"And now," asked the older woman, gently, "are you glad or sorry?" "Sorry!" she cried. "Sorry! How could I be sorry? I am glad." "You welcome love?" "I welcome it. It is so wonderful--so beautiful----" "Love brings suffering." "I am not afraid of suffering--for myself--only for him. If suffering comes, it can never take from me the joy I have known." "The price of love is heavy." "No matter the price, I will pay it gladly." There was no mistaking the gladness and the courage which rang in the words. "Poor child! poor child!" said Isabella softly. "Do not pity me. There is no need for pity," she said earnestly. "Isabella--if I lost him--to-morrow--still, I have known--but he is not going to die, he is going to live." "The doctor thinks so?" "Yes; he says there is no reason why he should not live out his allotted span of life--those were his words." Isabella did not speak--she was thinking only of Francis, and not at all of the girl beside her. Which was best for him? Would it not be kinder, happier, if he died now before he knew? Her face was very grave and sad; so much so, indeed, that Philippa repeated the words she had spoken, "He will not die. And I have promised to marry him." "The difficulties are enormous." The words broke from Isabella half against her will. Of what use to speak of difficulties to the girl whose mind refused to acknowledge the existence of any? "I have planned it all," continued Philippa, without heeding Isabella's words. "We shall be married and go straight abroad. It would not be good for him to be in England for the winter. He needs brightness and warmth and sunshine, and I shall take him to some quiet place where he can have them--where there is no one he has ever known before, to disturb him, or make him worry because he does not remember." "Do you think he tries to remember?" "I do not know. He certainly remembers something of the past. I mentioned your name to him the other day, and he replied quite naturally and quite calmly, 'Dear old Isabella! she was always a good friend.' So you see he does remember." A painful flush rose in Isabella's sallow cheeks, but she said no word. Was this the message she had waited for so long? Casual words repeated with a cruelty that was quite unconscious on Philippa's part. She too was thinking only of Francis, and not at all of this woman who had loved him in silence for so long. But with the wound comfort came to Isabella in the knowledge of the meed of praise the words contained. It was something to know that Francis remembered her, and more to know that he recalled her as a good friend. What more could she expect? Then, taking her love and her longing with both hands, she laid them a sacrifice before the welfare of the man she loved, and made the renunciation of her one hope without a quiver in her voice.