An awkward minute for poor Phebe; but she showed unexpected presenceof mind, and left behind her a pretty picture of the oldest and theyoungest orphan, as she went quickly down the step, smiling over thegreat bouquet with the baby on her arm.
Nobody minded the closing piece; for people began to go, sleepychildren to be carried off, and whispers grew into a buzz ofconversation. In the general confusion, Rose looked to see if Stevehad remembered his promise to help Phebe slip away before the rushbegan. No, there he was putting on Kitty's cloak, quite oblivious ofany other duty; and, fuming to ask Archie to hurry out, Rose foundthat he had already vanished, leaving his gloves behind him.
"Have you lost any thing?" asked Dr. Alec, catching a glimpse of herface.
"No, sir, I've found something," she whispered back, giving him thegloves to pocket along with her fan and glass, adding hastily as theconcert ended, "Please, uncle, tell them all not to come with us.Phebe has had enough excitement, and ought to rest."
Rose's word was law to the family in all things concerning Phebe. Soword was passed that there were to be no congratulations tillto-morrow, and Dr. Alec got his party off as soon as possible. But allthe way home, while he and Aunt Plenty were prophesying a brilliantfuture for the singer, Rose sat rejoicing over the happy present ofthe woman. She was sure that Archie had spoken, and imagined the wholescene with feminine delight,--how tenderly he had asked the momentousquestion, how gratefully Phebe had given the desired reply, and nowhow both were enjoying that delicious hour which Rose had been givento understand never came but once. Such a pity to shorten it, shethought; and begged her uncle to go home the longest way: the nightwas so mild, the moonlight so clear, and herself so in need of freshair after the excitement of the evening.
"I thought you would want to rush into Phebe's arms the instant shegot done," said Aunt Plenty, innocently wondering at the whims girlstook into their heads.
"So I should if I consulted my own wishes; but as Phebe asked to belet alone I want to gratify her," answered Rose, making the bestexcuse she could.
"A little piqued," thought the doctor, fancying he understood thecase.
As the old lady's rheumatism forbade their driving about tillmidnight, home was reached much too soon, Rose thought, and trippedaway to warn the lovers the instant she entered the house. But
study,parlor, and boudoir were empty; and, when Jane appeared with cake andwine, she reported that "Miss Phebe went right upstairs, and wished tobe excused, please, being very tired."
"That isn't at all like Phebe: I hope she isn't ill," began AuntPlenty, sitting down to toast her feet.
"She may be a little hysterical; for she is a proud thing, andrepresses her emotions as long as she can. I'll step up and see if shedoesn't need a soothing draught of some sort," and Dr. Alec threw offhis coat as he spoke.
"No, no, she's only tired. I'll run up to her: she won't mind me; andI'll report if any thing is amiss."
Away went Rose, quite trembling with suspense; but Phebe's door wasshut, no light shone underneath, and no sound came from the roomwithin. She tapped, and, receiving no answer, went on to her ownchamber, thinking to herself,--
"Love always makes people queer, I've heard; so I suppose they settledit all in the carriage, and the dear thing ran away to think about herhappiness alone. I'll not disturb her. Why, Phebe!" added Rose,surprised; for, entering her room, there was the cantatrice, busyabout the nightly services she always rendered her little mistress.
"I'm waiting for you, dear. Where have you been so long?" asked Phebe,poking the fire as if anxious to get some color into cheeks that wereunnaturally pale.
The instant she spoke, Rose knew that something was wrong, and aglance at her face confirmed the fear. It was like a dash of coldwater, and quenched her happy fancies in a moment; but being adelicate-minded girl she respected Phebe's mood, and asked noquestions, made no comments, and left her friend to speak or be silentas she chose.
"I was so excited I would take a turn in the moonlight to calm mynerves. O dearest Phebe, I am _so_ glad, so proud, so full of wonderat your courage and skill and sweet ways altogether, that I cannothalf tell you how I love and honor you!" she cried, kissing the whitecheeks with such tender warmth they could not help glowing faintly, asPhebe held her little mistress close, sure that nothing could disturbthis innocent affection.
"It is all your work, dear; because but for you I might still bescrubbing floors, and hardly dare to dream of any thing like this,"she said, in her old grateful way; but in her voice there was a thrillof something deeper than gratitude, and at the last two words herhead went up with a gesture of soft pride as if it had been newlycrowned.
Rose heard and saw and guessed the meaning of both tone and gesture;feeling that her Phebe deserved both the singer's laurel and thebride's myrtle wreath. But she only looked up, saying verywistfully,--
"Then it _has_ been a happy night for you as well as for us."
"The happiest of my life, and the hardest," answered Phebe briefly, asshe looked away from the questioning eyes.
"You should have let us come nearer and help you through. I'm afraidyou are very proud, my Jenny Lind."
"I have to be; for sometimes I feel as if I had nothing else to keepme up." She stopped short there, fearing that her voice would provetraitorous if she went on. In a moment, she asked in a tone that wasalmost hard,--
"You think I did well to-night?"
"They all think so, and were so delighted they wanted to come in abody and tell you so; but I sent them home, because I knew you'd betired out. Perhaps I ought not to have done it, and you'd rather havehad a crowd about you than just me?"
"It was the kindest thing you ever did, and what could I like betterthan 'just you,' my darling?"
Phebe seldom called her that, and when she did her heart was in thelittle word, making it so tender that Rose thought it the sweetest inthe world, next to Uncle Alec's "my little girl." Now it was almostpassionate, and Phebe's face grew rather tragical as she looked downat Rose. It was impossible to seem unconscious any longer, and Rosesaid, caressing Phebe's cheek, which burned with a feverish colornow,--
"Then don't shut me out if you have a trouble; but let me share it asI let you share all mine."
"I will! Little mistress, I've got to go away, sooner even than weplanned."
"Why, Phebe?"
"Because--Archie loves me."
"That's the very reason you should stay and make him happy."
"Not if it caused dissension in the family, and you know it would."
Rose opened her lips to deny this impetuously, but checked herself andanswered honestly,--
"Uncle and I would be heartily glad; and I'm sure Aunt Jessie nevercould object, if you loved Archie as he does you."
"She has other hopes, I think; and kind as she is it _would_ be adisappointment if he brought me home. She is right; they all are, andI alone am to blame. I should have gone long ago: I knew I should; butit was so pleasant I couldn't bear to go away alone."
"I kept you, and I am to blame if any one; but indeed, dear Phebe, Icannot see why you should care even if Aunt Myra croaks, and AuntClara exclaims, or Aunt Jane makes disagreeable remarks. Be happy,and never mind them," cried Rose; so much excited by all this that shefelt the spirit of revolt rise up within her, and was ready to defyeven that awe-inspiring institution "the family" for her friend'ssake.
But Phebe shook her head with a sad smile; and answered, still withthe hard tone in her voice as if forcing back all emotion that shemight see her duty clearly,--
"_You_ could do that, but _I_ never can. Answer me this, Rose, andanswer truly as you love me. If you had been taken into a house, afriendless, penniless, forlorn girl, and for years been heaped withbenefits, trusted, taught, loved, and made, oh, so happy! could youthink it right to steal away something that these good people valuedvery much? To have them feel that you had been ungrateful, haddeceived them, and meant to thrust yourself into a high place not fitfor you; when they had been generously helping you in other ways, farmore than you deserved. Could you then say as you do now, 'Be happyand never mind them'?"
Phebe held Rose by the shoulders now, and searched her face so keenlythat the other shrunk a little; for the black eyes were full of fire,and there was something almost grand about this girl who seemedsuddenly to have become a woman. There was no need of words to answerthe questions so swiftly asked; for Rose put herself in Phebe's placein the drawing of a breath, and her own pride made her truthfullyreply,--
"No: I could not!"
"I knew you'd say that, and help me do my duty;" and all the coldnessmelted out of Phebe's manner, as she hugged her little mistress close,feeling the comfort of sympathy even through the blunt sincerity ofRose's words.
"I will if I know how. Now come and tell me all about it;" and,seating herself in the great chair which had often held them both,Rose stretched out her hands as if glad and ready to give help of anysort.
But Phebe would not take her accustomed place; for, as if coming toconfession, she knelt down upon the rug, and, leaning on the arm ofthe chair, told her love-story in the simplest words.
"I never thought he cared for me until a little while ago. I fanciedit was you, and even when I knew he liked to hear me sing I supposedit was because you helped; and so I did my best, and was glad you wereto be a happy girl. But his eyes told the truth; then I saw what I hadbeen doing, and was frightened. He did not speak; so I believed, whatis quite true, that he felt I was not a fit wife for him, and wouldnever ask me. It was right: I was glad of it, yet I _was_ proud; and,though I did not ask or hope for any thing, I did want him to see thatI respected myself, remembered my duty, and could do right as well ashe. I kept away; I planned to go as soon as possible, and resolvedthat at this concert I would do so well he should not be ashamed ofpoor Phebe and her one gift."
"It was this that made you so strange, then; preferring to go alone,and refusing every little favor at our hands?" asked Rose, feelingvery sure now about the state of Phebe's heart.
"Yes; I wanted to do every thing myself, and not owe one jot of mysuccess, if I had any, to even the dearest friend I've got. It was badand foolish of me, and I was punished by that first dreadful failure.I was so frightened, Rose! My breath was all gone, my eyes so dizzy Icould hardly see, and that great crowd of faces seemed so near I d
arednot look. If it had not been for the clock, I never should have gotthrough; and when I did, not knowing in the least how I'd sung, onelook at your distressed face told me that I'd failed."
"But I smiled, Phebe,--indeed I did,--as sweetly as I could; for I wassure it was only fright," protested Rose, eagerly.
"So you did: but the smile was full of pity, not of pride, as I wantedit to be; and I rushed into a dark place behind the organ, feelingready to kill myself. How angry and miserable I was! I set my teeth,clenched my hands, and vowed that I would do well next time, or neversing another note. I was quite desperate when my turn came, and feltas if I could do almost any thing; for I remembered that _he_ wasthere. I'm not sure how it was, but it seemed as if I was all voice;for I let myself go, trying to forget every thing except that twopeople must _not_ be disappointed, though I died when the song wasdone."
"O Phebe, it was splendid! I nearly cried, I was so proud and glad tosee you do yourself justice at last."
"And he?" whispered Phebe, with her face half hidden on the arm of thechair.
"Said not a word: but I saw his lips tremble and his eyes shine; and Iknew he was the happiest creature there, because _I_ was sure he didthink you fit to be his wife, and did mean to speak very soon."
Phebe made no answer for a moment, seeming to forget the small successin the greater one which followed, and to comfort her sore heart withthe knowledge that Rose was right.
"_He_ sent the flowers; _he_ came for me, and, on the way home, showedme how wrong I had been to doubt him for an hour. Don't ask me to tellthat part, but be sure _I_ was the happiest creature in the worldthen." And Phebe hid her face again, all wet with tender tears, thatfell soft and sudden as a summer shower.
Rose let them flow undisturbed, while she silently caressed the benthead; wondering, with a wistful look in her own wet eyes, what thismysterious passion was, which could so move, ennoble, and beautify thebeings whom it blessed.
An impertinent little clock upon the chimney-piece striking elevenbroke the silence, and reminded Phebe that she could not indulge inlove-dreams there. She started up, brushed off her tears, and saidresolutely,--
"That is enough for to-night. Go happily to bed, and leave thetroubles for to-morrow."
"But, Phebe, I must know what you said," cried Rose, like a childdefrauded of half its bedtime story.
"I said 'No.'"
"Ah! but it will change to 'Yes' by and by; I'm sure of that: so I'lllet you go to dream of 'him.' The Campbells _are_ rather proud ofbeing descendants of Robert Bruce; but they have common-sense and loveyou dearly, as you'll see to-morrow."
"Perhaps." And, with a good-night kiss, poor Phebe went away, to lieawake till dawn.