“Kill me—kill me, O God!” she wailed. “Kill me, for I am not fit to live!”
But she was spared.
After a time she found strength to rise. She seemed surprised to find that the room was in darkness. She struck a light, and in a few minutes a dozen candles were flaring round the walls; and then she went mechanically to close the window. One side she had just fastened when it seemed to her that she heard the sound of voices approaching. She listened, her head bent forward through the side of the window that remained unclosed.
Yes, their voices were sounding clearly through the still night—his voice and—what trick was being played upon her by her hearing? Phyllis’ voice? How could it be Phyllis’ voice? Phyllis had returned to London. Oh, it was some trick! Her nerves were playing some trick upon her—they were out of order, they were beyond her control. Phyllis’ voice——Great Heavens! it was Phyllis herself who was walking through the garden by his side!
Ella stood at the open side of the window staring out at them. They stood at the foot of the half dozen steps that lead up to the window. Phyllis laughed,—was there a trace of mockery in her laugh?—but he was silent.
“I don’t wonder at your fancying that I am a ghost, Ella,” cried the girl. “I feel that I deserve to be treated as discourteously as most poor ghosts are treated when they visit their friends. You never yet heard of a ghost being asked to stay to dinner, did you, Mr. Courtland? But a ghost may fairly claim to be asked to enter the house of her dearest friend, especially after a double railway journey.”
Ella had not moved from her place at the open space of the window while Phyllis was speaking, but the moment that the girl’s laugh sounded, she too laughed. She ran down the steps and put her arms about Phyllis, kissing her on the face.
“This is more than the most exacting of ghosts could reasonable look for,” cried Phyllis. “Oh, Ella! I’m so glad that I followed my own impulse and came back to you. I thought you were here all alone—how could I know that Mr. Courtland would return in the meantime to complete his visit?—and when I looked out on the dust and the smoke of the town and thought of this—this—this exquisite stillness,—you can just hear the water of the weir,—this garden, this scent of roses, but chiefly when I thought of you sitting in your loneliness——Well, is it any wonder that I am here now?—you implored of me to stay, you know, Ella.”
“It is no wonder indeed, being what you are—a good angel, my good angel, Phyllis,” cried the woman. “Oh, dearest, you are welcome! Why did you leave me Phyllis? Why did you leave me? Oh, the good angels can never be trusted. You should not have left me to myself, dear. I am only a woman. Ah, you don’t yet know what a woman is. That is the worst of angels and men; they don’t know what a woman is. Come into the house, Phyllis. Come in, Herbert. How did you manage to meet?”
“You know I went out to the garden——” said the man.