East of the Shadows Part 26

At the bottom of the large sheet of notepaper was a postscript--"I am longing to know whether you are coming to us for the winter. We should simply love to have you. Do answer, dearest, because I want to make all sorts of arrangements and cannot settle anything until I know."

Philippa searched her address-book until she found what she wanted, and wrote out a telegram and gave it to the butler for dispatch. Then she returned to the writing-table and took up her pen, but she did not commence to write.

It was clearly high time that her mother should be told of her engagement, and of the fact that she was shortly going to be married; it was unkind to leave her in ignorance, and yet Philippa could not bring herself to write the news. It was so difficult to explain, and she knew the volley of questions which would descend upon her. It was even possible that Lady Lawson would come flying to England in order to a.s.sist at the ceremony, which was the last thing her daughter desired.

All she wished for was that she and Francis might be married as quietly and as privately as possible--she intended to settle the details with Marion and her husband when they came--and then slip away to the Magical Island. Once there she could take hold of life with her two hands and mould it to her will.

She gave a little sigh as she thought of it, for now that she had awaked from her dreams into a world of realities she saw the future in a different light; but she was quite determined, she was going to wrest happiness--her own happiness and that of the man she loved--from the hands of fate. She was going straight forward. Never again would she allow herself a backward glance, lest the recollection of the glamour she had known weakened her with vain longings for what had been a dream. It had been a dream. She knew that now, but in the future she might find herself dreaming it again and know it true; for dreams do sometimes come true.

She gave up the attempt at last--it was impossible to write fully to her mother to-day. She would keep her precious secret a little longer.

To tell it to Lady Lawson was to blazon it out to the world at large, and that was more than she could bear.

She joined Francis after a while and found him looking better than on the previous evening. He declared himself perfectly well, and suggested that they should go for their drive as soon as possible.

"I am afraid it is still raining," she answered, going to the window; "but I can see a patch of blue sky, and the clouds are lifting a little. We shall have to wait until after luncheon."

"It rained very heavily in the night," said Francis.

"Did it disturb you? I hope not. Old Goodie told me you had had a good night."

"So I did, dearest, but I heard the rain nevertheless. I am afraid I was rather dull and stupid last evening. I am sorry."

"You were not dull and stupid, but I think you were tired."

He nodded. "My head felt rather tired. I found it difficult to collect my thoughts, and it worried me rather. Darling," he continued, coming closer to her, "forgive me if I am a nuisance sometimes, but--my memory is all wrong still--it must be, for so much seems strange to me.

It seems as if there were blanks I cannot account for. But you are the same; and you will never change, will you?"

And Philippa answered him with all her heart: "I love you and I shall never change."

He put his arm round her and kissed her fondly. "That satisfies me--I want no more than that; and I will try and follow your advice and give up thinking."

"I wish you could. It would be better for you. And now let us settle down to a quiet morning, so that you will be quite rested and ready to go out if it is fine this afternoon."

"If the queen commands," he answered, with a little jesting smile.

"The order shall be reversed this morning. You shall listen while I take a turn at reading."

A timely breeze sprang up about noon, and the sun, after wasting some time in playing an aggravating game of hide-and-seek behind the s.h.i.+fting ma.s.ses of grey cloud, decided to come boldly out, to the great joy of the small birds who hopped on the lawn where the water hung like diamonds on every blade of gra.s.s. The sparrows chirruped with satisfaction as they pecked about for their midday meal, and the stout thrushes tugged at succulent worms which had poked their misguided heads through the soft damp earth regardless of probable and dire consequences.

In the swaying branches of the tree-tops the rooks used strong language--or it sounded like it--as they balanced themselves with clumsy ease and strove to straighten their ruffled plumage under circ.u.mstances which made toilet operations far from easy. The rabbits in the park popped their heads out of their holes and sniffed the air in an inquiring manner, as much as to say, "Is it safe to venture out?"

and then, coming to the conclusion that it was, had a short quick scamper to stretch themselves after their slumbers.

The air was moist and fragrant as Philippa and Francis walked out of the front door to find the pony-carriage waiting for them.

"It is going to be a lovely afternoon," he said. "I want to drive in that direction to-day,"--he indicated it with his hand. "We haven't been there yet, and I know it leads to the village."

"Oh, do let us go up on the moor," said Philippa quickly.

"I want particularly to go to the village," he said in a low voice.

"Do let us go there, darling. I want to see if I remember it."

At this moment Ford stepped forward. "Your telegram has come back, miss," he said. "The one you sent this morning. The woman at the post-office doesn't understand where it is to go to, and she can't read this word."

"What is it?" asked Francis, who had heard the man speaking.

"It is a telegram I sent this morning to--a friend in Russia, and there seems to be some muddle at the post-office about it."

"We will drive there, and then you can go in and explain it yourself."

He stepped into the carriage as he spoke, and Keen arranged the rug over his knees.

Philippa hesitated. She did not want Francis to go into the village, and yet, since he himself had suggested it, it was difficult to find a good reason for opposing him.

"What is it about?" he asked again.

"Oh, it isn't of any great importance. It is only an address that some one asked me to send. It can quite well wait. I can attend to it when I come in."

"But why not take it? It won't take long."

"I will take it myself, miss, if you wish," said Ford, "if you will tell me the spelling of this word."

Philippa spelt it--"Nevskiy."

"No, no," interrupted Francis. "Come along. We'll do it ourselves."

There was a little impatience in his voice, and he was evidently tired of waiting, so she resigned herself to the inevitable and took her place at his side.

Francis chatted quite happily of unimportant matters as the pony trotted sedately down the drive, and when they reached the old red-brick lodge, Philippa wondered rather nervously whether the sight of it would draw any comment from him; but no--he only looked about him with quick, interested glance, as if wishful to see something familiar.

They turned to the left and entered the straggling village street, where quaint thatched-roofed cottages stood on either side. One or two little children were playing on the footpath, but other wise no one was to be seen, for the elder ones were at school, and most of the mothers had gone for their weekly visit to Renwick, for it was market day.

The pony slowed to a walk as the road mounted an incline, and after a few minutes they came in sight of the church, which stood on rather higher ground, with its square tower and grey flint walls wreathed in ivy. It was approached from the road by a flight of worn stone steps surmounted by a lych-gate, through which could be seen a flagged pathway leading to the church door.

"No," said Francis, in a tone of disappointment, "I do not remember it.

I hoped I should. However," he added almost instantly, "we won't worry over anything to-day, but just enjoy our drive."

It seemed to Philippa that he had discovered that allusions to his lack of memory troubled her, for more than once that day he had checked himself and changed the subject, as though he did not wish to distress her, and she was thankful for it.

"It is very pretty, isn't it? The post-office is just opposite the church, and when we leave there we can drive straight on until we come to Bessmoor. You would like that, wouldn't you? You love the moor."

"Yes," he responded quickly; "I love it. Let us do that, by all means.

The clouds have nearly all blown away, and it ought to be lovely to-day."

She pulled up at the cottage which served as post-office and general emporium of the village, and was in the act of handing the telegram to the groom when Francis stopped her.

"Why not take it yourself?" he said; "it will prevent any more muddle.

There is no hurry I shall be quite happy sitting here."

She looked at him in surprise, for he had never shown himself so practical as to-day, but there seemed no reason why she should not leave him, so with a word of a.s.sent she got down and entered the door.