What would he wish her to do? Would he feel that some heritage of duty left undone was hers to accomplish, to fulfil? a point of honour as it were--pride of race insisting that there was a debt owing, which she was called upon to pay? Would he not in his affection for his friend be the first to echo the doctor's plea, "just a little happiness for all the years he has missed"?--the happiness which it seemed that she of all people was alone able to give.
She thought of the little brooch, "Your heart and mine,"--the only visible link which connected her father with the story at all. How had it come into his possession? Surely, if Phil had returned it with other tokens of her engagement, it must have fallen into Lady Louisa's hands. Had she perhaps overlooked it at first, and then, before she died, sent it to her brother--a mute appeal for forgiveness, a silent confession of regret? The explanation was conjectural, but it was possible. Philippa would have liked to know it true, for it would have been some comfort to her father.
She thought of old Jane Goodman, comforted by the certainty which seemed to the girl so entirely without foundation, that her mere presence would dispel all the trouble that had wrecked a life.
She tried to think consecutively, to argue fairly, weighing the matter judicially, noting all points, for and against, in the hope that by this means her decision might be rendered more simple, but it was impossible. Her thoughts would not be controlled, they wandered this way and that. At one moment she felt certain that she could not condemn a fellow-creature to distress if any action of hers could prevent it, the next she was tortured by the simple question of right and wrong: whether if she allowed Francis Heathcote to remain under his misapprehension as to her identity, it was not much the same thing as deliberate deception, a lie, in short? And yet, the truth was to him nothing more nor less than his death sentence. Could she be the one to push him back into the darkness from which she had all unwittingly rescued him?
"A little happiness for all the years he has missed--a little happiness until he dies." For a few hours, or perhaps weeks--who could tell?
Was it not an act of simple human charity she was called upon to perform? Could it not be considered something similar to acting as an understudy--continuing a rôle which had been left with some last lines unsaid by the principal actor? Why need she hesitate to respond to the urgent appeal for comfort and for help? "No brightness--only darkness, until you came. Ah, dear love! the shadows when you do not come! Phil! Dear love! At last!"