Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 702. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ to him for its homeliness. She had, I found, arranged to give up her own room for his use, and share Lilian's. But he explained that he was going back to an hotel in town, having arranged to stay there for the present.

      'I am afraid I shall very frequently trespass upon your kindness nevertheless, Mrs Tipper. You will only get rid of me by giving up Mary, now.'

      At which Lilian laughingly replied, that would be paying too dearly for getting rid of him. 'The better way would be to put up with you, for Mary's sake, and so secure you both.'

      In truth, Lilian was a great deal more cheerful, I might say merry, than I had seen her for many a long day, in her unselfish rejoicing over my happiness. And the sweet, girlish, modest freedom – the freedom which is so diametrically opposite to fastness – of her manner with Philip, was so pleasant to witness! It was the kind of playfulness which is so charming in a sister towards an elder brother, and which so well became her.

      When at length Philip was obliged to take his departure, in order to catch the last up-train from Graybrook, he bade me, in the matter-of-course way which seems so delightful in those we love: 'Come out and set me on my way, Mary; just as far as the stile, if you feel rested enough.'

      Yes; of course I felt rested enough. I went out with him into the starlit lanes, walking silently on by his side, happy in the belief that his thoughts also were too deep for words. How could words express my proud humility – the deep tender joy – the love half-afraid of its own strength which I felt! Would he ever know the heights and depths of my love? Would a lifetime be long enough to express it? With it all, I was conscious of a shyness and awkwardness of manner, born of the indescribable feeling which accompanies, and gives a tinge of pathos to, great happiness in some minds. What was I, to be so blessed? What other women find their ideal fall short of the reality, as I was doing? Noble and true as I knew him to be, I had not hitherto, I think, sufficiently appreciated the geniality of Philip's temperament and his keen sense of humour. I do not know whether it was more noticeable in contrast with Robert Wentworth, who certainly impressed one with the idea that he was older than he was; whilst Philip seemed younger than his age. His fine physique too. How very handsome he was, in the best way, and how grandly careless about it! The most cynical observer could not have detected the slightest trace of conceit or self-consciousness in his tone or bearing. In fine, his was the rare combination of physical and mental power. Whilst he possessed the gaieté de cœur almost of a boy, an appeal to his intellect would call forth the cool vigorous reasoning of a well-informed thinker.

      He had won his way to wealth by dint of intelligence, persistence, and temperate living, in a climate which gives some excuse for, if it does not foster, all kinds of excess, and returned strong in mind and body to reap the fruits of his labour. Moreover, he had not been tempted to continue accumulating wealth for its own sake, nor acquired the huxtering spirit which self-made men so frequently do acquire.

      'I think I must not go any farther, Philip,' I said, as we reached the stile. 'You have only to cross the two fields, and turn to the right when you get into the road – that leads direct to the station.'

      For a moment he made no reply, and something, I hardly knew what, brought vividly back to my mind the remembrance of another who had stood there on such a night as this, silent beneath the stars – a remembrance which struck upon my happiness as might a sudden sword-thrust upon an enraptured dreamer.

      He gathered my hands into his own, and looking down into my face, said in a low earnest voice: 'There can be no necessity for delay between you and me, Mary. When will you let me take you away from here?'

      'Take me away from here?' I repeated, rather startled by the suddenness of the proposal.

      'I mean, when will you marry me, Mary?'

      'We will talk about that by-and-by,' I replied, overwhelmed with happiness again, yet afraid lest I might shew it more plainly than it is womanly to do if I said more.

      'Why should there be any delay between you and me? I – beg of you not to make any unnecessary delay, Mary. You ought to have been my wife long ago. I know you would prefer a quiet wedding, and – afterwards – wouldn't you like to travel a few months before settling down? You used to have a fancy for seeing some of the old continental towns.'

      I could only whisper that it would be very delightful – with him – lowering my head until my cheek rested upon his hand. Then to keep my reeling senses firm, I looked up into his face and made a little attempt at a jest about his not knowing me when first we met.

      'Only for a second,' he replied. And even in that light I could see that his colour was heightened. He looked pained too; and I certainly had not meant to pain him. Amongst my failings was not that of the desire to be always trying little wiles to test those I love, as we women are sometimes accused of doing. I had used the words solely in jest and to steady myself.

      'Only for a second,' he repeated; adding gently, 'and we will soon have you blooming again, Mary.'

      Blooming again! I caught in my breath with a little half-sob. Then making a strong effort, telling myself that I must and would behave better than a love-sick hysterical girl, I lightly replied: 'What if my blooming days are over, Philip?'

      He bent lower down, to get a better look into my face, as he said: 'Nonsense! What makes you talk in that strain? It is not fair to me.' Then he added more gravely: 'You have always told me that your friends here are real ones, Mary; and they seem to be very much attached to you. It was very pleasant to hear them talk of you in your absence.'

      'They are everything and more than I have described them to be, Philip. Mrs Tipper has been like a dear old mother to me; and Lilian – the best and truest thing I can say about Lilian is, that she is what she looks. No one could be mistaken about Lilian. Hers is the kind of loveliness which takes its expression from the mind.'

      'Yes; it is just that. The fellow who could not appreciate her deserves to lose her.' I had given him an account of Lilian's troubles in my letters; indeed he was well acquainted with all that was connected with my life at Fairview. 'I only regret that I was not in England at the time. I suppose it is too late now for' —

      'It is too late for any kind of intervention now; but if vengeance is in your thoughts, you may rest content. It will be, I think, quite punishment enough to be the husband of the girl he has married, with the remembrance of Lilian. He certainly loved Lilian.'

      'Ah, that is something! When were they married?'

      'About three weeks ago,' I told him. And then we got talking over the Farrar history, until the chiming of a distant clock reminded us that he had but twenty minutes in which to reach the railway station, in order to catch the last up-train.

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