They sat for a long time hand in hand, each occupied with her own thoughts. Outside the rain dripped with a plaintive sound, but overhead the sparrows twittered cheerfully under the eaves. The clouds were drifting away to the west like some dark horde driven from the field by the shimmering spears of the sunlight which pierced them. A tender expanse of blue sky spoke a promise of fairer weather, a promise repeated by the satisfied hum of the bees who had once more ventured out to pursue their daily labours. The air was full of sweet scents--fragrant earth and fragrant blossom made all the sweeter by the cleansing shower. To Philippa in the fullness of her youthful strength and beauty there was something profoundly touching in the simple way in which Isabella had recounted the story of her life. There was a nobility in the confession. This woman--no longer young, with her grey hair and plain rugged features--stating quite honestly that all the love of her youth had been supported on ropes of gossamer, woven when she was at an age for dreams. What is the age for dreams? Ah, who can tell? Let us pray that to those who dream the awakening comes not too soon; and that when it comes, as in this world it must, they may preserve a measure of the dream radiance to light them to that greater awakening when all tears shall be wiped away. Isabella had made no appeal for sympathy, had not suggested that there was any room for pity. She did not wish to forget. Into Philippa's heart there crept a faint realisation of the infinite power and the infinite patience of a great love, and with it a longing, half wistful, half eager, that she too might one day know its thrall. Francis Heathcote had loved, and his love had survived years of darkness and longing, but there had been plighted vows and lovers' sweet delights to weld the chain of his affection; but Isabella had known none of these, and yet she had lived in Love's bondage--bound by ropes of gossamer. She was roused at last by her friend's voice. "You will need great courage," Isabella said thoughtfully. "Why shall I need courage?" the girl asked simply. When the reply came it was no answer to her question, for the older woman only repeated the doctor's words--"A little happiness for all that he has missed."