Page:Maud Howe - Atlanta in the South.djvu/191

 for Philip. He saw Margaret very often. He sat with her while she worked in the afternoon, when his own day's toil was over; and in the sunset-hour they lingered in the little garden, where the splendid rose-bloom wrapped the modest little house with its sweetness. Up and down the narrow paths they paced, her loosened hair sometimes touching him as if with the touch of fire. She was not quite what she had been to him in those early winter-days. The perfect frankness of girlhood had left her, and the reserve of young womanhood had insensibly taken its place. She talked to him of her work as of old, and in odd moments modelled for him a little statuette of herself in her long blue apron. It seemed as if she wished to turn to him the artist-side of her nature, which he could understand, perhaps, better than any one else. He carried the little figure home and fashioned for it a shrine, carved with more love than skill. She learned from him about his poor patients, and the hospital where he labored was often brightened by her presence. He was conscious that she tried to atone to him for the injustice she had done him; but from the night when she had learned the truth, they never spoke of the past or mentioned Feuardent's name. The melancholy which at first had hung about her grew less perceptible, and the smile which had