h was just coming into
blossom, for the blooming time of the bell heather was over.

There was a buoyancy and freshness in the air doubly welcome after the
sultry depression which was in tune with Philippa's mood--in tune with
the exhilaration of spirit of which she was conscious. The clouds had
passed--the sun was shining--away with gloomy forebodings--Francis was
really better. And having schooled herself to live only in the present
and take no thought for the morrow, she was able to say, with no slight
feeling of contentment, that all was well.

She had not seen Isabella Vernon since the day she had visited her
cottage, and she had decided that since Francis had forbidden her
presence in the house, she would spend the day with the woman whom she
was beginning to call her friend.

She had thought a good deal of Isabella since their last meeting, and
in some curious fashion her thoughts had brought her more intimately
near. There seemed to be no particular reason why this should be so,
for Philippa was not in the habit of tumbling into friendship; but in
the long hours which she had spent beside Francis' bedside, Isabella
had been constantly in her mind. Was it, perhaps, because she had been
so closely connected with the past of the man, that past which was so
inextricably fused with the present? Was it of that past that Isabella
had spoken when she had emphatically repeated, "I do not want to
forget!" And if this was so---- She could not tell. All she knew was
that in some mysterious way it had become quite clear to her that
Isabella had come into her life, and had come to stay.

CHAPTER XIII

THREADS

"Of little threads our life is spun,
And he spins ill who misses one."

Philippa's first feeling when she gained the open moor and saw the low
bushes which had been their last meeting-place, was one of acute
disappointment, for Isabella was not there. She had confidently
expected to find her waiting and had not paused to consider whether her
hope was reasonable or not. For a moment she fancied that perhaps she
had mistaken the place; but no, all around the grass was trampled down,
and some shreds of torn paper proved to her that she was right.

She mounted a little hillock and scanned the road as far as she could
see, but no one was in sight. There was evidently nothing for it but
to make her way to the cottage. It was a long walk, but after all that
did not matter as it was still early