Owen made a step towards her, his face and eyes all aflame with
his love and longing, but Mark barred his way.
"Wait till she has made her choice," he said, and then he turned
to Phillippa. I couldn't see my dearie's face, but I could see
Mark's, and there wasn't a spark of feeling in it. Behind it was
Isabella's, all pinched and gray.
"Phillippa," said Mark, "Owen Blair has come back. He says he
has never forgotten you, and that he wrote to you several times.
I have told him that you have promised me, but I leave you
freedom of choice. Which of us will you marry, Phillippa?"
My dearie stood straight up and the trembling left her. She
stepped back, and I could see her face, white as the dead, but
calm and resolved.
"I have promised to marry you, Mark, and I will keep my word,"
she said.
The color came back to Isabella Clark's face; but Mark's did not
change.
"Phillippa," said Owen, and the pain in his voice made my old
heart ache bitterer than ever, "have you ceased to love me?"
My dearie would have been more than human, if she could have
resisted the pleading in his tone. She said no word, but just
looked at him for a moment. We all saw the look; her whole soul,
full of love for Owen, showed out in it. Then she turned and
stood by Mark.
Owen never said a word. He went as white as death, and started
for the door. But again Mark Foster put himself in the way.
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