CHAPTER V
Next morning brought Phyl a letter. It came by the early post, so that she got it in her bedroom before coming down.
Phyl had few correspondents and she looked at the envelope curiously before opening it.
| “Miss Berknowles, at Vernons. Charleston.” |
ran the address written in a large, boyish, yet individual hand. She knew at once and by instinct whom it was from.
“I’m coming to Charleston in a day or two, and I want to see you,” ran the letter which had neither address nor date, “but I’m not coming to Pinckneys. I’ll be about town and sure to find you somewhere. I can’t get you out of my mind since last night. Tried to, but can’t.”
That was all. Phyl put the letter back in its envelope. She was not angry, she was disturbed. There was an assurance about Silas Grangerson daunting in its simplicity and directness. Something that raised opposition to him in her heart, yet paralysed it. Instinct told her to avoid him, to drive him from her mind, ay and something more than instinct. The spirit of Vernons, the calm sweet soul of the place, that seemed to hold the past and the present, Juliet and herself, peace and happiness with the promise of all good things in the future, this spirit rose up against Silas Grangerson as though he were the antagonist to happiness and peace, Juliet and herself, the present and the past.
Rose up, without prevailing entirely.
Silas had impressed himself upon her mind in such a manner that she could not free herself from the impression. Young as she was, with the terribly clear perception of the male character which all women possess in different degrees, she recognised that Silas was dangerous to that logical and equitable state of existence we call happiness, not on account of his wildness or his eccentricities, but because of some want inherent in his nature, something that spoke vaguely in his words and his actions, in his handsome face and in his careless and graceful manner.