Captain Cy looked back over his shoulder. “What do you want?” he asked.
Mr. Peabody's face was now intensely solemn, but there was a twinkle in his eye.
“I think she's at the boarding house,” he said demurely. “I'm pretty certain you'll find her there.”
All the regulars at the perfect boarding house had, of course, attended the reception at the Cy Whittaker place. None of them, with the exception of the schoolmistress, had as yet returned. Dinner had been forgotten in the excitement of the great day, and Keturah and Angeline and Mrs. Tripp had stopped in at various dwellings along the main road, to compare notes on the captain's appearance and the Atkins address. Asaph and Bailey and Alpheus Smalley were at Simmons's.
Captain Cy knew better than to attempt his hurried trip by way of the road. He had no desire to be held up and congratulated. He went across lots, in the rear of barns and orchards, wading through drifts and climbing fences as no sane convalescent should. But the captain at that moment was suffering from the form of insanity known as the fixed idea. She had done all this for him—for HIM. And his last message to her had been an insult.
He approached the Bangs property by the stable lane. No one locks doors in our village, and those of the perfect boarding house were unfastened. He entered by way of the side porch, just as he had done when Gabe Lumley's depot wagon first deposited him in that yard. But now he entered on tiptoe. The dining room was empty. He peeped into the sitting room. There, by the center table, sat Phoebe Dawes, her elbow on the arm of her chair, and her head resting on her hand.
“Ahem! Phoebe!” said Captain Cy.
She started, turned, and saw him standing there. Her eyes were wet, and there was a handkerchief in her lap.
“Phoebe,” said the captain anxiously, “have you been cryin'?”
She rose on the instant. A great wave of red swept over her face. The handkerchief fell to the floor, and she stooped and picked it up.