An hour afterward Ella called to say good-by to her.  She was going to Switzerland first, she said, to a quiet spot that she knew, where she might think out some of the details of the Church.  Mr. Holland would meet her in Italy in the winter to consider some of the architectural details.

When the hour of her departure was at hand she referred to another matter—­a matter on which she spoke much more seriously than she had yet spoken on the subject of the Church.

“I could not go, my dear Phyllis,” said she, “without telling you that I know Herbert Courtland will come to you.”

“No!” said Phyllis.  “He will not come to me.  He has been with me.  He is now gone.”

“Gone?  That would be impossible!” cried Ella.  “You would not send him away.  He told you that he loved you.”

“Yes, he told me that.”

“And yet you sent him away?  Oh, Phyllis, you would not break my heart.  I know that you love him.”

“Do I?”

“You do love him.  Oh, my Phyllis, I told him months ago that it was the dearest wish of my heart to see you married to him.  At that time he laughed.  Oh, it is horrible to me to recall now how he laughed.  Shall I ever forget that terrible dream?  But now he loves you.  I know it.  What! you think him unworthy of you because of—­of that dream which was upon us?  Phyllis, don’t forget that he fought with the sin and overcame it.  How?  Ah! you know how.  He overcame the passion that is of earth by the love that is of heaven.  It was his pure love for you that gave him the victory.  Why should you send him away?”

“He knows.  He understands.  He is gone.”

“But I do not understand.”

She held Phyllis’ hand and looked into her face.  She gave a sudden start—­a little start.

“Oh, surely, my Phyllis, you don’t think that I—­I——­Oh, no! you cannot think that of me.  Oh, my darling, if you should be so foolish as to think that I—­that I still——­Ah, I cannot speak about it.  Listen to me, Phyllis:  I tell you that as he conquered himself by the love which is of heaven, so have I conquered by the same Divine Power.  The love which is in heaven—­the love which is mine—­has given me the victory also.  Dear Phyllis, that man is nothing to me to-day.  I tell you he is nothing—­nothing!  Ah, I don’t even hate him.  If I should ever speak to him again it would be to send him back to you.”

Phyllis said nothing, and just then her father came into the room, and after a few minutes’ conventional chat Ella went away.

Mr. Ayrton remarked to Phyllis that her dearest friend was looking better than she had looked for many months, and then he laughed.  Phyllis did not like his laugh.  She looked at him—­gravely—­reproachfully.

“Pardon me, my dear,” said he; “but I was only thinking that—­well—­that she——­Ah, after all, what is marriage?”

Phyllis did not reply.  She saw by his eyes that he had found another phrase.  What were phrases to her?