"You must not use loving words to me," she said; "they--they wring my heart. I can not tell you what is the matter, Philip, at least for a week. And--oh! if you would let me answer you in a week--and oh! poor Philip, I am afraid there is very little hope."

"Why so, Frances; don't you love me?"

"I--I--ought not to say it. Let me go back to the house now."

"I shall do nothing of the kind. Do you love me?"

"Philip, I said I would give you an answer in a week."

"This has nothing to say to your answer. You surely know now whether you love me or not."

"I--Philip, can't you see? Need I speak?"

"I see that you have kept me at a distance, Frances; that you have left me alone all day; that you seem very tired and unhappy. What I see--yes, what I see--does not, I confess, strike me in a favorable light."

Frances, who had been standing all this time, now laid her hand on Arnold's shoulder. Her voice had grown quiet, and her agitation had disappeared.

"A week will not be long in pa.s.sing," she said. "A heavy burden has been laid upon me, and the worst part is the suspense. If you have waited ten years, you can wait another week, Philip. I can give you no other answer to-night."

The hand which unconsciously had been almost caressing in its light touch was removed, and Frances returned quickly to the house. She came in by a back entrance, and, going straight to her own room, locked the door. Thus she could not hear her father when he called her.

But Philip remained for a long time in the elm-walk, hurt, angry, and puzzled.

CHAPTER X.

"FLUFF WILL SUIT HIM BEST."

Frances spent a very unhappy night. She could not doubt Philip's affection for her, but she knew very little about men, and was just then incapable of grasping its depth. Like many another woman, she overlooked the fact that in absolutely sacrificing herself she also sacrificed the faithful heart of the man who had clung to her memory for ten long years.

Frances was too humble to suppose it possible that any man could be in serious trouble because he could not win her.

"I know what will happen," she said to herself, as she turned from side to side of her hot, unrestful pillow. "I know exactly how things will be. The man to whom my father owes the money will accept the interest from me. Yes, of course, that is as it should be. That is what I ought to wish for and pray for. In about a week from now I shall go to live at Arden, and the next few years of my life will be taken up soothing Mrs.

Carnegie's nerves. It is not a brilliant prospect, but I ought to be thankful if in that way I can add to my poor father's life. Of course, as soon as I hear from Mr. Spens, I must tell Philip I can have nothing to say to him. I must give Philip up. I must pretend that I don't love him. Perhaps he will be disappointed for awhile; but of course he will get over it. He'll get another wife by and by; perhaps he'll choose Fluff. Fluff is just the girl to soothe a man and make him happy. She is so bright, and round, and sweet, she has no hard angles anywhere, and she is so very pretty. I saw Philip looking at her with great admiration to-night. Then she is young, too. In every way she is more suited to him than I am. Oh, it won't be at all difficult for Philip to transfer his affections to Fluff! Dear little girl, she will make him happy. They will both be happy, and I must hide the pain in my heart somehow. I do believe, I do honestly believe, that Fluff is more suited to Philip than I am; for now and then, even if I had the happiest lot, I must have my sad days. I am naturally grave, and sometimes I have a sense of oppression. Philip would not have liked me when I was not gay. Some days I must feel grave and old, and no man would like that. No doubt everything would be for the best; at least, for Philip, and yet how much--how much I love him!"

Frances buried her head in the bed-clothes, and sobbed, long and sadly.

After this fit of crying she fell asleep.

It was early morning, and the summer light was filling the room when she woke. She felt calmer now, and she resolutely determined to turn her thoughts in practical directions. There was every probability that the proposal she had made to Mr. Spens would be accepted, and if that were so she had much to do during the coming week.

She rose at her usual early hour, and, going down-stairs, occupied herself first in the house, and then with Watkins in the garden. She rather dreaded Philip's appearance, but if he were up early he did not come out, and when Frances met him at breakfast his face wore a tired, rather bored expression. He took little or no notice of her, but he devoted himself to Fluff, laughing at her gay witty sallies, and trying to draw her out.

After breakfast Frances had a long conversation with her father. She then told him what she meant to do in order that he might continue to live at the Firs. She told her story in a very simple, ungarnished manner, but she said a few words in a tone which rather puzzled the squire at the end.

"I will now tell you," she said, "that when Philip wrote to me asking me to be his wife I was very, very glad. For all the long years of his absence I had loved him, and when I thought he was dead I was heart-broken. I meant to marry him after he wrote me that letter, but I would not say so at once, for I knew that I had grown much older, and I thought it quite possible that when he saw me he might cease to love me.

That is not the case; last night he let me see into his heart, and he loves me very, very deeply. Still, if your creditor consents to the arrangement I have proposed, I can not marry Philip--I shall then absolutely and forever refuse him. But I do this for you, father, for my heart is Philip's. I wish you to understand, therefore, that I could not give up more for you than I am doing. It would be a comfort for me if, in return, you would give me a little affection."

Frances stood tall and straight and pale by her father's side. She now looked full into his face. There were no tears in her eyes, but there was the pa.s.sion of a great cry in the voice which she tried to render calm.

The squire was agitated in spite of himself; he was glad Fluff was not present. He had an uneasy consciousness of certain words Fluff had said to him yesterday.

"You are a good girl, Frances," he said, rising to his feet and laying his trembling old hand on her arm. "I love you after my fashion, child--I am not a man of many words. By and by, when you are old yourself, Frances, you won't regret having done something to keep your old father for a short time longer out of his grave. After all, even with your utmost endeavor, I am not likely to trouble any one long. When I am dead and gone, you can marry Philip Arnold, Frances."

"No father."

Frances's tone was quiet and commonplace now.

"Sit down, please; don't excite yourself. I am not a woman to keep any man waiting for me. I trust, long before you are dead, father, Philip will be happy with another wife."

"What! Fluff, eh?" said the old man. "What a capital idea! You will forgive my saying that she will suit him really much better than you, Frances. Ah, there they go down the elm-walk together. She certainly is a fascinating little thing. It will comfort you, Frances, to know that you do Philip no injury by rejecting him; for he really gets a much more suitable wife in that pretty young girl--you are decidedly _pa.s.see_, my love."

Frances bit her lips hard.

"On the whole, then, you are pleased with what I have done," she said, in a constrained voice.

"Very much pleased, my dear. You have acted well, and really with uncommon sense for a woman. There is only one drawback that I can see to your scheme. While you are enjoying the luxuries and comforts of Arden, who is to take care of me at the Firs?"

"I have thought of that," said Frances. "I acknowledge there is a slight difficulty; but I think matters can be arranged. First of all, father, please disabuse yourself of the idea that I shall be in a state of comfort and luxury. I shall be more or less a close prisoner; I shall be in servitude. Make of that what you please."

"Yes, yes, my love--a luxurious house, carriages, and horses--an affectionate and most devoted friend in Lucilla Carnegie--the daintiest living, the most exquisitely furnished rooms. Yes, yes, I'm not complaining. I'm only glad your lot has fallen in such pleasant places, Frances. Still, I repeat, what is to become of me?"

"I thought Mrs. Cooper, our old housekeeper, would come back and manage matters for you, father. She is very skillful and nice, and she knows your ways. Watkins quite understands the garden, and I myself, I am sure, will be allowed to come over once a fortnight or so. There is one thing--you must be very, very careful of your money, and Watkins must try to sell all the fruit and vegetables he can. Fluff, of course, can not stay here. My next thought is to arrange a home for her, but even if I have to leave next week, she need not hurry away at once. Now, father, if you will excuse me, I will go out to Watkins, for I have a great deal to say to him."

CHAPTER XI.

EDGE TOOLS.

"I have something to say to you, Fluff," said Frances.

The young girl was standing in her white dress, with her guitar hung in its usual att.i.tude by her side. She scarcely ever went anywhere without this instrument, and she was fond of striking up the sweetest, wildest songs to its accompaniment at any moment.

Fluff, for all her extreme fairness and babyishness, had not a doll's face. The charming eyes could show many emotions, and the curved lips reveal many shades either of love or dislike. She had not a pa.s.sionate face; there were neither heights nor depths about little Fluff; but she had a very warm heart, and was both truthful and fearless.

She had been waiting in a sheltered part of the garden for over an hour for Arnold. He had promised to go down with her to the river--he was to sketch, and she was to play. It was intensely hot, even in the shadiest part of the squire's garden, but by the river there would be coolness and a breeze. Fluff was sweet-tempered, but she did not like to wait an hour for any man, and she could not help thinking it aggravating of Arnold to go on pacing up and down in the hot sun by the squire's side.

What could the squire and Arnold have to say to each other? And why did the taller and younger man rather stoop as he walked? And why was his step so depressed, so lacking in energy that even Fluff, under her shady tree in the distance, noticed it?

She was standing so when Frances came up to her; now and then her fingers idly touched her guitar, her rosy lips pouted, and her glowing dark-blue eyes were fixed reproachfully on Arnold's distant figure.

Frances looked pale and f.a.gged; she was not in the becoming white dress which she had worn during the first few days of Arnold's visit; she was in gray, and the gray was not particularly fresh nor cool in texture.

"Fluff, I want to speak to you," she said.