with her, and as if she could look no one in
the face. Set off to-morrow! He might tell Miss Charlecote himself, she
would not! Yet, after all, he had been rejected. His departure might
not torture Cecily like the sight of his indifference. But what despair
for Bertha, thought Phoebe, as she saw the friends pacing the paths
between the rows of olives, while Miss Charlecote and Maria were
gathering magnificent blue violets. At the first hint, Miss Charlecote
called to Bertha, who came reluctantly, while Phoebe, with almost
sickening pity, murmured her tidings to Cecily--adding, 'I do not think
he is coming out. He is having something to eat,' in hopes that this
tardiness might be a preparation. She was relieved that Bertha rushed
back again to monopolize Miss Raymond, and overwhelm her with schemes for
walks under Mervyn's escort. Cecily let her talk, but made no promises,
and the soft gentleness of those replies thrilled as pangs of pain on
Phoebe's pitying heart.

As they walked homewards, Mervyn himself appeared, slowly sauntering
towards them. The younger sisters sprang to meet him, Cecily fell back
to Miss Charlecote. Phoebe held her breath, and scarcely durst look.
There was a touch of the hand, a greeting, then Bertha pounced on her
brother to tell the adventure of the ravine; and Cecily began to set
Maria off about the flowers in her nosegay. Phoebe could only come close
to Miss Charlecote and squeeze her hand vehemently.

The inn-door was reached, and Mervyn waiting till Cecily came up, said
with grave formality, 'I hear my sisters are indebted to you for your
assistance in a very unpleasant predicament.

She bowed, and he bowed. That was all, and they were in their several
apartments. Phoebe had never felt in such a fever. She could discern
character, but love was but an external experience to her, and she could
not read the riddle of Mervyn's repudiation of intercourse with their
fellow-inmates, and his restlessness through the evening, checking Bertha
for boring about her friend, and then encouraging her to go on with what
she had been saying. At last, however, Bertha voluntarily ceased her
communications and could be drawn out no farther; and when the candle was
put out at night, she electrified Phoebe with the remark, 'It is Mervyn,
and you know it; so you may as well tell me all about it.'

Phoebe had no choice but compliance; advising Bertha not to betray her
knowledge, and anxious to k