SIN
in connection with that child. I wish I'd held my tongue!"

Henry Roberts was silent. Philippa's share in John Fenn's mysterious
illness removed it still further from that revelation, waited for
during all these years with such passionate patience. He paid no
attention to William King's reassurances; and his silence was so
silencing that by and by the doctor stopped talking and looked down
into the garden again. He observed that those two heads had not drawn
any nearer together. It was not John Fenn's fault....

"There can be no good reason," he was saying to Philippa. "If it is a
bad reason, I will overcome it! Tell me why?"

She put her hand up to her lips and trembled.

"Come," he said; "it is my due, Philippa. I WILL know!"

Philippa shook her head. He took her other hand and stroked it, as one
might stroke a child's hand to comfort and encourage it.

"You must tell me, beloved," he said. Philippa looked at him with
scared eyes; then, suddenly pulling her hands from his and turning
away, she covered her face and burst into uncontrollable sobbing. He,
confounded and frightened, followed her and tried to soothe her.

"Never mind, Philly, never mind! if you don't want to tell me--"

"I do want to tell you. I will tell you! You will despise me. But I
will tell you. I DID A WICKED DEED. It was this very plant-here,
where we stand, monk's-hood! It was poison. I didn't know--oh, I
didn't know. The book said monk's-hood--it was a mistake. But I did a
wicked deed. I tried to kill you--"

She swayed as she spoke, and then seemed to sink down and down, until
she lay, a forlorn little heap, at his feet. For one dreadful moment
he thought she had lost her senses. He tried to lift her, saying, with
agitation:

"Philly! We will not speak of it--"

"I murdered you," she whispered. "I put the charm into your tea, to
make you... love me. You didn't die. But it was murder. I meant--I
meant no harm--"

He understood. He lifted her up and held her in his arms. Up on the
porch William King saw that the two heads were close together!

"Why!" the young man said. "Why--but Philly! You loved me!"

"What difference does that make?" she said, heavily.

"It makes much difference to me," he answered; he put his hand on her
soft hair and tried to press her head down again on his shoulder. But
she drew away.

"No; no."

"But--" he began. She interrupted him.

"Listen," she said; and then, sometim