Phœbe's mind was full of many and somewhat agitating thoughts. She went upstairs with a restless haste, which she would have been the first to condemn, to the room where the others were congregated, when they had laid Mr. May on his bed with no small difficulty, and were now consulting what to do. Ursula had fallen a little from the position of command she had taken up. To get him to bed, to send for the doctor, these were evident practical steps to take; but after having done these she was bewildered and fell back upon her advisers.
“We can't do anything, we can only wait and watch him,” Reginald was saying, as Phœbe, herself unseen, looked in at the anxious party; and without asking any question she turned and went downstairs again, and hastily putting on her shawl and hat, went out, shutting the door softly, and ran home on the shady side of Grange Lane, where nobody could see her. It was a very quiet road, and she was not disturbed by any unreasonable alarms. It was still early when she got home, earlier than usual, and her intention was not to stay there at all, but to go back again and offer her assistance to Ursula, for whom she had left a message to this effect. Phœbe was full of genuine regard and friendliness towards the Mays.
She felt that she had obligations to all of them, to the parson-father for submitting to her presence, nay, encouraging it, and to Ursula for receiving her with that affectionate fervour of friendship which had completely changed the tenor of Phœbe's life at Carlingford. She was obliged to them, and she knew that she was obliged to them. How different these three months would have been but for the Parsonage; what a heavy leaden-coloured existence without variety and without interest she must have lived; whereas it had gone by like a summer day, full of real life, of multiplied interests, of everything that it was most desirable to have. Not at home and in London could she have had the advantages she had enjoyed here. Phœbe was sensible enough—or perhaps we might use a less complimentary word—worldly enough, to count within those manifest benefits the advantage of seeing more of Clarence Copperhead, and of drawing him within the charmed circle of her influence, and she was grateful to the Mays, for this was their doing. And then, on the other hand, quite a different thing, her heart was touched and softened with gratitude to Reginald for loving her; of all her gratitudes, perhaps this indeed was the most truly felt. They had given her unbounded kindness, friendliness, everything that is most sweet to the solitary; and over and above, as if these were not enough, they had made her the exquisite present of a heart, the best thing that can be given or received by man. Phœbe felt herself penetrated with gratitude for all this, and she resolved that, if anything she could do could benefit the Mays, the effort on her part should not be wanting. “Paid by Tozer.” What had been paid by Tozer? What had her grandfather to do with it. Could it be he who had lent money to Mr. May? Then Phœbe resolved, with a glow on her face, he should forgive his debtors. She went in with her mind fully made up, whatever might happen, to be the champion of the sufferer, the saviour of the family. This would show them that their kindness had been appreciated. This would prove even to Reginald that, though she would not sacrifice her own prospects by marrying him, yet that she was grateful to him, to the bottom of her heart. Her mind was full of generous ardour as she went in. She knew her power; her grandfather had never yet refused her anything, never resisted her, and it did not seem likely that he should begin now.
Mrs. Tozer was by herself in the parlour, dozing over the fire. She woke up with a little start when Phœbe came in and smiled at the sight of her.
“I didn't expect as you'd have come so soon,” she said; “you've broke up early to-night, darling. Couldn't you have no music? I didn't look for you for an hour or more.”
“You know, grandmamma, it is Mr. Copperhead who teases me most for music, and he is not here.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” said the old lady, nodding her head with many smiles. “I know a deal more about it than you think for, Phœbe, and don't you think as I disapprove, for it's quite the other way. But you won't tell me as there ain't others as cares for music as well as young Copperhead. I've seen one as couldn't take his eyes off of you while you were playing.”
“Hush, grandmamma; the others like music for music's sake, or perhaps for my sake; but Mr Copperhead likes it for his own sake, and therefore he is the one who insists upon it. But this is not the reason why I have come home so soon. Mr. May has been taken suddenly ill.”
“Lord bless us!” cried Mrs. Tozer, “deary, deary me! I'm very sorry, poor gentleman, I hope it ain't anything serious. Though he's a church parson, he's a very civil-spoken man, and I see his children drag him into his own house one day as me and Tozer was passing. I said to Tozer at the time, you take my word, whatever folks say, a man as lets his children pull him about like that ain't a bad one. And so he's ill, poor man! Is there anything as we can do to help, my dear? They ain't rich, and they've been as kind to you as if you'd been one of their own.”
“I thought that would be the first thing you would ask me,” said Phœbe gratefully, giving her a kiss—“dear grandmamma, it is like your kind heart—and I ran off to see that you were quite well and comfortable, thinking perhaps if you did not want me I might go back to poor Ursula for the night.”