Phebe carried out his orders with patient, unswerving devotion, knowing well that in this dark hour she was the sufferer’s only friend.
And indeed she had to fight for this position, and hold it in the teeth of the elder Mrs. Laurens’ grim displeasure, for Louise’s artful tale had so wrought upon that lady’s feelings that she immediately sought out Phebe and told her to take her discharge with a mouth’s wages instead of the customary warning.
“Indeed, then, mem, with all due respect to your gray hair, I can’t take my discharge from anybody but Mr. Cecil himself. He it was that engaged me, mem, and I promised him I’d be a faithful servant to my young mistress, so how could I desert her now in her trouble, when every one has gone against her and she hasn’t a friend but me?” expostulated Phebe.
“You are impertinent, woman!” Mrs. Laurens exclaimed, with a frown.
“I’m sorry you think so, mem; I don’t mean to be so, but I can’t desert my mistress now.”
“I shall engage a sick-nurse,” Mrs. Laurens said loftily.
“I beg your pardon, mem, but you couldn’t find a better sick-nurse than me anywhere, if I do say it myself,” said Molly’s stanch friend sturdily; and so she held her situation in the teeth of all opposition.
It was not an enviable task she had either, for all the care of the invalid devolved upon her and the physician; Mrs. Laurens only making two short calls daily, morning and evening—calls that never exceeded five minutes in duration, and which did the sick girl more harm than good, for she was so frightened by the lady’s cold words and frigid looks, that they sent her into shivering fits that lasted long after the ceremonious calls were over.
“She is a cold-hearted, cruel woman, and makes you worse whenever she comes. I’ll never let her in again if you’ll give me leave to keep her out, my dear!” exclaimed the indignant maid.
But Molly cried out in terror that not for worlds would she treat Cecil’s mother with such indignity.