University of Virginia Library

37. CHAPTER XXXVII.

Consideration for Philippa induced Jason to write
a note to Mr. Ritchings to inform him that he was going
on a tour to the West for his health. He also told
Mrs. Rogers, who significantly remarked that his plan
was a very good one. In a day or two he was gone,
without sounding a note of preparation, with no leave-taking,
no instructions—unless giving Philippa his
office-key might be considered in the light of an instruction.
He had no destination, but stopped by chance,
as he had done more than twenty years before, at a
town hundreds of miles from Crest, whose name he had
never heard—new enough to have a perspective of aboriginal
forest, from which the panther and the wild-cat,
the inhabitants said, had scarcely retreated. Here he
sought repose, but did not find it. He must go farther,
he concluded, and resumed his journey. His health and
strength came back, but he was restless and miserable;
the roots of his existence tugged him backwards, and
he retraced his steps slowly, contesting every inch of
the way with resolutions, to be put in practice at the
stopping-place before him! Within fifty miles of Crest
he had reached the spot favorable for reflection concerning
the future, giving his resolutions, for the present,
the go-by; but his reflections did not get beyond the
starting-point, which was, “If I go back to her—”

He bought a fishing-rod, and went up to the trout

streams among the hills, where he passed many hours a
day in not catching fish. In the evenings he practised
writing with his left hand, and chose for copy letters to
Philippa, which he tore up as soon as he saw “Jason
Auster” written at the end.

At the time of his departure Philippa made resolutions
also, which were better kept; she determined to
live as if all she was ever to possess could be contained
in the limits of each day. Too much time had been
wasted in expectation and preparation for events which
had never taken place, and now never would. Her
years had glided away in getting ready for happiness;
happiness must be left out in her plan. She thought of
all the old maids she had known with property—there
were several scattered over the area of Crest—and she
remembered them as cheerful, hard-headed women, with
few amusements and a good deal of business. Then
she thought of the widows of her acquaintance—Elsa
was one, and she would apply to her for information.

“What is the nature of your feelings from day to
day?” she asked her.

“Lord a mercy, Philippa, which way is the cat jumping
now?”

“I mean, have you any happiness without a particular
object to live for?”

“Object?—You mean Bowen. He was an object.
As for happiness, I haven't thought about it; but I
will, and let you know my conclusion immediately.”

“No matter, don't think: if you do, I know the conclusion
you will come to.”

Elsa screamed with laughter, and told her she was

just cutting her eye-teeth; eye-teeth meant that all was
vanity of vanities.

Strong-minded as Philippa thought she must be, she
felt a great reluctance to approach any thing like business;
but the time came when she was obliged to turn
the key of Jason's office. It seemed to her, as she
looked over his books and papers, as if he had for a
long time expected to be called suddenly away. Instead
of pursuing her new calling, she cried, and went
home with a headache.

About this time Jason wrote a letter, which he posted.
It contained a few words, so strangely and tremulously
written, that Philippa's heart felt a pang at the
sight of them.

“I am coming back,” he wrote, “to ask your forgiveness
a second time.”

“I have received a letter from Jason,” she said to
Elsa; “he will be home soon.”

“What did he go away for? Just for the sake of
turning round and coming back? Where is the letter
from?”

Philippa, ashamed to tell the post-mark, held the envelope
before her; when she spelt the name of the town
so near them, she looked at Philippa and said, “I always
knew that Jason Auster was a fool.”

But Philippa saw that she was glad.

“Mind you,” she continued, discovering that her joy
was detected, “I approve of his coming back, because
it is respectable to have a man about who goes by the
name of the `head of the family;' Jason never had any
thing more than the title—”

“Being a fool,” interrupted Philippa.

“And I think it is a pity,” she went on, “that somebody
shouldn't take care of you—you poor, lone girl,
that never was befriended in your life.”

Tears, rare visitors, dimmed her glasses, but Philippa
could not share them; she patted her, walked round the
table on tiptoe, and finally put her fingers in the dough
Elsa was preparing, and rubbed it in her wrinkles, to
smooth her old face.

A sentiment not to be accounted for, led Philippa at
dusk to the unfrequented parlor. The air there was
tranquil and lifeless, as it is in uninhabited rooms. She
paced the soft carpet; the dry odor of its undisturbed
dust floated in the air, and strangely reminded her of
flowers.

“If Theresa Bond were in my place,” she thought,
“she would have filled the vases here with flowers;
`the rose of expectancy' would be visible everywhere.”

She took up the vases on the mantel-shelf and looked
into them. One had some dried leaves in it; she shook
them out on the carpet, thinking they were green when
Parke was there; he might have gathered them, for he
had a way of bringing flowers into the house, and
placing them in vases, books, on the floor, on the piano.
The piano—when had that been opened? She raised
the cover, and struck the keys with fingers that brought
out a wandering, wailing discord.

A heavy hand was laid on her shoulder, which brought
it to an end.

“Jason,” she said gently, without turning round.

“Yes, I have just arrived. Why are you in this
room? Did I hear the lament of the damned?”

He sighed, and she turned quickly towards him. His

arm was still in a sling. Before he comprehended what
she was doing, she took the sling from his neck, put it
round her own, and slipped his arm through it again.

“My burden,” she said, “that I love.”

He enclosed her with his other arm.

“And my protection, that I love better.”

“It is enough,” he answered.