“You needn’t be afraid of me any more, Phœbe,” he spoke huskily but firmly. “I’ve been thinkin’ things out.... You’re right.... It wouldn’t do.... It wouldn’t do—for you.... I guess ... I guess,” he faltered; “I guess this is where I get up or fall back again——”
“But you won’t, boy!” she exulted. “You won’t! You will stand up and fight for yourself, and you will fight for me, and be the man I’ll be proud of all my life. All my life, boy.... For me, boy.”
“Yes,” he choked, but stood even a shade more erect. “For you, Phœbe.”
And then he strode away in the moonlight.
And Phœbe watched him from the doorway, and cried little chirping words to herself; and a sweeping happiness seized her, touched with a vague regret; and some of it was for the victory she had won; and some of it was for the pity of it all; and some of it was for the long, empty years of her own life.
As Jerry and Richard neared the cottage they quieted their step and moved stealthily to the window at the side. Phœbe was stretched at length in a commodious leather chair. She was in a great blue kimono and her hands were clasped behind her neck, her bared arms extending languorously on either side. Her glorious red hair was smoothed back and it dropped in two long loose braids in front. Her big blue eyes were wide, and they focussed on some vast distance. She looked for all the world like some splendid fearless child.
As they gazed upon the picture the two eavesdroppers felt suddenly like culprits; so they walked noisily around the porch to the front and tapped on the door.
“Come in!” Phœbe called, but moved not an inch.
“Ah!” she chuckled wisely, and scrutinized them from her deep chair. “Gallivantin’, as usual, eh?” On her face was not the slightest trace of the experience of the night; and her voice suggested never a sorrow. To the end of her days Phœbe Norris, and all her kind, would practise concealment of their suffering and of their virtues, reserving full confession to one only, and that one must be a mate proved by fire!