Part 27 (2/2)

”Yes, Isabella. Does she still live here?”

”Yes; she lives here.”

Then as they pulled up at the door he added, ”Will you fetch her? Will you bring her to me, please? I want to see her.”

”Certainly she shall come, dear, if you want her.”

Ford came to the door in answer to the bell, and Francis descended.

Philippa was about to follow him, when he stopped her. ”Will you go and fetch her? Will you go now?”

”Won't you let me stay with you? I will send for her.”

”No,” he interrupted. ”Please go and bring her--as quickly as you can.”

”If you really wish it,” she stammered, ”I will go.” She did not know Francis in this strange mood. ”But may I not come and see you safely up-stairs first?”

”I wish it. I shall be all right. Please go.” He spoke kindly but quite decidedly.

Philippa made one more effort.

”Let me at least stay until Keen comes to you.” But he replied with a gesture which showed her further argument was useless, and she obeyed him without another word.

Ford had meanwhile gone in search of Keen and the carrying-chair, so that when Francis entered he was quite alone. He did not pause, but walked straight across the hall and up the stairs.

When Keen, who had been reading the local paper over a quiet pipe in the kitchen yard, arrived in all haste in answer to the summons, he failed at first to find his master, but then he saw him and hurried to his side.

Francis was standing at the head of the staircase as though he had stayed to rest a moment, and his eyes were fixed on a picture on the wall. He paid no heed to his servant's murmur of regret that he should not have been at hand when needed--he did not seem to hear. Then his lips moved. ”Poor Rip!” he said, almost under his breath. ”I know--now--what you must have felt--and I pity you----”

Keen, quite uncomprehending, followed the direction of his glance, and remarked with polite jocularity--

”Looks as if he wanted a new suit of clothes rather badly, sir; doesn't he, sir?”

Francis raised his head, and took the man's proffered arm; and as they moved away he said slowly--

”I think, Keen, that it was more than a suit of clothes he wanted--something much more than that.”

CHAPTER XXII

FRIENDs.h.i.+P

”Where are they now--the friends I loved so well?

My outstretched hands clutch only empty air!

I call on those who loved me--Like a knell The silence echoes to my question--Where?”

Isabella was sitting in her favourite place, a writing-board on her knees, a pen in her hand. On a low table beside her lay a pile of ma.n.u.script and several books, but the sheet of paper in front of her was blank. She had intended to work, but for once her mind refused to centre itself upon the task in hand. It was not often that she allowed her thoughts to tempt her to idleness, for experience had taught her that they were apt to lead far away from the straight grey road of the Actual into the shadowy realms of Might-Have-Been, and along paths paved with pain and bordered with regret.

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