“God bless you! I knew your kind heart was to be trusted There! I will not come any farther. Good-night; good-night, a thousand thanks!” And, before Phillis could reply, this strange being had left her side, and was laying the cashmere shawl in Jeffreys’s arms slowly and tenderly, as though it were a child.
Phillis was glad that Dulce opened the door to her that night, for she was afraid of Nan’s questioning glance. Nan was tired, and had retired early; and, as Dulce was sleepy too, Phillis was now left in peace. She passed the night restlessly, walking up at all sorts of untimely hours, her conscience pricking her into wakefulness. To her well-ordered nature there was something terrifying in the thought that she should be forced to take such a step.
“Oh, what would mother and Nan say?” was her one cry.
“I know I am dreadfully impulsive and imprudent, but Nan would think I am not to be trusted;” but she had passed her word, and nothing now would have induced her to swerve from it.
She ate her breakfast silently, and with a sense of oppression and guilt quite new to her. She grew inwardly hot whenever Nan looked at her, which she did continually and with the utmost affection. Before the meal was over, however, Miss Middleton and Mattie made their appearance, and in the slight bustle of entrance Phillis managed to effect her escape.
The hour that followed bore the unreality of a nightmare. Outwardly, Phillis was the grave, business-like dressmaker. The lady who had sent for her, and who was a stranger to Hadleigh, was much struck with her quiet self-possessed manners and lady-like demeanor.
“Her voice was quite refined,” she said afterwards to her daughter. “And she had such a nice face and beautiful figure. I am sure she is a reduced gentlewoman, for her accent was perfect. I am quite obliged to Miss Milner for recommending us such a person, for she evidently understands her business. One thing I noticed, Ada,—the way in which she quietly laid down the parcel, and said it should be fetched presently. Any ordinary dressmaker in a small town like this would have carried it home herself.”
Poor Phillis! she had laid down the parcel and drawn on her well-fitting gloves with a curious sinking at her heart: from the window of the house in Rock Building she could distinctly see Mr. Dancy walking up and down the narrow plat of grass before the houses, behind the tamarisk hedge, his foreign-looking cloak and slouch hat making him conspicuous.
“There is that queer-looking man again, mamma,” exclaimed one of the young ladies, who was seated in the window. “I 248 am sure he is some distinguished foreigner, he has such an air with him.”
Phillis listened to no more, but hurried down the stairs and then prepared to cross the green with some degree of trepidation. She was half afraid that Mr. Dancy would join her at once, in the full view of curious eyes; but he knew better. He sauntered on slowly until she had reached the Parade and was going towards a part of the beach where there was only a knot of children wading knee-deep in the water, sailing a toy-boat. She stood and watched them dreamily, until the voice she expected sounded in her ear: