“I could not go, my dear Phyllis,” said she, “without telling you that I know Herbert Courtland will come to you.”
“No!” said Phyllis. “He will not come to me. He has been with me. He is now gone.”
“Gone? That would be impossible!” cried Ella. “You would not send him away. He told you that he loved you.”
“Yes, he told me that.”
“And yet you sent him away? Oh, Phyllis, you would not break my heart. I know that you love him.”
“Do I?”
“You do love him. Oh, my Phyllis, I told him months ago that it was the dearest wish of my heart to see you married to him. At that time he laughed. Oh, it is horrible to me to recall now how he laughed. Shall I ever forget that terrible dream? But now he loves you. I know it. What! you think him unworthy of you because of—of that dream which was upon us? Phyllis, don’t forget that he fought with the sin and overcame it. How? Ah! you know how. He overcame the passion that is of earth by the love that is of heaven. It was his pure love for you that gave him the victory. Why should you send him away?”
“He knows. He understands. He is gone.”
“But I do not understand.”
She held Phyllis’ hand and looked into her face. She gave a sudden start—a little start.