Poppea of the Post-Office

by Mabel Osgood Wright

"Philip—he? Philip, my brother! Oh, God, have mercy and forgive me. I had not thought of him," and Poppea crouched by the table, burying her face in her hands.

Quietly and firmly Stephen Latimer raised her. Leading her to his chair, he pointed again to the papers; then, saying, "Jeanne and I will be in the room below; if you wish either of us, knock on the floor," he left the room, closing the door behind him.

At intervals during the afternoon there was a sound of rapid footsteps overhead, as though Poppea was pacing the floor, but all else was silent. It was almost supper-time when they heard steps upon the stairs, and Poppea came slowly into the sitting room, the papers gathered into a bundle in her arms.

Jeanne went to her, clasped her arms about her neck and kissed her; she then slipped out, saying she would hurry tea and that Poppea must stay to take the meal with them.

When Poppea, having wrapped her bundle in the light shawl she had brought, came toward him, Latimer was again surprised at the change in her whole bearing. Passion and tension had alike disappeared from her face, and though she was pale and her eyelids showed traces of tears, the eyes were clear and calm. When she spoke, there was no uncertainty or vacillation in her tone, but a quiet resolve that seemed as though it should have come through the experience and self-control of years instead of a single afternoon.

"Jeanne is very good, but I think I would best go home now; there are several things that I must do to-night."

"What are they, Poppea? I should think that you would need to rest first of all. Stay with us now, and after supper we will walk home with you."

"If you will do that, I will wait, for then you will stop and tell it all to Daddy while I do—the other thing. Oh nothing, nothing you could do would help more than telling Daddy, Mr. Latimer, for I think it will be easier for him as it was for me to hear it from you. I only wish this had not happened while he is here, now he must know; yet after all, what he thinks will be the only difference it can make."

"What is the other thing, my child, that you must do to-night?" Latimer persisted.

"Go up to see John Angus and show him these," and from her loose blouse she pulled three papers, the certificate of her birth, baptism, and the sealed letter.