"I will," he answered; but he turned frightfully pale. "Phineas—don't let her see us both. Stay without the door. If there were anybody to tell her this but me!"
"Do you hesitate?"
"No—No."
And he went out. I did not follow him; but I heard afterwards, both from himself and Mrs. Tod, what transpired.
She was standing so absorbed that she did not notice his entrance. She looked years older and sadder than the young girl who had stood by the stream-side less than a week ago. When she turned and spoke to John it was with a manner also changed. No hesitation, no shyness; trouble had put aside both.
"Thank you, my father is indeed seriously ill. I am in great trouble, you see, though Mrs. Tod is very, very kind. Don't cry so, good Mrs. Tod; I can't cry, I dare not. If I once began I should never stop, and then how could I help my poor father? There now, there!"
She laid her hand, with its soft, fluttering motions, on the good woman's shoulder, and looked up at John. He said afterwards that those dry, tearless eyes smote him to the heart.
"Why does she sob so, Mr Halifax? Papa will be better tomorrow, I am sure."
"I HOPE so," he answered, dwelling on the word; "we should always hope to the very last."
"The last?" with a quick, startled glance.