"And your friends have gone away contented?"
"Yes, father."
"Those flowers look well in your dress. What flowers are they? Ah, I see—white daisies and roses. Who gave you the daisies?"
"A poor friend in the village sent them to me." Knowing that her father was incensed against Tom Barley, she did not dare to mention his name.
"And the roses, Phœbe?"
"Mr. Cornwall gave them to me," said Phœbe, timidly.
"Can you spare me one?"
She gave it to him gladly, and he stuck it in his coat. Phœbe's heart beat quick. Every sign that came to her was in harmony with its throbbing.
"I am sorry for your sake, Phœbe, that I am not younger and stronger."
"Dear father! I grieve that you suffer so! If I only knew what to do to make you well!"