'Love pardons the unpardonable past.'--CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.
It is six o'clock. The tea things have been taken away, and the occupants of the little drawing-room are all apparently lazily enjoying themselves.
Mabel has the baby on her knee, her husband is dozing in an armchair, Jimmy is sitting half-in half-out of the window, Paul is reading, and Philippa is lying on the sofa.
'Lippa,' says Dalrymple, 'sing us something.'
'What would you like?' she answers, rising slowly.
She runs her fingers over the keys and then sings 'The Garden of Sleep.'
Paul closes his book as she begins, looking at her earnestly.
Why does she sing that song, so close as they are to the real spot; and why does it say 'the graves of dear women,' the only one he knows buried there is a little child. He rises abruptly as the song is finished, and passes through the French window into the garden. Philippa has begun something else. He pauses and listens.
'Why live when life is sad? Death only sweet.'
Ah! thinks he, that is exactly it. What good is life to me!
The evening sun floods with a golden haze the road before him; he walks on, the distant sound of the waves coming up from the sands, and almost unconsciously he sings in a low voice,
'Did they love as I love When they lived by the sea? Did they wait as I wait For the days that may be?'
And then, with a start he finds himself in 'The Garden of Sleep,' and just on the edge of the cliff, reaching over to pick some poppies is a child, a little girl with golden hair.
In an instant he is at her side, and without saying a word for fear of starting her, he catches her in his arms.
'Mummy, mummy, don't,' she cries, and then seeing that it is a stranger her anger is roused still more. 'Put me down, how dare lou touch me, me wants the flowers.'
'Now look here,' replies Paul. 'Do you know, you might have fallen over. It is very dangerous to go so near the edge. If I get you the flowers, promise me you will go away,'--no answer--so he puts her down, he picks the flowers, and gravely hands them to her.
'Sank lou,' she says, taking them in her little fat hand, 'sank lou, but I could have gottened them meself.'
Paul smiles, wondering who she reminds him of.
'Paul,' he replies, promptly, 'what is yours, and who are you with?'