I'd held my tongue!"

Henry Roberts was silent. Philippa's
share in John Fenn's mysterious
illness removed it still further from that
revelation, waited for during all these
years with such passionate patience.
He paid no attention to William King's
reassurances; and his silence was so
silencing that by and by the doctor
stopped talking and looked down into
the garden again. He observed that
those two heads had not drawn any
nearer together. It was not John Fenn's
fault....

"There can be no good reason," he
was saying to Philippa. "If it is a bad
reason, I will overcome it! Tell me why?"

She put her hand up to her lips and
trembled.

"Come," he said; "it is my due,
Philippa. I WILL know!"

Philippa shook her head. He took
her other hand and stroked it, as one
might stroke a child's hand to comfort
and encourage it.