CHAPTER VII.
_PHEBE._
While Rose was making discoveries and having experiences, Phebe wasdoing the same in a quieter way: but, though they usually comparednotes during the bedtime _tete-a-tete_ which always ended their day,certain topics were never mentioned; so each had a little world of herown into which even the eye of friendship did not peep.
Rose's life just now was the gayest, but Phebe's the happiest. Bothwent out a good deal; for the beautiful voice was welcomed everywhere,and many were ready to patronize the singer who would have been slowto recognize the woman. Phebe knew this, and made no attempt to assertherself; content to know that those whose regard she valued felt herworth, and hopeful of a time when she could gracefully take the placeshe was meant to fill.
Proud as a princess was Phebe about some things, though in most ashumble as a child; therefore, when each year lessened the service sheloved to give, and increased the obligations she would have refusedfrom any other source, dependence became a burden which even the mostfervent gratitude could not lighten. Hitherto the children had gone ontogether, finding no obstacles to their companionship in the secludedworld in which they lived: now that they were women their pathsinevitably diverged, and both reluctantly felt that they must partbefore long.
It had been settled, when they went abroad, that on their return Phebeshould take her one gift in her hand, and try her fortunes. On noother terms would she accept the teaching which was to fit her for theindependence she desired. Faithfully had she used the facilities sogenerously afforded both at home and abroad, and now was ready toprove that they had not been in vain. Much encouraged by the smallsuccesses she won in drawing-rooms, and the praise bestowed byinterested friends, she began to feel that she might venture on alarger field, and begin her career as a concert singer; for she aimedno higher.
Just at this time, much interest was felt in a new asylum for orphangirls, which could not be completed for want of funds. The Campbells"well had borne their part," and still labored to accomplish themuch-needed charity. Several fairs had been given for this purpose,followed by a series of concerts. Rose had thrown herself into thework with all her heart, and now proposed that Phebe should make her_debut_ at the last concert which was to be a peculiarly interestingone, as all the orphans were to be present, and were expected to pleadtheir own cause by the sight of their innocent helplessness, as wellas touch hearts by the simple airs they were to sing.
Some of the family thought Phebe would object to so humble abeginning: but Rose knew her better, and was not disappointed; for,when she made her proposal, Phebe answered readily,--
"Where could I find a fitter time and place to come before the publicthan here among my little sisters in misfortune? I'll sing for themwith all my heart: only I must be one of them, and have no flourishmade about me."
"You shall arrange it as you like; and, as there is to be little vocalmusic but yours and the children's, I'll see that you have every thingas you please," promised Rose.
It was well she did; for the family got much excited over the prospectof "our Phebe's _debut_," and _would_ have made a flourish if thegirls had not resisted. Aunt Clara was in despair about the dress;because Phebe decided to wear a plain claret-colored merino withfrills at neck and wrists, so that she might look as much as possible,like the other orphans in their stuff gowns and white aprons. AuntPlenty wanted to have a little supper afterward in honor of theoccasion; but Phebe begged her to change it to a Christmas dinner forthe poor children. The boys planned to throw bushels of flowers, andCharlie claimed the honor of leading the singer in. But Phebe, withtears in her eyes, declined their kindly offers, saying earnestly,--
"I had better begin as I am to go on, and depend upon myself entirely.Indeed, Mr. Charlie, I'd rather walk in alone; for you'd be out ofplace among us, and spoil the pathetic effect we wish to produce,"and a smile sparkled through the tears, as Phebe looked at the pieceof elegance before her, and thought of the brown gowns and pinafores.
So, after much discussion, it was decided that she should have her wayin all things, and the family content themselves with applauding fromthe front.
"We'll blister our hands every man of us, and carry you home in achariot and four: see if we don't, you perverse prima donna!"threatened Steve, not at all satisfied with the simplicity of theaffair.
"A chariot and two will be very acceptable as soon as I'm done. Ishall be quite steady till my part is all over, and then I may feel alittle upset; so I'd like to get away before the confusion begins.Indeed I don't mean to be perverse: but you are all so kind to me, myheart is full whenever I think of it; and that wouldn't do if I'm tosing," said Phebe, dropping one of the tears on the little frill shewas making.
No diamond could have adorned it better Archie thought, as he watchedit shine there for a moment; and felt like shaking Steve for daring topat the dark head with an encouraging,--
"All right. I'll be on hand, and whisk you away while the rest aresplitting their gloves. No fear of your breaking down. If you feel theleast bit like it, though, just look at me; and I'll glare at you andshake my fist, since kindness upsets you."
"I wish you would, because one of my ballads is rather touching, andI always want to cry when I sing it. The sight of you trying to glarewill make me want to laugh, and that will steady me nicely: so sit infront, please, ready to slip out when I come off the last time."
"Depend upon me!" And the little man departed, taking great credit tohimself for his influence over tall, handsome Phebe.
If he had known what was going on in the mind of the silent younggentleman behind the newspaper, Steve would have been much astonished;for Archie, though apparently engrossed by business, was fathoms deepin love by this time. No one suspected this but Rose; for he did hiswooing with his eyes, and only Phebe knew how eloquent they could be.He had discovered what the matter was long ago,--had made manyattempts to reason himself out of it; but, finding it a hopeless task,had given up trying, and let himself drift deliciously. The knowledgethat the family would not approve only seemed to add ardor to his loveand strength to his purpose: for the same energy and persistence whichhe brought to business went into every thing he did; and, having oncemade up his mind to marry Phebe, nothing could change his plan excepta word from her.
He watched and waited for three months, so that he might not beaccused of precipitation, though it did not take him one to decidethat this was the woman to make him happy. Her steadfast nature;quiet, busy ways; and the reserved power and passion betrayedsometimes by a flash of the black eyes, a quiver of the firmlips,--suited Archie, who possessed many of the same attributeshimself: while the obscurity of her birth and isolation of her lot,which would have deterred some lovers, not only appealed to his kindlyheart, but touched the hidden romance which ran like a vein of goldthrough his strong common-sense, and made practical, steady-goingArchie a poet when he fell in love. If Uncle Mac had guessed whatdreams and fancies went on in the head bent over his ledgers, and whatemotions were fermenting in the bosom of his staid "right-hand man,"he would have tapped his forehead, and suggested a lunatic asylum. Theboys thought Archie had sobered down too soon. His mother began tofear that the air of the counting-room did not suit him: and Dr. Alecwas deluded into the belief that the fellow really began to "think ofRose;" he came so often in the evening, seeming quite contented to sitbeside her work-table, and snip tape, or draw patterns, while theychatted.
No one observed that, though he talked to Rose on these occasions, helooked at Phebe, in her low chair close by, busy but silent; for shealways tried to efface herself when Rose was near, and often mournedthat she was too big to keep out of sight. No matter what he talkedabout, Archie always saw the glossy black braids on the other side ofthe table, the damask cheek curving down into the firm white throat,and the dark lashes, lifted now and then, showing eyes so deep andsoft he dared not look into them long. Even the swift needle charmedhim, the little brooch which rose and fell with her quiet breath, theplain work she did, an
d the tidy way she gathered her bits of threadinto a tiny bag. He seldom spoke to her; never touched her basket,though he ravaged Rose's if he wanted string or scissors; very rarelyventured to bring her some curious or pretty thing when ships came infrom China: only sat and thought of her; imagined that this was _his_parlor, this _her_ work-table, and they two sitting there alone ahappy man and wife.
At this stage of the little evening drama, he would be conscious ofsuch a strong desire to do something rash that he took refuge in a newform of intoxication, and proposed music, sometimes so abruptly thatRose would pause in the middle of a sentence and look at him,surprised to meet a curiously excited look in the usually cool, grayeyes.
Then Phebe, folding up her work, would go to the piano, as if glad tofind a vent for the inner life which she seemed to have no power ofexpressing except in song. Rose would follow to accompany her; andArchie, moving to a certain shady corner whence he could see Phebe'sface as she sang, would give himself up to unmitigated rapture forhalf an hour. Phebe never sang so well as at such times: for thekindly atmosphere was like sunshine to a bird, criticisms were fewand gentle, praises hearty and abundant; and she poured out her soulas freely as a spring gushes up when its hidden source is full.
Always comely, with a large and wholesome growth, in moments such asthese Phebe was beautiful with the beauty that makes a man's eyebrighten with honest admiration, and thrills his heart with a sense ofwomanly nobility and sweetness. Little wonder, then, that the chiefspectator of this agreeable tableau grew nightly more enamoured; and,while the elders were deep in whist, the young people were playingthat still more absorbing game in which hearts are always trumps.
Rose, having Dummy for a partner, soon discovered the fact, and latelyhad begun to feel as she fancied Wall must have done when Pyramuswooed Thisbe through its chinks. She was a little startled at first,then amused, then anxious, then heartily interested, as every woman isin such affairs, and willingly continued to be a medium, thoughsometimes she quite tingled with the electricity which seemed topervade the air. She said nothing, waiting for Phebe to speak; butPhebe was silent, seeming to doubt the truth, till doubt becameimpossible, then to shrink as if suddenly conscious of wrong-doing,and seize every possible pretext for absenting herself from the"girls' corner," as the pretty recess was called.
The concert plan afforded excellent opportunities for doing this; andevening after evening she slipped away to practise her songsupstairs, while Archie sat staring disconsolately at the neglectedwork-basket and mute piano. Rose pitied him, and longed to say a wordof comfort, but felt shy,--he was such a reserved fellow,--so left himto conduct his quiet wooing in his own way, feeling that the crisiswould soon arrive.
She was sure of this, as she sat beside him on the evening of theconcert; for while the rest of the family nodded and smiled, chattedand laughed in great spirits, Archie was as mute as a fish, and satwith his arms tightly folded, as if to keep in any unruly emotionswhich might attempt to escape. He never looked at the programme; butRose knew when Phebe's turn came by the quick breath he drew, and theintent look that came into his eyes so absent before.
But her own excitement prevented much notice of his; for Rose was in aflutter of hope and fear, sympathy and delight, about Phebe and hersuccess. The house was crowded; the audience sufficiently mixed tomake the general opinion impartial; and the stage full of littleorphans with shining faces, a most effective reminder of the object inview.
"Little dears, how nice they look!" "Poor things, so young to befatherless and motherless." "It will be a disgrace to the city, ifthose girls are not taken proper care of." "Subscriptions are alwaysin order, you know; and pretty Miss Campbell will give you hersweetest smile if you hand her a handsome check." "I've heard thisPhebe Moore, and she really has a delicious voice: such a pity shewon't fit herself for opera!" "Only sings three times to-night; that'smodest I'm sure, when she is the chief attraction; so we must give heran encore after the Italian piece." "The orphans lead off, I see: stopyour ears if you like; but don't fail to applaud, or the ladies willnever forgive you."
Chat of this sort went on briskly, while fans waved, programmesrustled, and ushers flew about distractedly; till an importantgentleman appeared, made his bow, skipped upon the leader's stand, andwith a wave of his baton caused a general uprising of white pinafores,as the orphans led off with that much-enduring melody, "America," inshrill small voices, but with creditable attention to time and tune.Pity and patriotism produced a generous round of applause; and thelittle girls sat down, beaming with innocent satisfaction.
An instrumental piece followed, and then a youthful gentleman, withhis hair in picturesque confusion, and what his friends called a"musical brow," bounded up the steps, and, clutching a roll of musicwith a pair of tightly gloved hands, proceeded to inform the audience,in a husky tenor voice, that
"It was a lovely violet."
What else the song contained in the way of sense or sentiment it wasimpossible to discover; as the three pages of music appeared toconsist of variations upon that one line, ending with a prolongedquaver, which flushed the musical brow, and left the youth quitebreathless when he made his bow.
"Now she's coming! O uncle, my heart beats as if it was myself!"whispered Rose, clutching Dr. Alec's arm with a little gasp, as thepiano was rolled forward, the leader's stand pushed back, and all eyesturned toward the anteroom door.
She forgot to glance at Archie, and it was as well perhaps; for hisheart was thumping almost audibly, as he waited for his Phebe. Notfrom the anteroom, but out from among the children, where she had satunseen in the shadow of the organ, came stately Phebe in herwine-colored dress, with no ornament but her fine hair and a whiteflower at her throat. Very pale, but quite composed, apparently; forshe stepped slowly through the narrow lane of upturned faces, holdingback her skirts, lest they should rudely brush against some littlehead. Straight to the front she went, bowed hastily, and, with agesture to the accompanist, stood waiting to begin, her eyes fixed onthe great gilt clock at the opposite end of the hall.
They never wandered from that point while she sung; but, as she ended,they dropped for an instant on an eager, girlish countenance, bendingfrom a front seat; then, with her hasty little bow, she went quicklyback among the children, who clapped and nodded as she passed, wellpleased with the ballad she had sung.
Every one courteously followed their example; but there was noenthusiasm, and it was evident that Phebe had not produced aparticularly favorable impression.
"Never sang so badly in her life," muttered Charlie, irefully.
"She was frightened, poor thing. Give her time, give her time," saidUncle Mac, kindly.
"I saw she was, and I glared like a gorgon, but she never looked atme," added Steve, smoothing his gloves and his brows at the same time.
"That first song was the hardest, and she got through much better thanI expected," put in Dr. Alec, bound not to show the disappointment hefelt.
"Don't be troubled. Phebe has courage enough for any thing, and she'llastonish you before the evening's over," prophesied Mac, with unabatedconfidence; for he knew something that the rest did not.
Rose said nothing, but, under cover of her burnous, gave Archie's handa sympathetic squeeze; for his arms were unfolded now, as if thestrain was over, and one lay on his knee, while with the other hewiped his hot forehead with an air of relief.
Friends about them murmured complimentary fibs, and affected greatdelight and surprise at Miss Moore's "charming style," "exquisitesimplicity," and "undoubted talent." But strangers freely criticised,and Rose was so indignant at some of their remarks she could notlisten to any thing upon the stage, though a fine overture was played,a man with a remarkable bass voice growled and roared melodiously,and the orphans sang a lively air with a chorus of "Tra, la, la,"which was a great relief to little tongues unused to long silence.
"I've often heard that women's tongues were hung in the middle andwent at both ends: now I'm sure of it," whispered Charlie, trying tochee
r her up by pointing out the comical effect of some seventy-fiveopen mouths, in each of which the unruly member was wagging briskly.
Rose laughed and let him fan her, leaning from his seat behind withthe devoted air he always assumed in public; but her wounded feelingswere not soothed, and she continued to frown at the stout man on theleft, who had dared to say with a shrug and a glance at Phebe's nextpiece, "That young woman can no more sing this Italian thing than shecan fly, and they ought not to let her attempt it."
Phebe did, however; and suddenly changed the stout man's opinion bysinging it grandly; for the consciousness of her first failure prickedher pride and spurred her to do her best with the calm sort ofdetermination which conquers fear, fires ambition, and changes defeatto success. She looked steadily at Rose now, or the flushed, intentface beside her; and throwing all her soul into the task let her voicering out like a silver clarion, filling the great hall and setting thehearers' blood a-tingle with the exulting strain.
That settled Phebe's fate as cantatrice; for the applause was genuineand spontaneous this time, and broke out again and again with thegenerous desire to atone for former coldness. But she would notreturn, and the shadow of the great organ seemed to have swallowed herup; for no eye could find her, no pleasant clamor win her back.
"Now I can die content," said Rose, beaming with heart-feltsatisfaction; while Archie looked steadfastly at his programme, tryingto keep his face in order, and the rest of the family assumed atriumphant air, as if _they_ had never doubted from the first.
"Very well, indeed," said the stout man, with an approving nod. "Quitepromising for a beginner. Shouldn't wonder if in time they made asecond Cary or Kellogg of her."
"Now you'll forgive him, won't you?" murmured Charlie, in his cousin'sear.
"Yes; and I'd like to pat him on the head. But take warning and neverjudge by first appearances again," whispered Rose, at peace now withall mankind.
Phebe's last song was another ballad; for she meant to devote hertalent to that much neglected but always attractive branch of her art.It was a great surprise, therefore, to all but one person in the hall,when, instead of singing "Auld Robin Grey," she placed herself at thepiano, and, with a smiling glance over her shoulder at the children,broke out in the old bird-song which first won Rose. But thechirping, twittering, and cooing were now the burden to three versesof a charming little song, full of spring-time and the awakening lifethat makes it lovely. A rippling accompaniment flowed through it all,and a burst of delighted laughter from the children filled up thefirst pause with a fitting answer to the voices that seemed calling tothem from the vernal woods.
It was very beautiful, and novelty lent its charm to the surprise; forart and nature worked a pretty miracle, and the clever imitation,first heard from a kitchen hearth, now became the favorite in acrowded concert room. Phebe was quite herself again; color in thecheeks now; eyes that wandered smiling to and fro; and lips that sangas gaily and far more sweetly than when she kept time to her blithemusic with a scrubbing brush.
This song was evidently intended for the children, and theyappreciated the kindly thought; for, as Phebe went back among them,they clapped ecstatically, flapped their pinafores, and some caughther by the skirts with audible requests to "do it again, please; do itagain."
But Phebe shook her head and vanished; for it was getting late forsuch small people, several of whom "lay sweetly slumbering there,"till roused by the clamor round them. The elders, however, were not tobe denied, and applauded persistently, especially Aunt Plenty, whoseized Uncle Mac's cane and pounded with it as vigorously as "Mrs.Nubbles" at the play.
"Never mind your gloves, Steve; keep it up till she comes," criedCharlie, enjoying the fun like a boy; while Jamie lost his head withexcitement, and standing up called "Phebe! Phebe!" in spite of hismother's attempts to silence him.
Even the stout man clapped, and Rose could only laugh delightedly asshe turned to look at Archie, who seemed to have let himself loose atlast, and was stamping with a dogged energy funny to see.
So Phebe had to come, and stood there meekly bowing, with a moved lookon her face, that showed how glad and grateful she was, till a suddenhush came; then, as if inspired by the memory of the cause thatbrought her there, she looked down into the sea of friendly facesbefore her, with no trace of fear in her own, and sung the song thatnever will grow old.
That went straight to the hearts of those who heard her: for there wassomething inexpressibly touching in the sight of this sweet-voicedwoman singing of home for the little creatures who were homeless; andPhebe made her tuneful plea irresistible by an almost involuntarygesture of the hands which had hung loosely clasped before her; till,with the last echo of the beloved word, they fell apart and werehalf-out-stretched as if pleading to be filled.
It was the touch of nature that works wonders; for it made full pursessuddenly weigh heavily in pockets slow to open, brought tears to eyesunused to weep, and caused that group of red-gowned girls to growvery pathetic in the sight of fathers and mothers who had left littledaughters safe asleep at home. This was evident from the stillnessthat remained unbroken for an instant after Phebe ended; and beforepeople could get rid of their handkerchiefs she would have been gone,if the sudden appearance of a mite in a pinafore, climbing up thestairs from the anteroom, with a great bouquet grasped in both hands,had not arrested her.
Up came the little creature, intent on performing the mission forwhich rich bribes of sugar-plums had been promised, and trottingbravely across the stage, she held up the lovely nosegay, saying inher baby voice, "Dis for you, ma'am;" then, startled by the suddenoutburst of applause, she hid her face in Phebe's gown, and began tosob with fright.
An awkward minute for poor Phebe; but she showed unexpected presenceof mind, and left behind her a pretty picture of the oldest and theyoungest orphan, as she went quickly down the step, smiling over thegreat bouquet with the baby on her arm.
Nobody minded the closing piece; for people began to go, sleepychildren to be carried off, and whispers grew into a buzz ofconversation. In the general confusion, Rose looked to see if Stevehad remembered his promise to help Phebe slip away before the rushbegan. No, there he was putting on Kitty's cloak, quite oblivious ofany other duty; and, fuming to ask Archie to hurry out, Rose foundthat he had already vanished, leaving his gloves behind him.
"Have you lost any thing?" asked Dr. Alec, catching a glimpse of herface.
"No, sir, I've found something," she whispered back, giving him thegloves to pocket along with her fan and glass, adding hastily as theconcert ended, "Please, uncle, tell them all not to come with us.Phebe has had enough excitement, and ought to rest."
Rose's word was law to the family in all things concerning Phebe. Soword was passed that there were to be no congratulations tillto-morrow, and Dr. Alec got his party off as soon as possible. But allthe way home, while he and Aunt Plenty were prophesying a brilliantfuture for the singer, Rose sat rejoicing over the happy present ofthe woman. She was sure that Archie had spoken, and imagined the wholescene with feminine delight,--how tenderly he had asked the momentousquestion, how gratefully Phebe had given the desired reply, and nowhow both were enjoying that delicious hour which Rose had been givento understand never came but once. Such a pity to shorten it, shethought; and begged her uncle to go home the longest way: the nightwas so mild, the moonlight so clear, and herself so in need of freshair after the excitement of the evening.
"I thought you would want to rush into Phebe's arms the instant shegot done," said Aunt Plenty, innocently wondering at the whims girlstook into their heads.
"So I should if I consulted my own wishes; but as Phebe asked to belet alone I want to gratify her," answered Rose, making the bestexcuse she could.
"A little piqued," thought the doctor, fancying he understood thecase.
As the old lady's rheumatism forbade their driving about tillmidnight, home was reached much too soon, Rose thought, and trippedaway to warn the lovers the instant she entered the house. But
study,parlor, and boudoir were empty; and, when Jane appeared with cake andwine, she reported that "Miss Phebe went right upstairs, and wished tobe excused, please, being very tired."
"That isn't at all like Phebe: I hope she isn't ill," began AuntPlenty, sitting down to toast her feet.
"She may be a little hysterical; for she is a proud thing, andrepresses her emotions as long as she can. I'll step up and see if shedoesn't need a soothing draught of some sort," and Dr. Alec threw offhis coat as he spoke.
"No, no, she's only tired. I'll run up to her: she won't mind me; andI'll report if any thing is amiss."
Away went Rose, quite trembling with suspense; but Phebe's door wasshut, no light shone underneath, and no sound came from the roomwithin. She tapped, and, receiving no answer, went on to her ownchamber, thinking to herself,--
"Love always makes people queer, I've heard; so I suppose they settledit all in the carriage, and the dear thing ran away to think about herhappiness alone. I'll not disturb her. Why, Phebe!" added Rose,surprised; for, entering her room, there was the cantatrice, busyabout the nightly services she always rendered her little mistress.
"I'm waiting for you, dear. Where have you been so long?" asked Phebe,poking the fire as if anxious to get some color into cheeks that wereunnaturally pale.
The instant she spoke, Rose knew that something was wrong, and aglance at her face confirmed the fear. It was like a dash of coldwater, and quenched her happy fancies in a moment; but being adelicate-minded girl she respected Phebe's mood, and asked noquestions, made no comments, and left her friend to speak or be silentas she chose.
"I was so excited I would take a turn in the moonlight to calm mynerves. O dearest Phebe, I am _so_ glad, so proud, so full of wonderat your courage and skill and sweet ways altogether, that I cannothalf tell you how I love and honor you!" she cried, kissing the whitecheeks with such tender warmth they could not help glowing faintly, asPhebe held her little mistress close, sure that nothing could disturbthis innocent affection.
"It is all your work, dear; because but for you I might still bescrubbing floors, and hardly dare to dream of any thing like this,"she said, in her old grateful way; but in her voice there was a thrillof something deeper than gratitude, and at the last two words herhead went up with a gesture of soft pride as if it had been newlycrowned.
Rose heard and saw and guessed the meaning of both tone and gesture;feeling that her Phebe deserved both the singer's laurel and thebride's myrtle wreath. But she only looked up, saying verywistfully,--
"Then it _has_ been a happy night for you as well as for us."
"The happiest of my life, and the hardest," answered Phebe briefly, asshe looked away from the questioning eyes.
"You should have let us come nearer and help you through. I'm afraidyou are very proud, my Jenny Lind."
"I have to be; for sometimes I feel as if I had nothing else to keepme up." She stopped short there, fearing that her voice would provetraitorous if she went on. In a moment, she asked in a tone that wasalmost hard,--
"You think I did well to-night?"
"They all think so, and were so delighted they wanted to come in abody and tell you so; but I sent them home, because I knew you'd betired out. Perhaps I ought not to have done it, and you'd rather havehad a crowd about you than just me?"
"It was the kindest thing you ever did, and what could I like betterthan 'just you,' my darling?"
Phebe seldom called her that, and when she did her heart was in thelittle word, making it so tender that Rose thought it the sweetest inthe world, next to Uncle Alec's "my little girl." Now it was almostpassionate, and Phebe's face grew rather tragical as she looked downat Rose. It was impossible to seem unconscious any longer, and Rosesaid, caressing Phebe's cheek, which burned with a feverish colornow,--
"Then don't shut me out if you have a trouble; but let me share it asI let you share all mine."
"I will! Little mistress, I've got to go away, sooner even than weplanned."
"Why, Phebe?"
"Because--Archie loves me."
"That's the very reason you should stay and make him happy."
"Not if it caused dissension in the family, and you know it would."
Rose opened her lips to deny this impetuously, but checked herself andanswered honestly,--
"Uncle and I would be heartily glad; and I'm sure Aunt Jessie nevercould object, if you loved Archie as he does you."
"She has other hopes, I think; and kind as she is it _would_ be adisappointment if he brought me home. She is right; they all are, andI alone am to blame. I should have gone long ago: I knew I should; butit was so pleasant I couldn't bear to go away alone."
"I kept you, and I am to blame if any one; but indeed, dear Phebe, Icannot see why you should care even if Aunt Myra croaks, and AuntClara exclaims, or Aunt Jane makes disagreeable remarks. Be happy,and never mind them," cried Rose; so much excited by all this that shefelt the spirit of revolt rise up within her, and was ready to defyeven that awe-inspiring institution "the family" for her friend'ssake.
But Phebe shook her head with a sad smile; and answered, still withthe hard tone in her voice as if forcing back all emotion that shemight see her duty clearly,--
"_You_ could do that, but _I_ never can. Answer me this, Rose, andanswer truly as you love me. If you had been taken into a house, afriendless, penniless, forlorn girl, and for years been heaped withbenefits, trusted, taught, loved, and made, oh, so happy! could youthink it right to steal away something that these good people valuedvery much? To have them feel that you had been ungrateful, haddeceived them, and meant to thrust yourself into a high place not fitfor you; when they had been generously helping you in other ways, farmore than you deserved. Could you then say as you do now, 'Be happyand never mind them'?"
Phebe held Rose by the shoulders now, and searched her face so keenlythat the other shrunk a little; for the black eyes were full of fire,and there was something almost grand about this girl who seemedsuddenly to have become a woman. There was no need of words to answerthe questions so swiftly asked; for Rose put herself in Phebe's placein the drawing of a breath, and her own pride made her truthfullyreply,--
"No: I could not!"
"I knew you'd say that, and help me do my duty;" and all the coldnessmelted out of Phebe's manner, as she hugged her little mistress close,feeling the comfort of sympathy even through the blunt sincerity ofRose's words.
"I will if I know how. Now come and tell me all about it;" and,seating herself in the great chair which had often held them both,Rose stretched out her hands as if glad and ready to give help of anysort.
But Phebe would not take her accustomed place; for, as if coming toconfession, she knelt down upon the rug, and, leaning on the arm ofthe chair, told her love-story in the simplest words.
"I never thought he cared for me until a little while ago. I fanciedit was you, and even when I knew he liked to hear me sing I supposedit was because you helped; and so I did my best, and was glad you wereto be a happy girl. But his eyes told the truth; then I saw what I hadbeen doing, and was frightened. He did not speak; so I believed, whatis quite true, that he felt I was not a fit wife for him, and wouldnever ask me. It was right: I was glad of it, yet I _was_ proud; and,though I did not ask or hope for any thing, I did want him to see thatI respected myself, remembered my duty, and could do right as well ashe. I kept away; I planned to go as soon as possible, and resolvedthat at this concert I would do so well he should not be ashamed ofpoor Phebe and her one gift."
"It was this that made you so strange, then; preferring to go alone,and refusing every little favor at our hands?" asked Rose, feelingvery sure now about the state of Phebe's heart.
"Yes; I wanted to do every thing myself, and not owe one jot of mysuccess, if I had any, to even the dearest friend I've got. It was badand foolish of me, and I was punished by that first dreadful failure.I was so frightened, Rose! My breath was all gone, my eyes so dizzy Icould hardly see, and that great crowd of faces seemed so near I d
arednot look. If it had not been for the clock, I never should have gotthrough; and when I did, not knowing in the least how I'd sung, onelook at your distressed face told me that I'd failed."
"But I smiled, Phebe,--indeed I did,--as sweetly as I could; for I wassure it was only fright," protested Rose, eagerly.
"So you did: but the smile was full of pity, not of pride, as I wantedit to be; and I rushed into a dark place behind the organ, feelingready to kill myself. How angry and miserable I was! I set my teeth,clenched my hands, and vowed that I would do well next time, or neversing another note. I was quite desperate when my turn came, and feltas if I could do almost any thing; for I remembered that _he_ wasthere. I'm not sure how it was, but it seemed as if I was all voice;for I let myself go, trying to forget every thing except that twopeople must _not_ be disappointed, though I died when the song wasdone."
"O Phebe, it was splendid! I nearly cried, I was so proud and glad tosee you do yourself justice at last."
"And he?" whispered Phebe, with her face half hidden on the arm of thechair.
"Said not a word: but I saw his lips tremble and his eyes shine; and Iknew he was the happiest creature there, because _I_ was sure he didthink you fit to be his wife, and did mean to speak very soon."
Phebe made no answer for a moment, seeming to forget the small successin the greater one which followed, and to comfort her sore heart withthe knowledge that Rose was right.
"_He_ sent the flowers; _he_ came for me, and, on the way home, showedme how wrong I had been to doubt him for an hour. Don't ask me to tellthat part, but be sure _I_ was the happiest creature in the worldthen." And Phebe hid her face again, all wet with tender tears, thatfell soft and sudden as a summer shower.
Rose let them flow undisturbed, while she silently caressed the benthead; wondering, with a wistful look in her own wet eyes, what thismysterious passion was, which could so move, ennoble, and beautify thebeings whom it blessed.
An impertinent little clock upon the chimney-piece striking elevenbroke the silence, and reminded Phebe that she could not indulge inlove-dreams there. She started up, brushed off her tears, and saidresolutely,--
"That is enough for to-night. Go happily to bed, and leave thetroubles for to-morrow."
"But, Phebe, I must know what you said," cried Rose, like a childdefrauded of half its bedtime story.
"I said 'No.'"
"Ah! but it will change to 'Yes' by and by; I'm sure of that: so I'lllet you go to dream of 'him.' The Campbells _are_ rather proud ofbeing descendants of Robert Bruce; but they have common-sense and loveyou dearly, as you'll see to-morrow."
"Perhaps." And, with a good-night kiss, poor Phebe went away, to lieawake till dawn.
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