Phil did not say much, perhaps he could not, but Miss Crawford understood the look of radiant delight with which he heard the good news, and was satisfied that he was happy.
The eventful day of the journey at length arrived. Phil was conveyed as comfortably as possible in an invalid's carriage to the station, and travelled on his couch in state with Millie and his uncle in close attendance.
"You wait upon me as if I were a prince," he said gratefully.
His uncle said nothing, but he smiled and looked pleased. He had been an altered man since the night of the fire. With good resolutions to lead a different life, there had sprung up within him a great regret for his past conduct. He felt deeply too for Phil, and blamed himself as being the cause of the accident that had deprived the boy of the use of his limbs.
Miss Crawford had never yet breathed a word of what Phil had confessed to her, and she made the boy promise that for the present it should remain a secret between themselves. She acted from wise motives. She hoped Richard Hunt would so learn to pity his nephew, that the pity would grow into love, too deep and sincere to be affected by the knowledge that Phil's own cruel and revengeful deed had occasioned the fire and all the trouble which ensued.
But the boy winced under the unaccustomed kindness of his uncle, and longed to make a clear breast of it then and there.
Phil was glad to arrive at his journey's end. It had tired him far more than he would have believed possible; every limb was aching, and he was so faint and weary when the train drew up at Chormouth Station that Millie was quite frightened. They went straight to the rooms that Miss Crawford had secured for them in Mrs. Blake's pretty cottage on the cliffs, where, as soon as he had seen them comfortably established, and Phil reviving, their uncle left them, to return to his work in London.
The sea air did wonders for Phil. He soon began to sit up a few hours every day, and great was Millie's joy when he was lifted into a bath-chair and she had the happiness of wheeling him along the path at the top of the cliffs. Poor boy! He was so light and thin now that she could do it without the least fatigue. Then Millie would stop while Phil gazed with delight over the vast restless ocean, and watched the big white clouds sailing overhead. The neighbours, seeing them there, would come up for a chat, or to beg their acceptance of a particularly fine fish for their dinner. Phil would hold quite a levée round his chair, and there was sure to be quite a contention as to which of his old friends should have the pleasure of drawing him back to Mrs. Blake's cottage.
Happy days they were! A month flew by all too rapidly, and Millie began sorrowfully to think of their return to London. It was not for herself that she grieved. She dreaded the effect of the close air of the big city on Phil's weak body. The brother and sister had changed places indeed, for now she was by far the stronger of the two. But Millie's dreary anticipations were never realised, and events occurred that never in her wildest dreams had even entered her head.
One cold afternoon—it was too cold and unpleasant a day for Phil to leave the house—Millie sat by the window, and gazed thoughtfully out upon the grey, stormy sea. It was rarely now that she had the opportunity of indulging in quiet thought; but just at present she had nothing in particular to do, and Phil was sleeping soundly. He had been in great pain during the preceding night, and had slept but little. Glad, therefore, that he was getting the rest which he so much needed, his sister took care not to disturb him.