Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
PhilippaBy Mrs MolesworthIllustrations by J. FinnemorePublished by J.B. Lipincott Company, Philadelphia.This edition dated 1896.
Philippa, by Mrs Molesworth.
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________________________________________________________________________PHILIPPA, BY MRS MOLESWORTH.
CHAPTER ONE.
GOOD-BYES.
Autumn--scarcely late autumn yet--and the day had been mild. But as theafternoon wore on towards evening, there came the chilliness and earlygloom inevitable at the fall of the year--accompanied, to those who aresensitive to such things, by the indescribable touch of melancholy neverpresent in the same way at other seasons.
Philippa Raynsworth shivered slightly, though half-unconscious that shedid so, and turned towards the shelter of the friendly porch just at herside. As she moved, a hand was laid on her shoulder.
"Come in, you silly girl," said its owner. "Do you want to catch cold?"
Philippa had been watching the gradual disappearance of a carriage downthe long drive, till a turn in the road suddenly hid it altogether.Others had been watching it too, but she was standing somewhat aloof--she had no special interest in the departing guests; she had never seenthem till to-day, and might very probably never see them again. Butsomething nevertheless had impressed her--the kind of day, the approachof the gloaming, the evening scents from the garden, the little shybreeze that murmured and grew silent again--there was a plaintiveharmony in it all, and even the prosaic, measured sound of the horses'feet, growing fainter and fainter, and the carriage receding from sightwhile the "good-byes" still seemed hovering about, all fitted in. Shedid not seek to define what it reminded her of, or what feelings itawakened in her. It was just a scene--a passing impression, or possiblya lasting one. There is never any accounting for the permanence ofcertain spots in our experience--why some entirely trivial incident orsensation should remain indented on our memory for ever; while otherswhich we would fain recall, some which it seems extraordinary that weshould ever be able to forget, fade as if they had never been--who cansay?
"I was just coming in," Philippa replied, with a slight sense of feelingashamed of herself. She hated any approach to what she called"affectation," and she glanced quickly to where the little group hadstood but a moment before. It had dispersed. There was no one to beseen but her cousin Maida and herself, and with a sense of reliefPhilippa stopped again.
"Wait a moment, Maida," she said. "There is really no danger ofcatching cold, and it is nice out here. It will feel hot and _indoors_in the drawing-room, with the tea still about and the talking. Let usstay here just for a moment and watch the evening creeping in. _You_understand the feeling I mean, I'm sure?"
Miss Lermont did not at once reply. She was older than Philippa--agreat deal older she would have said herself, and in some ways it wouldhave been true, though not in all. She had suffered much in her life,which, after all, had not been a very long one, for she was barelythirty; she had suffered more, probably, than any one realised, and--even a harder trial--she knew that she would have to suffer a great dealmore still, if she lived. All this, the remembrance of suffering past,and to some extent still present, and the anticipation, in itself anadditional present suffering, of what was yet to come, had made her oldbefore her time. Yet it had kept her young, too, by its intensificationof her power of sympathy. It is not all sufferers who acquire thispeculiar sympathy, nor is it the only good gift to be gained by passingthrough the fire. But Maida Lermont's sympathy was remarkable. It wasnot solely or even principally for physical suffering, though to all butthe few who knew her well, physical suffering only had been _her_ fire.
"She has a happy nature," most people would say of her, "though, ofcourse, she has had a great deal to bear. I really don't think any oneso constitutionally cheerful is as much to be pitied as nervous patientsor _very_ sensitive people. There are, no doubt, some who feel painmuch more than others. And then the Lermonts are rich. She haseverything she wants."
How little they knew! Maida was _not_ "constitutionally cheerful"--theworst side, by far the worst, of her suffering had been to her, hervivid consciousness of the wreck it might make of her altogether--mind,heart, and soul.
But she had conquered, and more than conquered. She had emerged fromher trial not only chastened, but marvellously lifted and widened.Intellect and spirit had risen to a higher place, and the rare anddelightful power of her sympathy knew no limits. It unlocked doors toher as if she were the possessor of a magic key. Philippa was rightwhen she turned to her cousin with the words "you understand."
"Yes," she said, after her momentary delay--a delay spent in gazingbefore her with her young cousin's words in her ears. "Yes--it isfascinating to get inside nature, as it were, sometimes--to feel it all.I love to watch the evening coming, as you say, and I love to watch thedawn creeping up--even more, I think. That has fallen to my lot oftenerthan to yours, I hope, Philippa." She smiled as she spoke, so hercousin was not afraid to laugh softly.
"I am generally fast asleep at that time, I must confess. But even if Iwere awake, I should not care for it as much as for evening. And to-dayit all seemed of a piece. You know it is my last evening here--and Iheard you all saying good-bye to those people who have just gone, andLady Mary's voice sounded so silvery when she called back `good-night'for the last time. Don't you think, Maida, that there is _always_something pathetic, if we stopped to think about it, in farewells, evenif we expect to meet again quite soon? One never can be _sure_ that agood-bye may not be a real good-bye."
"Yes, I have often felt that. And the real good-byes, as you call them,are so seldom known to be such. Last times are not often thought to belast times--strangely seldom, indeed."
"And yet there must be a last time to _everything_," said Philippa,"even to the most commonplace little details of life."
They were silent for a moment or two.
Then said Miss Lermont:
"I hope you will come back to us soon again, dear; I should like you tosee more of the neighbourhood and the neighbours."
"I like what I _have_ seen of both," said Philippa. "Lady Mary is adear little thing."
"All the Bertrands are pleasant, kindly people," Maida replied. "Theyare happy people, and allow that they are so. It is refreshing nowadayswhen so many are either peculiarly unhappy, or determined to thinkthemselves so. By-the-by, what a very silent man that friend of CaptainBertrand's is. Mr Gresham, I mean."
"I scarcely spoke to him," said Philippa, adding, with a laugh, "but hecertainly scarcely spoke to me, so I have no reason for disagreeing withyou."
"Very silent people are almost worse than very talkative ones," saidMaida. "I suppose you are a very lively party at home, now, with Evelynand the children."
"Fairly so. Evey fusses a little, but she is always sweet, and we lovehaving them. We shall miss them terribly when Duke comes home and theygo to him, though I suppose it would be selfish not to be glad when hedoes. _I_ shall miss them almost the most of all."
"They keep you pretty busy, I daresay."
"Ye-es, but not too busy. I am so thankful not to be one of those poorgirls who can't find anything to do. There is no doubt about what _I_have to do. But things are much clearer than they were, now that papais better. And when Charlie is at home for good, they will be easierstill."
"We shall have you crying for work to do then," said Maida, smiling.
But Philippa shook her head.
"I don't think so," she said.
Miss Lermont turned to go in.
"Come, Philippa; we really shall catch, cold if we stay out herelonger," and Philippa followed her into the house.
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"How few people understand each other!" thought the elder woman, as shewent across the hall and down the wide passage to the drawing-room."Nobody, to see her as she commonly is, would think that Philippa hadthose undertones in her character--that tenderness and sensitivenessthat come out now and then. She seems just a very charming girl--brightand energetic, and full of humour."
And two minutes later, when Maida was resting on her sofa again, andheard Philippa's voice in spite of her reluctance to return to the"talking," one of the liveliest in the family party, and noticed herquick tactful readiness to suit herself to whatever was going on, thecontrast with the dreamy girl who had stood gazing at the darkening skyoutside, responsive to every whisper of Nature's evening prayer, struckher even