listless, the whole
air full of suffering. Phoebe was dismayed and conscience-stricken, and
would fain have offered inquiries and sympathy, but no one had more
thoroughly than Lucy the power of repulsion. 'No, nothing was amiss--of
course she felt the frost. She would not speak to Honor--there was
nothing to speak about;' and she went up to her brother's room.

Mr. Randolf was out with Mr. Currie, and Phoebe, still exceedingly busy
writing notes and orders, and packing for her journey, did not know that
there was an unconscious resolution in her own mind that her business
_should_ not be done till he came home, were it at one o'clock at night!
He did come at no unreasonable hour, and found her fastening directions
upon the pile of boxes in the hall.

'What are you doing? Miss Charlecote is not going away?'

'No; but I am going to-morrow.'

'You!'

'Yes; I must get into our new house, and receive my sisters there the day
after to-morrow.'

'I thought you lived with Miss Charlecote.'

'Is it possible that you did not know what I have been doing all this
week?'

'Were you not preparing a house for your brother?'

'Yes, and another for myself. Did you not understand that we set up
housekeeping separately upon his marriage?'

'I did not understand,' said Humfrey Randolf, disconsolately. 'You told
me you owed everything to Miss Charlecote.'

'I am afraid your colonial education translated that into pounds s. d.'

'Then you are not poor?'

'No, not exactly,' said Phoebe, rather puzzled and amused by his downcast
air.

'But,' he exclaimed, 'your brother is in business; and Mr. Fulmort of St.
Matthew's--'

'Mr. Fulmort of St. Matthew's is poor because he gave all to St.
Matthew's,' said Phoebe; 'but our business is not a small one, and the
property in the country is large.'

He pasted on her last direction in disconsolate silence, then reading,
'Miss Fulmort, The Underwood, Hiltonbury, Elverslope Station,' resumed
with fresh animation, 'At least you live near Miss Charlecote?'

'Yes, we are wedged in between her park and our own--my brother's, I
mean.'

'That is all right then! She has asked me for Christmas.'

'I am very glad of it,' said Phoebe. 'There, thank you, good night.'

'Is there nothing more that I can do for you?'

'Nothing--no, no, don't hammer that down, you will wake Owen. Good
night, good-bye; I shall be gone by half-past six.'

Though Phoebe said good-bye, she knew perfectly