"As you are going to carry this through," he said after a while, "I will give you some letters and papers I have, which may help you. I will fetch them." He returned after a few minutes with a dispatch box in his hand, which he laid on a table beside her. "In this you will find Philippa Harford's letters, and also a number written by Francis when they were engaged. You had better read them. You have a right to do so. My grandmother put them all together and gave them to me. Poor old soul, I wonder what she would say if she were here to-day. I have no doubt she would see the matter in the same light as you do. What I should like to know is this: How much has Francis known of all that has passed in the last twenty years? Has he any notion of time? Has he noticed the alteration in people's appearance, I mean? Has he noticed that they have grown older? People he has seen constantly like Robert Gale and old Goodman. Does he know his mother is dead? Has he missed her? Oh, there are half-a-hundred things one wants to know." "We can only hope that he will never ask," returned Philippa gently. "It will be much happier for him if he takes everything just as it is, and doesn't puzzle over anything. The doctor tells me he is not fit to talk very much--that he must be kept absolutely quiet. I am only to go and sit with him, and not to talk more than I can help. Will you give my best love to Marion, and do not let her worry about anything here? She has so much to trouble her as it is. I do hope you will be able to give me better news soon." "Let me know if you want me, or if there is any change," he said as they parted. "I will come at any time." Philippa spent the afternoon in her own room with the dispatch-box by her side, going systematically through the contents. These consisted of two packets of letters, one very small, merely some half-dozen in all, tied round with a faded piece of pink ribbon--Phil's letters to Francis. The other a thick bundle held together by a piece of red tape--his letters to her. A small cardboard box containing a ring--a half-hoop of diamonds--a glove, and a bunch of violets faded and dry almost beyond recognition, yet faintly fragrant. A pitiful collection truly, telling plainly of a love story of other days.