"But I think I often scold you."
"Bless you, that's not scolding."
Phebe bent down and kissed her, saying in a low voice, "God bless you, Bessie, darling. I cannot tell you how your words have comforted me, just as though an angel had helped you to say them. Perhaps some day you will understand what I mean." Bessie thought she understood even now, but did not say so.
"And I may love you just as much as ever I like, may I not?"
"Of course you may, there is room in my life for a lot of love," and Phebe had suddenly to rise and go into the shop, but Bessie knew it was only that she might not see her tears.
Next morning came, still no message. The day passed to Phebe as the previous one had done—she had been ever on the watch, a feeling of dumb despair taking possession of her. In the evening she had a visitor; no other than Stephen Collins, who asked if he might see her alone.
After the first greetings were over there was an awkward silence, and then Stephen said, "Mrs. Waring, you are in trouble. I cannot tell you exactly now how I know, but will you not as an old friend confide in me?"
No answer. Poor Phebe could not think what to say; she could only look up into his kind face and as suddenly let her glance fall again to hide her tears.
But the look gave Stephen courage to go on. "Ralph has left you, has he not? Did he leave no message behind?"
"I can find none," she replied frankly, "and I have searched everywhere." Quite unconsciously she thus for the first time revealed the secret trouble which was so crushing her.