"Maria! And why are you to be saddled with Maria?"

"Because I promised my mother--I promised myself--I promised Mervyn, that she should be my care. I have told him of that promise, and he accepts it most kindly."

"You cannot leave her to me? Oh! Phoebe, do you still think me as hateful as I used to be?"

"Dear, dear Bertha, I have full trust in your affection for her; but I undertook the charge, and I cannot thrust it on to another, who might--"

"Don"t say that, Phoebe," cried Bertha, impetuously; "I am the one to have her! I who certainly never can, never shall, marry--I who am good for nothing but to look after her. Say you do not think me unworthy of her, Phoebe."

"I say no such thing," said Phoebe, affectionately, "but there is no use in discussing the matter. Dear Bertha, leave me, and compose yourself."

Truly, during that evening Bertha was the agitated one, her speech much affected, and her gestures restless, while Phoebe sat over her work, her needle going swiftly and evenly, and her eyes beaming with her quiet depth of thankful bliss.

In the morning, again, it was Bertha who betrayed an uneasy restlessness, and irrepressible desire to banish Miss Fennimore and Maria from the drawing-room, till the governess, in perplexity, began to think of consulting Phoebe whether a Jack Hastings affair could be coming over again.

Phoebe simply trusted to the promise, and went about her morning"s avocations with a heart at rest, and when at last Humfrey Randolf did hurry in for a few moments, before he must rush back to the Holt, her greeting was so full of reliance and composure that Miss Fennimore perceived nothing. Bertha, however, rested not. As well as she could, under a fearful access of stammering, she insisted that Mr. Randolf should come into the dining-room to look at a--a--a--a--a--"

"Ah, well!" thought Miss Fennimore, "Phoebe is gone, too, so she will keep guard."

If Miss Fennimore could have looked through the door, she would have seen the astonished Maria pounced upon, as if in sport, pulled up-stairs, and desired by Bertha to find her book of dried flowers to show Mr. Randolf.

Naughty Bertha, who really did not believe the dried flowers had ever been brought home from Woolstone-lane! It served the manoeuvrer right, that Maria, after one look at the shelves, began to cry out for Phoebe to come and find them. But it signified the less since the lovers had not left the hall, and had exchanged all the words that there was time for before Bertha, at the sound of the re-opening door, flew down to put her hand into Humfrey"s and grasp it tightly, looking in his face instead of speaking. "Thank you," he said, returning the pressure, and was gone.

"We improve as we go on. Number three is the best of my brothers-in-law, Phoebe," said Bertha, lightly. Then leaving Phoebe to pacify Maria about the flowers, she went into her own room, and cried bitterly and overpoweringly.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

_Thekla_. I should love thee.

Whate"er thou hadst chosen, thou wouldst still have acted n.o.bly and worthy of thee; but repentance Shall ne"er disturb thy soul"s fair peace.

_Max_. Then I must leave thee; must part from thee!

_Thekla_. Being faithful To thine own self, thou art faithful too to me.--_Wallenstein_

Phoebe and Maria went alone to the Park to receive the bridal pair, for poor Bertha was so nervous and unhinged as not even to wish to leave the fireside. It was plain that she must not be deprived of an elder sister"s care, and that it would be unlikely that she would ever have nerve enough to undertake the charge of Maria, even if Phoebe could think of shifting the responsibility, or if a feeble intellect could be expected to yield the same deference to a younger sister as came naturally to an elder one.

Thus Phoebe"s heart was somewhat heavy as she braced herself for her communication to Mervyn, doubtful as to the extent of his probable displeasure, but for that very cause resolved on dealing openly from the first, while satisfied that, at her age, his right was rather to deference than to surrender of judgment. Maria roamed through the house, exclaiming at the alterations, and Phoebe sat still in the concentrated, resolute stillness that was her form of suspense.

They came! The peals of the Hiltonbury bells rung merrily in the cold air, the snow sparkled bridally, the icicles glittered in the sunset light, the workpeople stood round the house to cheer the arrival, and the sisters hurried out.

It was no more the pale, patient face! The cheeks were rounded, the brown eyes smiled, the haggard air, that even as a bride Cecily had worn, was entirely gone, and Mervyn watched exultingly Phoebe"s surprise at what he had made of the wan, worn girl they had met at Hyeres. The only disappointment was Bertha"s absence, and there was much regret that the new-comers had not heard of her cold so as to have seen her at the Underwood on their way. They had spent the previous day in town in going over the distillery, by Cecily"s particular wish, and had afterwards a.s.sisted at a grand impromptu entertainment of all the workpeople, at their own expense and Robert"s trouble. Mervyn did certainly seem carried out of his own knowledge of himself, and his wife had transgressed every precedent left by his mother, who had never beheld Whittingtonia in her life!

Phoebe found their eager talk so mazy and indistinct to her perception that she became resolved to speak and clear her mind at the first opportunity; so she tarried behind, when Cecily went up, under Maria"s delighted guidance, to take off her bonnet, and accosted Mervyn with the ominous words, "I want to speak to you."

"Make haste, then; there is Cecily left to Maria."

"I wanted to tell you that I am engaged."

"The deuce you are!"

"To Mr. Randolf, Miss Charlecote"s Canadian cousin."

Mervyn, who had expected no less than John Raymond, whirled round in indignant surprise, and looked incredulously at her, but was confronted by her two open, unabashed eyes, as she stood firm on both her feet, and continued: "I have been thrown a good deal with him, so as to learn his goodness and superiority. I know you will think it a very bad match, for he has nothing but his hands and head; but we mean to wait till he can offer what are considered as equal terms. We thought it right you should know."

"Upon my word, that"s a clever fellow!"

Phoebe knew very well that this was ironical, but would not so reply.

"He has abilities," she said, "and we are ready to wait till he has made proof of them."

"Well, what now?" he cried in despair. "I _did_ think you the sensible one of the lot."

"When you know him," she said, with her fearless smile, "you will own that I _was_ sensible there."

"Really, the child looks so complacent that she would outface me that this mad notion was a fine thing! I declare it is worse than Bertha"s business; and you so much older! At least Hastings was a man of family, and this is a Yankee adventurer picked out of the back of a ditch by that young dog, Sandbrook. Only a Yankee could have had the impudence! I declare you are laughing all the time. What have you to say for yourself?"

"His father was major in the ---th dragoons, and was one of the Randolfs of ---shire. His mother was a Charlecote. His birth is as good as our own, and you saw that he is a gentleman. His character and talents have gained his present situation, and it is a profession that gives every opening for ability; nor does he ask for me till his fortune is made."

"But hinders you from doing better! Pray, what would Augusta say to you?" he added, jocosely, for even while lashing himself up, his tone had been placable.

"He shall satisfy her."

"How long has this been going on?"

"We only spoke of it yesterday. Bertha found it out; but I wish no one else to know it except Robert."

"Somehow she looks so cool, and she is so entirely the last girl I expected to go crazy, that I can"t laugh at the thing as I ought! I say, what"s this about Miss Charlecote; will she do anything for him?"

"I believe not."

"And pray who vouches for his antecedents, such as they are."

"Mr. Currie and Owen Sandbrook both know the whole."

"Is Sandbrook at the Holt?"

"Yes," answered Phoebe, suppressing her strong distaste against bringing him into the affair.

"Well, I shall make inquiries, and--and--it is a horrid unlucky business, and the old girl should be scarified for putting you in his way. The end will be that you"ll marry on your own means, and be pinched for life.

Now, look here, you are no fool at the bottom; you will give it up if I find that he is no go."

"If it be proved that I ought," said Phoebe. "And if you find him what I have told you, you will make no opposition. Thank you, Mervyn."

"Stay," said he, laughing, and letting her kiss him, "I have made no promises, mind!"

The confidence that Phoebe had earned had stood her in good stead.

Mervyn had great trust in her judgment, and was too happy besides for severity on other people"s love. Nor were her perfect openness, and fearless though modest independence, without effect. She was not one who invited tyranny, but truly "queen o"er herself," she ruled herself too well to leave the reins loose for others to seize.

The result of the interview had surpa.s.sed her hopes, and she had nothing to regret but her brother"s implied purpose of consulting Owen Sandbrook.