Part 24 (1/2)
”How industrious you are. Time was when you never touched a needle, and now you are always at work.”
”I am developing good habits, that is all. There is no saying what I shall take to next; you must never be surprised.”
”I know the cause, and I love you for it.”
”What is the cause?”
”You only do it because you are obliged to spend so much time indoors with me. You don't acknowledge it because you are so dear and sweet, but I know well enough all you have given up for me.”
”Wait until we get to the Magical Island where it is always warm. We can be out there together all day long.”
”Just you and I together?”
”Just you and I together,” she repeated; ”unless you want any one else.”
”I want nothing and no one in the world but only you.”
A little thrill ran through her at the thought of his utter dependence on her, for she was literally his whole world.
He stood, but for her, absolutely isolated, absolutely alone--the friends of his early life forgotten, wiped out as though they had never been; but what matter since it made him more entirely hers?
Each day brought Philippa its draught of Love's elixir, and she drank it lingeringly, unwilling to lose a drop. And in some curious way the potion wrought a change in her. She adopted a new personality. It was not that of Phil--the Phil she had undertaken to represent, for she would have had recollections of old days to linger over with him--but a new Phil, reborn in a wonderful present, with no past because he could not share it, and with a future veiled in half-fearful, wholly delicious mystery.
To-day, the glorious Now, was his and hers, they were together on the hill where Hope stands smiling, and if, somewhere below that dizzy alt.i.tude, there was a valley where Memory lurked, she could not see it for the rainbow clouds of joy that wrapped her round.
Francis had walked to the uncurtained window and was standing looking out, and after a while his voice broke in upon her thoughts.
”Come and look at the sunset, sweetheart.”
The sky behind the clump of tall elms was tinged with tenderest rose, and here and there wisps of greyish-purple cloud were floating across the glow. All was very calm, very still, the silence broken only by the low notes of the birds who sung their vesper hymn. Side by side they watched the shadows creep softly over a drowsy earth.
”A sleeping world--a world of dreams,” Francis said gently. ”You and I in a beautiful world of dreams.”
She made no answer, and after a minute he added, ”To-morrow it will wake. Must we wake too, dear love?”
”Oh no,” she cried quickly. ”Why do you say that?”
”Somewhere out there,” he continued thoughtfully, ”there is a world of action. I wonder if it will call to us?”
”If it calls we will not listen.”
”I have lost count of much, I think. I seem to have lived long in dreamland. Perhaps it is because I still feel weak, that at times illusive, intangible thoughts come into my mind. I cannot hold them.
When I try to grasp them they are gone. It is rather a horrid feeling, not to be able to master your own thoughts. There is so much that I have forgotten--so much that seems blank. But, thank G.o.d, I have still my memory of you. All through my illness you were the anchor to which I clung when everything else drifted away from me.”
It had become such a habit with Philippa to speak the word which would turn him from any effort to remember, that she did it now almost unconsciously. It was never very difficult, for he was only too ready to follow any lead she gave him towards the subject of their contentment in each other, or the safe topic of the existing moment.
”Do not try to remember, dearest. Think only that we are together.”
She felt his arm go round her and she leaned towards him.