with a passion deferred for more than
thirty years: "The VOICE!" But behold,
the voice, babbling and meaningless, was
nothing but sickness. No one could
guess what the shock of that
disappointment was. He was not able even
to speak of it. So Philippa was asked
no awkward questions, and her
self-knowledge burned deep into her heart.

In the next few days, while the minister
was slowly recovering in the great
four-poster in Henry Roberts's guest-room,
she listened to Hannah's speculations
as to the cause of his attack, and
expressed no opinion. She was dumb
when John Fenn tried to tell her how
grateful he was to her for that terrible
run through the darkness for his sake.

"You should not be grateful," she
said, at last, in a whisper.

But he was grateful; and, furthermore,
he was very happy in those days
of slow recovery. The fact was that
that night, when he had been so near
death, he had heard Philippa, in his first
dim moments of returning consciousness,
stammering out those distracted