“No,” said Phil.
He was about to begin an account of his adventures the day before, when Phœnix pulled a letter out of his pocket and handed it to him.
“I was in town this afternoon,” he said, “and the people in the post-office gave me this to bring to you. It is a drop letter, and must have been put in yesterday. They said they saw you in town, but guessed you must have forgotten to stop at the office.”
“I did forget,” said Phil, as he took the letter. Glancing at the address, his face brightened. “It’s from uncle!” he exclaimed.
“Good! good!” cried Helen, clapping her hands. “Now everything will be all right! I felt sure all the time that something good would happen!”
Phil tore open the envelope and took out the note it contained. It was very short, and he read it aloud. He had no secrets from his friends. This was the note:
“You have grieved me to the heart. I expected to be with you for a time to-day, but little did I suppose I should be met with an insult—for it was nothing less—before I set foot on my own land. I don’t wish to see you for the present, and I cannot say when you will hear from me again.
“G. B.”
Phil stood, pale, with the letter in his hand, and said not a word. Helen burst into tears.
“That is too cruel!” she said. “What does he mean?”