The result of the night's meditation was a decision that the next advance toward reconciliation must come from Annette herself. Just as he was about starting for the office in the morning, Annette was driven up to the door. They looked at each other in silence. He lingered a moment to see if she had any explanations to offer, and she waited in the hall hoping that possibly he had repented of the odious conduct of yesterday and was willing to confess it. Silence is not always "golden;" the proverb is misleading. If he had but asked, "Why did you go away?" Or she had said some pleasant word! But, no; they passed each other in grim silence.
Another day of gloom and despair for both. This unwonted strain, added to the night's watching, brought upon Annette a nervous headache, so that by the time of Philip's return she could not raise her head. It was fortunate. But for this they might have gone on till happiness was wrecked. Annette, with spirited little head erect, sailing through the house, was to be considered somewhat differently from this one, her head on a pillow, racked with pain. No mother could have cared for her more tenderly and skillfully than Philip. Throwing his resentment to the winds, he administered to her for hours until she fell into a quiet sleep.
In the morning, with the pain all gone, explanations were in order. It was hard to tell which was the more astonished as the misunderstandings of each began to come out.
"And you did not go away to have revenge on me?" "And you did not send home all those onions just to tease me?" were some of the questions asked. Then the ludicrous side began to appear, and they laughed long and merrily.
"Whatever shall we do with all those onions?" queried Annette when she found her breath.
"We will make sweet fragrance to our names by means of them," said Philip. "We will send gifts to the poor—always of onions. We will become famous as philanthropists, and our eccentric charities will be the theme of succeeding generations. But, Nettie, I wish you would make a picture of some of those silvery-skinned onions. We will hang it up in the dining room, and it shall teach us wholesome lessons that nobody else can read but just us two. Shall teach me not to forget the 'small sweet courtesies of life.'"
"And shall teach me," said Annette humbly, "'that anger dwells in the bosom of fools.'"
"And that 'greater is he that ruleth his own spirit than he that taketh a city,'" added Philip.
"My darling," he said, as their lips met in the kiss of reconciliation, "let us never again misinterpret, misjudge, or lose faith in each other, whatever comes."