Well, to-day, if she had the opportunity, she would break the silence--she would speak of Francis and tell Isabella of his marvellous recovery. And then she realised that her own position might be a little difficult to explain. It would not be an easy story to tell to this woman if she loved him; but if Philippa was correct in her surmise, and she had now little doubt on that score, surely Isabella had a right to know the truth.
How different things would have been if Francis had loved Isabella; for most certainly she would never have been a fair-weather friend. But first she must have proof, and that should not be hard to obtain. There would be some sign when his name was spoken--some intonation in the woman's voice, even if she did not speak openly, which would reveal her secret now that Philippa was ready to notice and to understand.
The girl came at last to the turning which led to the little green, and then she saw Isabella approaching. She was walking, just as she had walked on that first afternoon, with her eyes on the ground, lost in thought, and it was not until she was within a few yards of Philippa that she glanced up and saw her. And then there was no doubt that absence had done much the same for them both, for when they met, they met as friends. The look of welcome, even of affection, was unmistakable on the older woman's face.
"Ah!" she said, as she put her arm through Philippa's and fell into step with her; "I am a little late this morning. I am sorry, for you have had a lonely walk. I was beginning to wonder whether I should ever see you again!"
"I was quite absurdly disappointed not to see you under the thorn bush," said Philippa, smiling. "Although why I should imagine that you must spend your days there I do not know."
"You are not far out," was the answer. "I have been there every day."
"I could not come. It was not possible sooner."
"You have come at last, and that is enough for me," said Isabella. "Come home and rest. Bessmoor is looking rather weepy but very beautiful, smiling after tears like a pretty child."
"You surely did not wait for me in all the wet weather we have been having?"
"Oh, we don't think much of a drop or two of rain in these parts," replied Isabella lightly; "nor, as you may notice, is my costume likely to be affected by the damp," she added, laughing, as she pointed to the high waterproof boots and the serviceable mackintosh she wore. "I think we shall have some more rain, but we shall soon be under shelter now. Look at that wonderful cloud rising from the sea. It is like a monstrous eagle waiting to swoop. The clouds here are always wonderful. Often I sit and fancy I can see strange mysterious countries passing like a fairy cinematograph before my eyes. Sometimes great ranges of snow mountains with deep purple shadows on them, as if the cold grey rock which formed them showed through where the snow had melted; and then they shift and fade and the scene changes. Perhaps it may be next a broad and sunlit river that I see--far, far away in the distance, with a vista of amethystine hills crowned with waving palm-trees; and then I think I can smell the spice-laden breezes of the East. Or again, it may be a wide plain like some vast camp of gleaming white tents under an azure sky--the camp of the old Crusaders,--with here and there a banner waving, and I can almost catch a glimpse of the walls of Ascalon, or Acre the beleaguered city. People talk about seeing pictures in the fire! No fire ever lighted can show me such pictures as I see over Bessmoor, and no castles in Spain or Eldorado were ever quite so perfect as mine built all of cloud. But here we are, arrived at last, and here is a comfortable chair for you. I am going to fetch you a glass of milk before we settle down to our chat. Oh yes, you must have it," she insisted as Philippa demurred. "Mrs. Palling has gone out for the day, so we shall be all alone."