she had possessed the companionship
of her dumb father: now there was not only silence, but utter
loneliness.

The necessity of forming some definite plan for her future life became
every day a more pressing obligation, whilst every day the needful
exertion grew more painful to her. Until now she had met with no
difficulty in deciding what she ought to do: her path of duty had been
clearly traced for her. But there was neither call of duty now nor any
strong inclination to lead her to choose one thing more than another.
All whom she loved had gone from London, and this small solitary home
had grown all too narrow in its occupations to satisfy her nature. Mr.
Clifford himself did not need her constant companionship as he would
have done if Jean Merle had not been living with him. She was perfectly
free to do what she pleased and go where she pleased, but to no human
being could such freedom be more oppressive than to Phebe Marlowe. She
had sauntered out one evening, ankle-deep among the heather, aimless in
her wanderings, and a little dejected in spirits. For the long summer
day had been hot even up here on the hills, and a dull film had hidden
the landscape from her eyes, shutting her in upon herself and her
disquieting thoughts. "We are always happy when we can see far enough,"
says Emerson; but Phebe's horizon was all dim and overcast. She could
see no distant and clear sky-line. The sight of Jean Merle's figure
coming towards her through the dull haziness brought a quick throb to
her pulse, and she ran down the rough wagon track to meet him.

"A letter from Felix," he called out before she reached him. "I came out
with it because you could not have it before post-time to-morrow, and I
am longing to have news of him and of Hilda."

They walked slowly back to the cottage, side by side, reading the
letter together; for Felix could have nothing to say to Phebe which his
father might not see. There was nothing of importance in it; only a
brief journal dispatched by a homeward-bound vessel which had crossed
the path of their steamer, but every word was read with deep and silent
interest, neither of them speaking till they had read the last line.

"And now you will have tea with me," said Phebe joyfully.

He entered the little kitchen, so dark and cool to him after his sultry
walk up the steep, long lanes, and sat watching her absently, yet with a
pleasant consciousness of her presence, as she kindled her fire of dry
f