She was reading to him one day, a light story from a magazine, which described an act of gallantry on the part of the soldier hero, and ended in his death. It concluded with a sentence in which the expression "facing fearful odds" was used. When she finished reading Francis said suddenly—
'"And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds
For the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods?'"
She looked up to meet the utter bewilderment in his eyes. "Where on earth did I get that from?" he asked with a little laugh. "I seem to know the words."
She recited as much of the original poem as she could remember, and he seemed interested for the moment, but apparently paid little heed to this odd trick of his memory.
Nor had Philippa thought further of it. If she had not been so entirely engrossed in love, to the blinding of her reasoning power and common sense, she would have appreciated the episode at its true value, for it was important, in that it proved that Dr. Gale had been right when he had suggested that under the cloud which shadowed so much, there was a force at work which they could not measure.
The quotation in itself was nothing, a mere tag of poetry as familiar to every schoolboy as his ABC, but if the timely mention of it was a sign that the cloud was dispersing further, what would be the next train of thought to emerge from darkness and oblivion? Had Philippa been more vigilant the occurrence would undoubtedly have afforded her food for reflection.
There came at length an afternoon when for his amusement she described a place which they should visit together, which should be for them both a garden of enchantment; and lest he should wonder at her intimate knowledge of a land which possibly her namesake had never seen, she painted it in fanciful poetic words, leaving him uncertain whether she was drawing entirely on her imagination or not.
There was, as a matter of fact, a villa on the shore of Lake Maggiore which she had seen the previous year, and which had impressed itself upon her memory as being the loveliest spot earth could show—a veritable dreamland—and when she had turned her mind to the task of finding some retreat, hidden safely from the eyes of curious passers-by, and possessing all the necessary qualifications of climate and comfort, it had at once struck her as the very place she sought.
She had laid her plans with eager care, no detail for his well-being should be forgotten. It only now remained that she should receive a reply in the affirmative to her letter of inquiry as to whether the house was available.
Francis was sitting beside her watching the smiles come and go on her expressive face as she grew more and more interested in her theme.