But there must be a waking time, and breakfast time, before black Phœbe would begin to talk, and she had carefully provided supplies which she insisted on seeing enjoyed before even answering his inquiries of the state of the Countess.
"Bery sore heart, heavy and sad, and no dear Lord to lean it on," she said, pitifully. "Do Massa Falconer know 'bout de Son ob God?"
"Yes," said Guy. "'I know that my Redeemer liveth,' and if it were not for the risk of attracting unwelcome notice, you and I would sing a morning hymn to His praise."
"Bery good; ole Phœbe glad. But now, why massa come to dis city whar nobody honour de Lord, all full ob silly tings and shows, and call it 'ligion?"
"Only because there are beautiful studies for those who want to paint well."
"Hum! What for massa want paint well?"
"I am poor, and have to earn my bread," said Guy, colouring.
"Nebber shame for dat. All right. But what make him so poor?" persisted Phœbe.
"You would not understand if I were to tell you," said Guy, slightly vexed.
"Do me deal ob good to know," said Phœbe, calmly. "Massa, please tell ole Phœbe."