"But I cannot understand it," said Philippa. "I cannot understand any woman not coming to the man she loved, however crazed he was. He wanted her!"
"Ah, that was just it!" answered Mrs. Goodman sadly. "I knew it all along, but my lady would not believe it until she was forced to do so. She never loved him; and it was proved at last, for about six months later she wrote to my lady and said she considered herself free--that of course it was dreadfully sad, but that she could not spend her life engaged to a hopeless invalid. Just a month after that she was married."
"Married!" echoed Philippa.
"She ran away with some man her family didn't approve of. She never had a heart, hadn't Miss Philippa."
"Then why did she become engaged to Francis Heathcote--if she did not care about him?"
"Well, you see, he was rich and very handsome, and there were plenty of young ladies who would have been glad to marry him. He was madly in love with her!"
"Where was my father in those days? Do you know?"
"He was abroad somewhere. My lady wrote to him, beseeching him to try and get Miss Philippa to come back. That was soon after the accident. He came to England, but he couldn't do any good. I did hear he quarrelled with his sister over it, and wouldn't see her or speak to her again. He was so fond of Mr. Francis.
"It is an old story now." The old woman sighed deeply. "I little thought to speak of it again. My lady never named her, and I hated her too much to wish to speak of her. She condemned my boy to years of prison--aye, and worse than prison. Of course I hated her. Even when I heard that she had died a few years after her marriage the hatred didn't die. I couldn't help it. You can't help your feelings. But I never spoke of her. If you can't say good of the dead you had best say nothing. When I saw you last night I really thought it was her. God forgive me! I think there was murder in my old heart! But now--you have come--and he will be content."