"What do you think is going to happen, Sister Deborah?" asked Mrs. Chloe in a quivering voice.
"I think Philippa is going to Berwick, if she does not change her mind before the day after to-morrow!" replied Mrs. Deborah, with a tone and look which showed she was annoyed. "And I am afraid I shall call Roberts an old fool myself, if he does not clear the table, instead of standing there talking nonsense to frighten you, Sister Chloe. Do draw up your shawl and go to the fire."
"What did Roberts and Mrs. Chloe mean by saying that something was going to happen to Mrs. Philippa?" I asked of Amabel, when we were in our own room together.
Mary Lee thought the question was addressed to her and answered with some solemnity.
"They think she is fey! Miss Corbet."
"Fey!" I repeated. "What is that?"
"Why, just fey! When any strange alteration comes over a person as from close to liberal or from fretful to pleasant or the other way, people say they are fey—and then they are not long for this world."
"Oh, that is it. Well, we will not be alarmed for Mrs. Philippa just yet," said I. "We shall see how she is to-morrow."
But to-morrow brought no alteration in Mrs. Philippa's mood. Amabel and I waited on her every morning. Sometimes she would admit us, and oftener we were sent away, and bid not to be troublesome little hypocrites, pretending what we did not feel. On these occasions, Tupper always came outside the door and dismissed us with the same remark.
"My mistress is not quite herself this morning, ladies. Another time I am sure she will be happy."