Dawn

  We left Hilda stretched on her face sobbing. But the fit did not lastlong. She rose, and flung open the window; she seemed stifled for wantof air. Then she sat down to think what she should do. Vanish andleave no trace? No; not yet. Appear and claim her place? No; not yet.The time was not ripe for choice between these two extremes. UpbraidPhilip with his faithlessness? No; not without proofs. What did thathateful letter say? "Wait and watch;" yes, that was what she would do.But she could not wait here; she felt as though she must go somewhere,get some change of scene, or she should break down. She had heard Mrs.Jacobs speak of a village not more than two hours from London that aconvalescent lodger of hers had visited and found charming. She wouldgo there for a week, and watch the spring cast her mantle over theearth, and listen to the laughter of the brooks, and try to forget herburning love and jealousy, and just for that one week be happy as shewas when, as a little girl, she roamed all day through the woods ofher native Germany. Alas! she forgot that it is the heart and not thescene that makes happiness.

  That evening she wrote a note to her husband, saying that she feltthat change of air was necessary for her, and that she was going outof London for a few days, to some quiet place, from whence she wouldwrite to him. He must not, however, expect many letters, as she wantedcomplete rest.

  On the following morning she went; and, if the sweet spring air didnot bring peace to her mind, at any rate, it to a very great extentset up her in strength. She wrote but one letter during her absence,and that was to say that she should be back in London by midday on thefirst of May. This letter reached Philip on the morning of the greatdinner-party, and was either accidentally or on purpose sent withoutthe writer's address. On the morning of the first of May--that is, twodays after the dinner-party, which was given on the twenty-ninth ofApril--Hilda rose early, and commenced to pack her things with theassistance of a stout servant girl, who did all the odd jobs and agreat deal of the work in the old-fashioned farmhouse in which she wasstaying. Presently the cowboy came whistling up the little garden,bright with crocuses and tulips, that lay in front of the house, andknocked at the front door.

  "Lawks!" said the stout girl, in accents of deep surprise, as she drewher head in from the open lattice; "Jim's got a letter."

  "Perhaps it is for me," suggested Hilda, a little nervously; she hadgrown nervous about the post of late. "Will you go and see?"

  The letter was for her, in the handwriting of Mrs. Jacobs. She openedit; it contained another addressed in the character the sight of whichmade her feel sick and faint. She could not trust herself to read itin the presence of the girl.

  "Sally," she said, "I feel rather faint; I shall lie down a little. Iwill ring for you presently."

  Sally retired, and she opened her letter.

  Fifteen minutes after the girl received her summons. She found Hildavery pale, and with a curious look upon her face.

  "I hope you're better, mum," she said, for she was a kind-heartedgirl.

  "Better--ah, yes! thank you, Sally; I am cured, quite cured; butplease be quick with the things, for I shall leave by the nine o'clocktrain."