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Updated: May 6, 2025
Felicita was more silent than ever, more withdrawn into herself, gazing for hours upon the changeful surface of the sea with absent eyes, through which the brain was not looking out. Neither sound nor sight reached the absorbed soul, that was wandering through some intricate mazes to which Phebe had no clue. But no color came to Felicita's pale face, and no light into her dim eyes.
"Why didn't you stop it?" said Phebe reproachfully. "I dare say you've waked her up." "Didn't know it was coming. Just my luck!" groaned Mac, turning to go before his unfortunate presence did more harm. But a voice from the stair-head called softly, "Mac, come up; Rose wants to see you." Up he went, and found his uncle waiting for him.
Clifford, except on purely business matters; and Felix was too much engrossed with his own affairs to find time to run down to Riversborough, or to keep up an animated interchange of letters with his old friend there. The intercourse between them had been chiefly carried on through Phebe herself, who was the old man's prime favorite.
Phebe was not so much thinking as pondering in a confused and unconnected manner over all the circumstances of the day, when suddenly the tall figure of a man rose from under the black hedgerow, and laid his arm across the pony's neck, with his face turned up to her. Her heart throbbed quickly, but not altogether with terror. "Mr. Roland!" she cried. "You know me in the dark then," he answered.
It certainly had ended well, for Phebe at the end of six months not only had a good place as choir singer but several young pupils and excellent prospects for the next winter. "Accept the blessing of a poor young man, Whose lucky steps have led him to your door, and let me help as much as I can. Good-bye, my Dulcinea."
Still, it's risky and I don't think much of folks that don't find America good enough for 'em. You look hot. Come in and get a drink of water." Inside the house and with a glass of water in her hand, Phebe felt that it devolved upon her to make some efforts at conversation. "You said you were worse, last night; didn't you? What were the symptoms?" she asked, between her sips.
Halloway, you must say good-by to him you know," said Phebe, distressed. "Surely. I forgot," replied Gerald, with uncomplimentary sincerity. She turned back, the faint shade of confusion quite disappearing. "Good-by, Mr. Halloway. I wish you success in finding all the Nightingales that you may require." "Thank you," answered Denham, shortly. "Good-by." Phebe glanced up at him quickly.
Gerald, my dear sister, is Miss Phebe's idol; I rather think she says her prayers before Gerald's picture every night." "Oh, please!" cried Phebe. "But who is this Gerald?" asked Mrs. Whittridge. "Does he live here?" "No, Soeur Angélique, and by the way he is not he at all, but she, and will be known in history as Miss Geraldine Vernor.
'Come on, then, said Jacinth, encouragingly, 'the sooner we go, the sooner we'll be home. And we can have tea the minute we get in, can't we, Phebe, even if it's not quite five o'clock.
It ended with the child's breaking away and diving into bed again, dripping with bath-water and tears, while Phebe picked up the scattered fragments of the thermometer and fished the towels from the tub where they floated limply. During the next half hour, Phebe parted with most of her theories and all of her temper.
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