Phoebe meantime returned to Chagford, withdrew herself into her chamber, and feverishly busied brains and hands with a task commended that morning by Will when she had mentioned it to him. The various trinkets and objects of value lavished of late upon her by John Grimbal she made into a neat packet, and tied up a sealskin jacket and other furs in a second and more bulky parcel. With these and a letter she presently despatched a maid to Mr. Grimbal’s temporary address. Phoebe’s note explained how, weak and friendless until the sudden return of Will into her life, she had been thrown upon wickedness, falsehood, and deceit to win her own salvation in the face of all about her. She told him of the deed done that day, begged him to be patient and forget her, and implored him to forgive her husband, who had fought with the only weapons at his command. It was a feeble communication, and Phoebe thought that her love for Will might have inspired words more forcible; but relief annihilated any other emotion; she felt thankful that the lying, evasion, and prevarication of the last horrible ten days were at an end. From the nightmare of that time her poor, bruised conscience emerged sorely stricken; yet she felt that the battle now before her was a healthy thing by comparison, and might serve to brace her moral senses rather than not.
At the tea-table she first met her father, and there were present also Billy Blee and Mr. Chapple. The latter had come to Monks Barton about a triumphal arch, already in course of erection at Chagford market-place, and his presence it was that precipitated her confession, and brought Phoebe’s news like a thunderbolt upon the company.
Mr. Chapple, looking up suddenly from the saucer that rested upon his outspread fingers and thumb, made a discovery, and spoke with some concern.
“Faith, Missy, that’s ill luck—a wisht thing to do indeed! Put un off, like a gude maid, for theer ’s many a wise sayin’ ’gainst it.”
“What’s her done?” asked Billy anxiously.
“Luke ’pon her weddin’ finger. ’Tis poor speed to put un on ’fore her lard an’ master do it, at the proper moment ordained by Scripture.”
“If she hasn’t! Take un off, Miss Phoebe, do!” begged Mr. Blee, in real trepidation; and the miller likewise commanded his daughter to remove her wedding-ring.
“An auld wife’s tale, but, all the same, shouldn’t be theer till you ’m a married woman,” he said.
Thus challenged, the way was made smooth as possible for the young wife. She went over to her father, walked close to him, and put her plump little hand with its shining addition upon his shoulder.
“Faither dear, I be a married woman. I had to tell lies and play false, but’t was to you an’ Mr. Grimbal I’ve been double, not to my husband that is. I was weak, and I’ve been punished sore, but—”