“You need not fear me, Barby. I have learned my lesson at last. If I only get my wife back, you shall see—you shall see how I will make up to her for all I have ever made her suffer! My poor girl! my poor girl!” And then he shaded his face, and was silent.
Phillis had stolen out in the garden, and sat down on a little bench outside, where passers-by could not discern her from the road, and where only the sound of their voices reached her faintly. Now and then, chance words fell on her ear,—“Magdalene” over and over again; and “Janie” and “Bertie,”—always in the voice she had so admired. By and by she heard her own name, and rose at once, and found them looking for her.
“Here is my good angel, Barby,” observed Mr. Cheyne, as she came up smiling. “Not one girl in a thousand would have acted as bravely and simply as she has done. We are friends for life, Miss Challoner, are we not?” And he stretched out his hand to her, and Phillis laid her own in it.
“I was a bit harsh with you, dearie, was I not?” returned Miss Mewlstone, apologetically: “but there! you were such a child that I thought you had been deceived. But I ought to have known better, craving your pardon, my dear. Now we will just go back to Magdalene; and you must help my stupid 258 old head, for I am fairly crazy at the thought of telling her. Go back into the parlor and lie down, Herbert, for you are terribly exhausted. You must have patience, my man, a wee bit longer, for we must be cautious,—cautious, you see.”
“Yes, I must have patience,” he responded, rather bitterly. But he went back into the room and watched them until they disappeared into the gates of his own rightful paradise.
Miss Mewlstone was leaning on Phillis’s arm. Her gait was still rather feeble, but the girl was talking energetically to her.
“What a spirit she has! just like Magdalene at her age,” he thought, “only Magdalene never possessed her even temper. My poor girl! From what Barby says, she has grown hard and bitter with trouble. But it shall be my aim in life to comfort her for all she has been through!” And then, as he thought of his dead children, and of the empty nursery, he groaned, and threw himself face downward upon the couch. But a few minutes afterwards he had started up again, unable to rest, and began to pace the room; and then, as though the narrow space confined him, he continued his restless walk into the garden, and then into the shrubberies of the White House.
“My dear, I am not as young as I was. I feel as if all this were too much for me,” sighed Miss Mewlstone, as she pressed her companion’s arm. “One needs so much vitality to bear such scenes. I am terrified for Magdalene, she has so little self-control! and to have him given back to her from the dead! I thank God! but I am afraid, for all that.” And a few more quiet tears stole over her cheeks.
“Thinking of it only makes it worse,” returned Phillis, feverishly. She, too, dreaded the ordeal before them; but she was young, and not easily daunted. All the way through the shrubbery she talked on breathlessly, trying to rally her own courage. It was she who entered the drawing-room first, for poor Miss Mewlstone had to efface the signs of her agitation.
Mrs. Cheyne looked up, surprised to see her alone.