"Not for long, you dear; you may rest on that. But I have thought I should like to get right away for three or four weeks. I want to view my life from a distance—that is, if I can. If I get away from my everyday surroundings perhaps I could see it more clearly. I'm not satisfied with it."
"But you would take somebody with you? Your sister?"
"No, not my sister; I should be all the time viewing her life if I did."
"Well, then, take Jack. I should not like you to go alone."
"Yes, I might take Jack."
So the two started on their journey alone, and only Nanna and Aunt Lizzie knew whither they were bound, both of whom were strictly charged to keep the matter secret.
What the mountains are to the Swiss, the sea is to the islander. Phebe and her boy settled down at a watering-place on the east coast, the lad finding endless amusement and instruction among the fishermen, while the mother sat on the green cliffs under the shadowing of blossoming trees, watching the course of the distant river, and the great steamers passing by bound for foreign shores, but intent mostly with the study of the past and future. The steamers made steady progress, but the same could not be said of the personal studies. Day followed day, but no progress was made. She was just where she was when she first came.
"Show me Thy will, O God," she prayed. "Thou knowest my heart is willing for it."
One very warm day she had her sunshade up to keep off a darting sunbeam that would keep dancing on her book, and did not notice a gentleman taking a seat not two yards away from her. When it was nearly time to meet Jack for their evening stroll she suddenly became aware of her neighbour. Both sunshade and book dropped from her hands—only one word escaped her lips, and it was—
"Stephen!"