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Updated: May 2, 2025
"Oh, it's better quiet," I said. "The fewer to see Phillippa marry a man like Mark Foster the better." "Mark Foster is a good man, Rachel." "No good man would be content to buy a girl as he's bought Phillippa," I said, determined to give it in to her. "He's a common fellow, not fit for my dearie to wipe her feet on.
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?"
I would have gone after him and said something but the look on his face no, it was no time for my foolish old words! Phillippa was crying, with her head on Owen's shoulder. Isabella Clark waited to see the mortgage burned up, and then she came to me in the hall, all smooth and smiling again. "Really, it's all very romantic, isn't it? I suppose it's better as it is, all things considered.
"Wait," he said. "She has made her choice, as I knew she would; but I have yet to make mine. And I choose to marry no woman whose love belongs to another living man. Phillippa, I thought Owen Blair was dead, and I believed that, when you were my wife, I could win your love. But I love you too well to make you miserable. Go to the man you love you are free!"
The one says, 'Pray for the soul of Edmundus, Knight, husband of Phillippa, and the other, 'Pray for the soul of Phillippa, Dame, wife of Edmundus. It looks as though the surnames had been left out on purpose, perhaps because of some queer story about the pair which their relations wished to be forgotten." "Then why do they say that one died in blood and the other on the field of Crecy?"
"Stop, you gang of thieves!" hallooed Wilhelm, the ploughman. "Stop, you bloody murderers!" shrieked Phillippa, the indignant mistress of the dairy and the poultry-yard. "Stop, you villains!" hallooed all three.
Notice the Renaissance tomb of Lord De la Warr on the south side of the chancel with its curious carvings and in the south transept those of Countess Phillippa of Arundel and her second husband, Adam de Poynings; also several others, some of which are without inscriptions, but possibly including those of the daughters of that Countess of Arundel who was once the first Henry's queen.
His face was just as sallow and wooden as ever; he looked undersized and common beside Owen. Nobody'd ever have picked him out for a bridegroom. Owen spoke first. "I want to see Phillippa," he said, as if it were but yesterday that he had gone away. All Isabella's smoothness and policy had dropped away from her, and the real woman stood there, plotting and unscrupulous, as I'd always know her.
She was one of your sly, deep women, always smiling smooth, and scheming underneath it. I'll say it for her, though, she had been good to Phillippa; but it was her doings that my dearie was to marry Mark Foster that day. "Up betimes, Rachel," she said, smiling and speaking me fair, as she always did, and hating me in her heart, as I well knew. "That is right, for we'll have plenty to do to-day.
And I knew then, and I know now, though never a shadow of proof have I, that Isabella Clark had got them and kept them. That woman would stick at nothing. "Well, we'll sift that matter some other time," said Owen impatiently. "There are other things to think of now. I must see Phillippa."
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