"Yes, that is so; but still he wanted us to go."
Stephen was looking intently into the fire, evidently weighing some thought over.
"Perhaps I had better tell you, Ralph secured his berth to Sydney three months ago."
"One berth?"
"Yes."
"May I ask how you know?"
"I made inquiries, as I thought it would rest your mind to know exactly where he had gone."
"And you think——" began Phebe.
"I think," interrupted Stephen, anxious to save her all the pain he could, "that it was not his intention to take you with him." Only God knew what it cost that man to say those words; it seemed to him that he was giving this crushed woman an extra stab, but it was only to save her all he could of future pain. He wanted to keep her from building on the hope that her husband would send for her, for he believed in his heart that Ralph was only too glad to be relieved from the responsibility of providing for wife and children.
"Perhaps it was much better he should go with a free hand," was all Phebe said. She wanted very much to ask Stephen to tell her all he knew, all he thought, but dared not do so; something held her back—something which told her there was a wound in that man's heart she might not touch nor look upon.