Part 23 (2/2)

The quotation in itself was nothing, a mere tag of poetry as familiar to every schoolboy as his ABC, but if the timely mention of it was a sign that the cloud was dispersing further, what would be the next train of thought to emerge from darkness and oblivion? Had Philippa been more vigilant the occurrence would undoubtedly have afforded her food for reflection.

There came at length an afternoon when for his amus.e.m.e.nt she described a place which they should visit together, which should be for them both a garden of enchantment; and lest he should wonder at her intimate knowledge of a land which possibly her namesake had never seen, she painted it in fanciful poetic words, leaving him uncertain whether she was drawing entirely on her imagination or not.

There was, as a matter of fact, a villa on the sh.o.r.e of Lake Maggiore which she had seen the previous year, and which had impressed itself upon her memory as being the loveliest spot earth could show--a veritable dreamland--and when she had turned her mind to the task of finding some retreat, hidden safely from the eyes of curious pa.s.sers-by, and possessing all the necessary qualifications of climate and comfort, it had at once struck her as the very place she sought.

She had laid her plans with eager care, no detail for his well-being should be forgotten. It only now remained that she should receive a reply in the affirmative to her letter of inquiry as to whether the house was available.

Francis was sitting beside her watching the smiles come and go on her expressive face as she grew more and more interested in her theme.

”Go on, dearest,” he said, as she paused. ”Tell me some more about your paradise.”

”There is a terrace in front of it where lilies and oleanders grow and roses riot over an old stone wall, and the air is rich with the scent of them. At one end is a tall cypress-tree, and the sunlight touches the stem of it until it s.h.i.+nes like fire against the green darkness of its boughs. On the worn old stone pavement white pigeons strut and preen themselves, puffing out their chests with the most absurd air of self-satisfaction. There are steps down from the terrace, and at the bottom there is a great bed of carnations, red and white and yellow, and their fragrance meets you like a wall of perfume as you pa.s.s.”

”There should be violets,” he interrupted. ”Where are your violets?

You could not be happy without them.”

”Oh, of course there are violets,” agreed Philippa, ”ma.s.ses of them, but I am not at all sure that they flower at the same time as the roses and lilies and carnations. I don't know much about gardening. Well, you walk down the pathway into a grove of olive-trees--a s.h.i.+mmer of pale silvery green, a sort of dim aisle in fairyland--until you come to the water's edge. There is an old stone seat, and you can just sit and look and look and drink it all in. No, not the water--the view, I mean. Blue water, brilliant heavenly blue, and far away in the distance a line of hills, faint and yet clear under a sky that is---- Oh, I don't know how to describe it. It is ridiculous to say it is blue. You must try and imagine it for yourself. And I think--oh yes, I am sure--there would be just a gleam of snowy whiteness on the top of the hills.”

”I don't believe you have ever seen it,” said Francis teasingly. ”You are making it all up as you go along.”

”Perhaps I am,” she replied. ”But I am sure I know where to find it.”

”Then we will go and look for this Magical Island, sweetheart. It is an island, I suppose? How do we reach it? In a fairy boat drawn by swans?”

”Not quite. But it is fairyland when we get there.”

”When shall we start, my darling? Phil, how soon can we go?”

”We must wait a little while.”

”But need we wait for long?” he pleaded. ”How soon will you marry me?”

”There is a long journey to the Magical Island--a long journey. But in a few weeks perhaps we can begin to think about it.”

He leaned towards her. ”A few weeks! and I count the days until you are really mine. How soon do you think Rob will let me travel?”

”I don't know. Let us ask him.”

He nodded. ”I will ask him. And then--you will not keep me waiting?”

”I will not keep you waiting,” she said soberly.

He kissed her fondly, and then rose to his feet and stood looking down at her as she stretched out her hand and drew a thread from the pile of silks which lay on a table beside her.

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