I
never spoke of her. If you can't say good of the dead you had best say
nothing. When I saw you last night I really thought it was her. God
forgive me! I think there was murder in my old heart! But now--you
have come--and he will be content."

CHAPTER V

ISABELLA

"In life there are meetings which seem like a fate."--OWEN MEREDITH.

The sun was low upon the horizon, casting cool shadows across the
summer landscape, as Philippa walked out of the lodge gates the same
evening, and turned up the road which climbed the incline leading up on
to the moorland.

She had passed through many emotions in a short space of time, and she
craved for solitude--to be at peace to think over the extraordinary
events of the last few hours, and steady her mind, which seemed to be
whirling under the strain she had endured.

The day had been hot, but now a cool breeze, very refreshing to the
tired girl, was blowing in from the sea. She walked slowly along,
thinking deeply, and as she thought, gradually little points of light
shone out from the dim past, and played upon the story she had heard,
and which had touched her so profoundly. Little actions of her
father's--words which he had spoken, unheeded at the time, or at any
rate not understood, now seemed to acquire a new meaning. She had been
utterly ignorant of her aunt's existence, or if she had known her in
early childhood, she had lost all recollection of her. Her father had
never mentioned his sister.

One incident which had happened when she was about thirteen returned
very clearly to her memory. A young friend had come to spend the
afternoon with her, and as the two girls were playing in the
school-room Mr. Harford had come in, and had joined in their game. He
was always a delightful playmate, and they had welcomed him with glee.
The fun was at its height when Philippa's friend, in the excitement of
the moment, called to her, addressing her as Phil. Philippa well
recalled how her father had risen from his chair, and in a voice so
stern as to be utterly unlike his own, had said, "My daughter's name is
Philippa, and I must ask you never to address her again as you did just
now." The girl, taken aback and rather frightened at the displeasure
she had all unintentionally provoked, apologised instantly, and Mr.
Harford, realising that his rebuke must have seemed over severe for the
innocent offence, patted her on the shoulder and begged her to think no
more