rother, a married man, inherited the farm, and was
executor. Phoebe and Dick were left fifteen hundred pounds apiece, on
condition of their leaving England and going to Natal.

They knew directly what that meant. Phoebe was to be parted from a bad
man, and Dick was to comfort her for the loss.

When this part of the will was read to Phoebe, she turned faint, and
only her health and bodily vigor kept her from swooning right away.

But she yielded. "It is the will of the dead," said she, "and I will
obey it; for, oh, if I had but listened to him more when he was alive to
advise me, I should not sit here now, sick at heart and dry-eyed, when I
ought to be thinking only of the good friend that is gone."

When she had come to this she became feverishly anxious to be gone. She
busied herself in purchasing agricultural machines, and stores, and even
stock; and to see her pinching the beasts' ribs to find their condition,
and parrying all attempts to cheat her, you would never have believed
she could be a love-sick woman.

Dick kept her up to the mark. He only left her to bargain with the
master of a good vessel; for it was no trifle to take out horses and
cows, and machines, and bales of cloth, cotton, and linen.

When that was settled they came in to town together, and Phoebe bought
shrewdly, at wholesale houses in the city, for cash, and would have
bargains: and the little shop in ----- Street was turned into a
warehouse.

They were all ardor, as colonists should be; and what pleased Dick most,
she never mentioned Falcon; yet he learned from the maid that worthy had
been there twice, looking very seedy.

The day drew near. Dick was in high spirits.

"We shall soon make our fortune out there," he said; "and I'll get you a
good husband."

She shuddered, but said nothing.

The evening before they were to sail, Phoebe sat alone, in her black
dress, tired with work, and asking herself, sick at heart, could she
ever really leave England, when the door opened softly, and Reginald
Falcon, shabbily dressed, came in, and threw himself into a chair.

She started up with a scream, then sank down again, trembling, and
turned her face to the wall.

"So you are going to run away from me!" said he savagely.

"Ay, Reginald," said she meekly.

"This is your fine love, is it?"

"You have worn it out, dear," she said softly, without turning her head
from the wall.

"I wish I could say as much; but, curse it, every time I le