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But he did not give a glance toward it. There was very little interest to him just now in Phebe's pursuits, though she owed most of them to him. By the time he was ready to go down, supper was waiting for him on the warm and bright hearth, and he fell upon it almost ravenously. It was twenty-four hours since he had last eaten.
"Are you in much pain now?" she asked, lifting off the heavy braid that lay across Phebe's bosom like a great rope of loosely twisted silk. "You do not think you are badly hurt, do you, dear?" Phebe looked up at her, smiling strangely. "Oh, Gerald," she whispered, while two big tears rolled slowly down on to the pillow, "I wish I might die to-night! I don't think I can ever be so happy again!"
"'Tain't so bad as that!" Lydia straightened herself in the buggy and wiped away the tears with an impatient hand. "I guess 'twas the sunset," she said tremulously. "I never see such a sky." "That all?" Eben was much relieved. Then he touched up the horse, and told him what a lot of oats were waiting in aunt Phebe's barn.
I did not expect much from it, but it is utter weariness to me." "And you will go back to your writing?" said Phebe. Felicita hesitated for a moment. There was a worn and harassed expression on her pale face, as if she had not slept or rested well for a long time, which touched Phebe's heart. "Not yet," she answered; "I am going on a journey. I shall start for Switzerland to-night."
There was a breath of serenity and peace in this early hour which soothed Phebe's fevered brain, as she slowly sauntered on with the purpose of finding the cemetery, where the granite cross stood over the grave that had occupied so much of her thoughts since she had heard of Roland Sefton's death.
Phebe seldom called her that, and when she did her heart was in the little word, making it so tender that Rose thought it the sweetest in the world, next to Uncle Alec's "my little girl." Now it was almost passionate, and Phebe's face grew rather tragical as she looked down at Rose.
She turned her sad face again towards the sea, and sat silent, watching the flitting sails pass by, but holding Phebe's hand fast in her own, as if she craved her companionship. Phebe, too, was silent, the tears dimming her blue eyes and blotting out the scene before her. Her heart was very heavy and troubled for Felicita.
In the meantime, Lord L died, and the Honourable youth became Baron L of Houston-hope. Poor Phebe's averment respecting her previous marriage was regarded, even by her parents, as somewhat suspicious; and not being able to command the testimony of the person who married them, she was compelled to remain silent.
"It would be just heavenly!" and Phebe's face shone at the mere idea; but fell again as she added wistfully, "Only I'm afraid I ought not to let you do it, Miss Rose. It will take time, and maybe the Doctor wouldn't like it." "He didn't want me to study much, but he never said a word about teaching, and I don't believe he will mind a bit.
Mac was no heavenly child, and it was only by dint of much tact that he could be managed at all; but tact in dealing with children was not Phebe's strong point. The summer, then, was not proving altogether restful to Hope. To one person, however, she felt an overwhelming gratitude.
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