'I was so glad to help Mr. Fenwick—he interested me so. If I had only known of you—and the child—why, how happy we might all have been!'
She withdrew her hand, and walked away to the window, trying to calm herself.
Phoebe rose and followed her.
'Do you know?'—she said, piteously—'can't you tell me?—will John take me back?'
Eugénie paused just a moment; then said, steadily, 'He is coming here, because you are his wife—because he is faithful to you—because he wants you. Don't agitate him too much! He wants resting and healing. And so do you!' She took Phoebe's hands again in hers. 'And how do you think anybody is to deny you anything, when you bring such a gift as that?'
Carrie and Miss Mason were entering the little garden. Eugénie's smile, as she motioned towards the girl, seemed to reflect the May sunshine and Carrie's young charm.
But after Madame de Pastourelles was gone, a cloud of nervous dread fell upon the little cottage and its inmates. Phoebe wandered restlessly about the garden, waiting—and listening—hour after hour.
The May evening drew towards sunset. Flame descended on the valley, striking athwart the opening which leads to its furthest recess, superbly guarded by the crags of Bowfell, and turning all the mountain-side above the cottage, still dyed with the fern of 'yesteryear,' to scarlet. A fresh breeze blew through the sycamore leaves, bringing with it the cool scents of rain-washed grass. All was hushed—richly hued—expectant—like some pageant waiting for its king.
Alas—poor king! In the full glory of the evening light, a man alighted from a wagonette at the foot of the cottage hill, and dragged his weary limbs up the steep ground. He opened the gate, looking round him slowly to right and left.
Then, in the porch, Fenwick saw his wife. He walked up to her, and gripped her wrists. She fell back with a stifled cry; and they stood there—speechless and motionless—looking into each other's eyes.