cast off by
her first love.

'My dear, believe me, it was not love at all, only mystery and the rights
of woman. Her very demonstrativeness shows that it was not the heart,
but the vanity.'

Phoebe tried to believe, and at least was refreshed by the sympathy, so
as to be able, to her own surprise, to be pleased and happy at Moorcroft,
where Sir John and his wife were full of kindness, and the bright
household mirth of the sons and daughters showed Phoebe some of the
benefit Miss Fennimore expected for Bertha from girl friends. One of the
younger ones showed her a present in preparation for 'cousin Cecily,' and
embarked in a list of the names of the cousinhood at Sutton; and though
an elder sister decidedly closed young Harriet's mouth, yet afterwards
Phoebe was favoured with a sight of a photograph of the dear cousin, and
inferred from it that the young lady's looks were quite severe enough to
account for her cruelty.

The having been plunged into a new atmosphere was good for Phoebe, and
she brought home so cheerful a face, that even the news of Bertha's
continued obstinacy could not long sadden it, in the enjoyment of the
sight of Robert making himself necessary to Mervyn, and Mervyn accepting
his services as if there had never been anything but brotherly love
between them. She could have blessed Bertha for having thus brought them
together, and felt as if it were a dream too happy to last.

'What an accountant Robert is!' said Mervyn. 'It is a real sacrifice not
to have him in the business! What a thing we should have made of it, and
he would have taken all the bother!'

'We have done very well to-day,' was Robert's account; 'I don't know what
can have been the matter before, except my propensity for making myself
disagreeable.'

Phoebe went to bed revolving plans for softening Bertha, and was fast
asleep when the lock of her door was turned. As she awoke, the terrors
of the robbery were upon her far more strongly than at the actual moment
of its occurrence; but the voice was familiar, though thin, weak, and
gasping. 'O Phoebe, I've done it! I've starved myself. I am dying;'
and the sound became a shrill cry. 'The dark! O save me!' There was a
heavy fall, and Phoebe, springing to the spot where the white vision had
sunk down, strove to lift a weight, cold as marble, without pulse or
motion. She contrived to raise it, and drag it with her into her own
bed, though in deadly terror at the icy touch a