More than once he had been half-inclined to rush out of his lair and give himself up to justice, but how could he face that grinning multitude? If they had made fun of him before, what would they do now? Besides her family were furious, and the rustic mind loves justice of a certain rough kind. Daniel was not more of a coward than another, but he had a wholesome dread of broken bones. No, he dursn’t show his face for a long time, that was certain; and as for ever making up with Phœbe again, it was out of the question—no woman could forgive such treatment.
Very disconsolately, indeed, did Daniel turn in at his own little gate; even in the dusk he could see how nice the place looked, how complete were his arrangements. He opened the door and slunk in, dropping into the nearest chair with a groan. After quite a long time he made up his mind to strike a match and look round, though he knew the sight of the cosy little room would increase his melancholy. He lit the blue glass lamp which had been placed in readiness on the dresser, and with a heavy sigh poked up the fire which had been carefully “kept in” with a thick layer of wet slack. The light leaped on the newly-papered walls with their neat design of blue roses on a buff ground—he had papered these walls himself, in honour of the coming event—on the two elbow-chairs, just re-covered with a gay chintz. On the table in the centre was a small tray with a biblical design in prodigiously bright colours, which bore a curious old decanter containing elderberry wine, a plate of mixed biscuits and two tumblers. In setting these forth that morning he had thought with tender glee of how Phœbe’s first wifely task would be to “hot-up” some of that wine in one of her new saucepans. Had it not been for his own inconceivable folly, they might at that very moment have been sitting face to face drinking each other’s health. And now! Daniel dropped his face in his hands and fairly sobbed.
One day about a fortnight after the untoward event which had so rudely quenched her simple hopes, Phœbe Cosser was standing by the wash-tub up to her eyes in suds, with Mary Ann similarly engaged; while Mrs. Cosser in the inner room laboriously ironed out a few of the fine things which had already passed through her daughter’s hands. All at once, Mary Ann, raising her eyes, uttered a little scream which immediately lost itself in a fit of giggles.
“There! I never did see such a foolish maid!” commented Phœbe severely. “Whatever be gawkin’ at?”
“Lard! There now! Well, to be sure!” ejaculated Mary Ann between spasmodic titters. “Look yonder behind the thorn tree!”
The Cossers’ garden sloped downwards towards the road, and a gnarled May tree filled the angle where the front hedge joined that which separated their piece of ground from their neighbour’s; the twisted trunk was split down to a few feet from the ground, and through this aperture Daniel Chaffey’s woeful face was peering. As Phœbe turned towards him he immediately dived out of sight. After waiting a moment and finding he did not reappear Phœbe philosophically went on with her washing. In a few minutes, however, Mary Ann began to giggle afresh. Phœbe whisked round so sharply that she caught a glimpse of her former lover’s vanishing face.
“Don’t take no notice,” she said sternly, implanting a vicious nudge in her cousin’s ribs; after which she shifted her position so as to turn her back to the thorn.
After another short interval, however, the sound of her own name breathed in the most dolorous of tones caused her to turn her head once more. Daniel had thrown an arm round each half of the trunk, and was craning forth through the gap, his face vying in colour with the clusters of haws which surrounded it.
“Phœbe!” he pleaded with a gusty sigh.
“Well?” returned she, slowly wiping the suds from her stout red arms.