelligence and consciousness, hampered by the retrospective knowledge of a little child.
For the first few days of their companionship she had indeed known moments of perplexity, moments during which she had racked her brain for a suitable remark, a new idea to interest him; for talk is difficult between new acquaintances when such matters as politics, literature and current events are taboo, and personalities are to be avoided; but since her mental att.i.tude towards him had changed and love had taken possession of her, this embarra.s.sment had vanished.
Two people in the first fine rapture of mutual affection do not, presumably, discuss any of the weighty matters which occupy the attention of ordinary individuals, nor, it is safe to say, would their conversation be of the smallest interest to any one but themselves. It is possible that lovers spend a certain portion of their time in a silence more expressive than words; for the rest, let those who have been in a similar situation fill in the blanks--experience will have taught them understanding.
That Francis realised his condition to some degree was evident, for he occasionally asked for enlightenment on a point he did not understand; also he would sometimes be puzzled over the meanings of words. He would use one without thinking, and then hesitate, in doubt as to whether it was the right one to convey his meaning. He would treat the matter lightly, making a joke of it, but would be obviously relieved when Philippa a.s.sured him that it was correct. And it was almost invariably correct, for it seemed that although his memory failed him, he drew unknowingly upon a subconscious power which worked independently--a store of knowledge which existed in his brain, but of which he had mislaid the key.
She was reading to him one day, a light story from a magazine, which described an act of gallantry on the part of the soldier hero, and ended in his death. It concluded with a sentence in which the expression "facing fearful odds" was used. When she finished reading Francis said suddenly--
""And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds For the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his G.o.ds?""
She looked up to meet the utter bewilderment in his eyes. "Where on earth did I get that from?" he asked with a little laugh. "I seem to know the words."
She recited as much of the original poem as she could remember, and he seemed interested for the moment, but apparently paid little heed to this odd trick of his memory.
Nor had Philippa thought further of it. If she had not been so entirely engrossed in love, to the blinding of her reasoning power and common sense, she would have appreciated the episode at its true value, for it was important, in that it proved that Dr. Gale had been right when he had suggested that under the cloud which shadowed so much, there was a force at work which they could not measure.
The quotation in itself was nothing, a mere tag of poetry as familiar to every schoolboy as his ABC, but if the timely mention of it was a sign that the cloud was dispersing further, what would be the next train of thought to emerge from darkness and oblivion? Had Philippa been more vigilant the occurrence would undoubtedly have afforded her food for reflection.
There came at length an afternoon when for his amus.e.m.e.nt she described a place which they should visit together, which should be for them both a garden of enchantment; and lest he should wonder at her intimate knowledge of a land which possibly her namesake had never seen, she painted it in fanciful poetic words, leaving him uncertain whether she was drawing entirely on her imagination or not.
There was, as a matter of fact, a villa on the sh.o.r.e of Lake Maggiore which she had seen the previous year, and which had impressed itself upon her memory as being the loveliest spot earth could show--a veritable dreamland--and when she had turned her mind to the task of finding some retreat, hidden safely from the eyes of curious pa.s.sers-by, and possessing all the necessary qualifications of climate and comfort, it had at once struck her as the very place she sought.
She had laid her plans with eager care, no detail for his well-being should be forgotten. It only now remained that she should receive a reply in the affirmative to her letter of inquiry as to whether the house was available.
Francis was sitting beside her watching the smiles come and go on her expressive face as she grew more and more interested in her theme.
"Go on, dearest," he said, as she paused. "Tell me some more about your paradise."
"There is a terrace in front of it where lilies and oleanders grow and roses riot over an old stone wall, and the air is rich with the scent of them. At one end is a tall cypress-tree, and the sunlight touches the stem of it until it shines like fire against the green darkness of its boughs. On the worn old stone pavement white pigeons strut and preen themselves, puffing out their chests with the most absurd air of self-satisfaction. There are steps down from the terrace, and at the bottom there is a great bed of carnations, red and white and yellow, and their fragrance meets you like a wall of perfume as you pa.s.s."
"There should be violets," he interrupted. "Where are your violets?
You could not be happy without them."
"Oh, of course there are violets," agreed Philippa, "ma.s.ses of them, but I am not at all sure that they flower at the same time as the roses and lilies and carnations. I don"t know much about gardening. Well, you walk down the pathway into a grove of olive-trees--a shimmer of pale silvery green, a sort of dim aisle in fairyland--until you come to the water"s edge. There is an old stone seat, and you can just sit and look and look and drink it all in. No, not the water--the view, I mean. Blue water, brilliant heavenly blue, and far away in the distance a line of hills, faint and yet clear under a sky that is---- Oh, I don"t know how to describe it. It is ridiculous to say it is blue. You must try and imagine it for yourself. And I think--oh yes, I am sure--there would be just a gleam of snowy whiteness on the top of the hills."
"I don"t believe you have ever seen it," said Francis teasingly. "You are making it all up as you go along."
"Perhaps I am," she replied. "But I am sure I know where to find it."
"Then we will go and look for this Magical Island, sweetheart. It is an island, I suppose? How do we reach it? In a fairy boat drawn by swans?"
"Not quite. But it is fairyland when we get there."
"When shall we start, my darling? Phil, how soon can we go?"
"We must wait a little while."
"But need we wait for long?" he pleaded. "How soon will you marry me?"
"There is a long journey to the Magical Island--a long journey. But in a few weeks perhaps we can begin to think about it."
He leaned towards her. "A few weeks! and I count the days until you are really mine. How soon do you think Rob will let me travel?"
"I don"t know. Let us ask him."
He nodded. "I will ask him. And then--you will not keep me waiting?"
"I will not keep you waiting," she said soberly.
He kissed her fondly, and then rose to his feet and stood looking down at her as she stretched out her hand and drew a thread from the pile of silks which lay on a table beside her.