"No, Philip," she cried, "you come too late. What! you think you have but to throw the handkerchief and I will run gladly to pick it up? You are willing to accept me now, because for some concealed reason of your own, I appear more desirable in your eyes, better worth the having, and so you read me a long monologue on your constancy and love, and my faithlessness and cruelty. But you forget to put in the finer shading to the picture, Philip; you forget the part _you_ played in our drama _à deux_; you forget how eagerly you snatched at the freedom I offered; you forget your harsh words, your rough manners, your imperious demands, your impatient flying to conclusions. You wilfully misunderstood me then, Philip, you wilfully misread a girl's most natural shrinking from the unknown and the untried, and put it down to heartless coquetry and deceit. Was it for me to set you right? Was I to plead my own cause? No, Philip, you have scorned me twice; once when you refused my kiss, ten years ago, and again when you refused my offer in my letter. I will not accept now a love born out of pity, an interest created by desire. I will have all or nothing; pity shall have nothing to say or plead on my behalf." She threw out her hands passionately. "Take back your offer, Philip; make it to some less jealous, less wise woman. I will have none of it. I have seen many strange things in my wanderings of ten years, gained many bitter experiences, mingled with many strange people, touched close on terrible tragedies; but one thing I have never lost throughout all--my pride and my freedom. Go, Philip, you have your answer in my farewell words of ten years ago. I have no room to remember. I have mastered the art of forgetfulness and oblivion." With one quick movement she stooped, drew the long folds of her shining draperies about her, gathering her laces in one hand, and swept by him swiftly; the moonlight clinging to her as she moved, surrounded her as with a halo, and lighted up the fine scorn that curved her lips and glowed in her deep eyes. In another moment the elastic swaying hazel-boughs parted to receive her, and then springing back, hid the slight graceful figure from Philip's sight. And still the drops falling from the vase, held high in the hands of the boy-god Narcissus, counted out the moments, and the moonbeams fell straight and long, in narrow shafts, across the spot where Patricia had leant her fair form, stirring to sudden life with her jewelled fingers the water's placid dark surface. Now she was gone, and the radiance departed with her. END OF VOL. I. * * * * * CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miss Hildreth, Volume 1 of 3, by Augusta de Grasse Stevens