necessary had never been given to
her in her life. There were no loving words, no looks of pleasure, no
affectionate caresses, lavished upon her. If the Lady Joan lost her
temper (no rare occurrence), or the Lady Alesia her appetite, or the
Lady Mary her sleep, the whole household was disturbed; but what
Philippa suffered never disturbed nor concerned any one but herself. To
these, her half-sisters, she formed a kind of humble companion, a
superior maid-of-all-work. All day long she heard and obeyed the
commands of the three young ladies; all day long she was bidden, "Come
here", "Go there", "Do this", "Fetch that." And Philippa came, and
went, and fetched, and did as she was told. Just now she was off duty.
Their Ladyships were gone out hawking with the Earl and Countess, and
would not, in all probability, return for some hours.

And what was Philippa doing, as she sat gazing dreamily from the
casement of her turret-chamber--hers, only because nobody else liked the
room? Her eyes were fixed earnestly on one little spot of ground, a few
feet from the castle gate; and her soul was wandering backward nineteen
years, recalling the one scene which stood out vividly, the earliest of
memory's pictures--a picture without text to explain it--before which,
and after which, came blanks with no recollection to fill them. She saw
herself lifted underneath a woman's veil--clasped earnestly in a woman's
arms,--gazing in baby wonder up into a woman's face--a wan white face,
with dark, expressive, fervent eyes, in which a whole volume of agony
and love was written. She never knew who that woman was. Indeed, she
sometimes wondered whether it were really a remembrance, or only a
picture drawn by her own imagination. But there it was always, deep
down in the heart's recesses, only waiting to be called on, and to come.
Whoever this mysterious woman were, it was some one who had loved her--
her, Philippa, whom no one ever loved. For Alina, who had died in her
childhood, she scarcely recollected at all. And at the very core of the
unseen, unknown heart of this quiet, undemonstrative girl, there lay one
intense, earnest, passionate longing for love. If but one of her
father's hawks or hounds would have looked brighter at her coming, she
thought it would have satisfied her. For she had learned, long years
ere this, that to her father himself, or to the Lady Alianora, or to her
half-brothers and sisters, she must never look for an