"Have you palaces at your command, Clarence?" she said, with a smile.

Notwithstanding the fatigue of the night, the fresh air and her ablutions, and the agitation and commotion of her mind, made Phoebe almost more animated and brilliant than usual. Her eyes shone with the anxiety and excitement of the crisis, and a little, too, with the glory and delight of success; for though Clarence Copperhead was not very much to brag of in his own person, he still had been the object before her for some time back, and she had got him. And yet Phoebe was not mercenary, though she was not "in love" with her heavy lover in the ordinary sense of the word. She went towards him now, and stood near him, looking at him with a smile. He was a big, strong fellow, which is a thing most women esteem, and he was not without good looks; and he would be rich, and might be thrust into a position which would produce both honour and advantage; and lastly, he was her own, which gives even the most indifferent article a certain value in some people's eyes.

"Palaces? I don't know, but nice enough houses; and you know you like a nice house, Miss Phoebe. Here, I haven't said a word to the old gentleman. Tell him; I ain't come all this way for nothing. You've always got the right words at your fingers' end. Tell him, and let's get it over. I think I could eat some breakfast, I can tell you, after that drive."

"Grandpapa," said Phoebe, slightly tremulous, "Mr. Copperhead wishes me to tell you that--Mr. Copperhead wishes you to know why----"

"Bless us!" cried Clarence with a laugh. "Here is a beating about the bus.h.!.+ She has got her master, old gentleman, and that is what she never had before. Look here, I'm going to marry Phoebe. That's plain English without any phrases, and I don't know what you could say to better it.

Is breakfast ready? I've earned it for my part."

"Going to marry Phoebe!" Tozer gasped. He had heard from his wife that such a glory was possible; but now, when it burst upon him, the dazzling delight seemed too good to be true. It thrust the forgery and everything out of his head, and took even the power of speech from him. He got up and gazed at the young people, one after the other, rubbing his hands, with a broad grin upon his face; then he burst forth all at once in congratulation.

"G.o.d bless you, sir! G.o.d bless you both! It's an honour as I never looked for. Rising in the world was never no thought of mine; doing your duty and trusting to the Lord is what I've always stood by; and it's been rewarded. But she's a good girl, Mr. Copperhead; you'll never regret it, sir. She's that good and that sensible, as I don't know how to do without her. She'll do you credit, however grand you may make her; and if it's any comfort to you, as she's connected with them as knows how to appreciate a gentleman--" said Tozer, breaking down in his enthusiasm, his voice sinking into a whisper in the fulness of his heart.

"Grandpapa!" said Phoebe, feeling sharply p.r.i.c.ked in her pride, with a momentary humiliation, "there are other things to be thought of," and she gave him a look of reproach which Tozer did not understand, but which Clarence did vaguely. Clarence, for his part, liked the homage, and was by no means unwilling that everybody should perceive his condescension and what great luck it was for Phoebe to have secured him.

He laughed, pleased to wave his banner of triumph over her, notwithstanding that he loved her. He _was_ very fond of her, that was true; but still her good fortune in catching him was, for the moment, the thing most in his thoughts.

"Well, old gentleman," he said, "you ain't far wrong there. She _is_ a clever one. We shall have a bad time of it with the governor at first; for, of course, when there's no money and no connections, a man like the governor, that has made himself, ain't likely to be too well pleased."

"As for money, Mr. Copperhead, sir," said Tozer with modest pride, "I don't see as there's anything to be said against Phoebe on that point.

Her mother before her had a pretty bit of money, though I say it, as shouldn't--"

"Ah, yes--yes," said Clarence. "To be sure; but a little bit of coin like that don't count with us. The governor deals in hundreds of thousands; he don't think much of your little bits of fortunes. But I don't mind. She suits me down to the ground, does Phoebe; and I don't give that for the governor!" cried the young man valiantly. As for Phoebe herself, it is impossible to imagine any one more entirely put out of her place, and out of all the comfort and satisfaction in her own initiative which she generally possessed, than this young woman was, while these two men talked over her so calmly. It is doubtful whether she had ever been so set aside out of her proper position in her life, and her nerves were overstrained and her bodily strength worn out, which added to the sense of downfall. With almost a touch of anger in her tone she, who was never out of temper, interrupted this talk.

"I think breakfast is ready, grandpapa. Mr. Clarence Copperhead wants some refreshment after his exertions, and in preparation for the exertions to come. For I suppose your papa is very likely to follow you to Carlingford," she added, with a low laugh, turning to her lover. "I know Mr. Copperhead very well, and I should not like my first meeting with him after I had thwarted all his views."

"Phoebe! you don't mean to desert me? By Jove! I'll face him and twenty like him if you'll only stand by me," he cried; which was a speech that made amends.

She suffered him to lead her into breakfast less formally than is the ordinary fas.h.i.+on, and his hand on her trim waist did not displease the girl. No; she understood him, knew that he was no great things; but yet he was hers, and she had always meant him to be hers, and Phoebe was ready to maintain his cause in the face of all the world.

The breakfast was to Clarence's taste, and so was the company--even old Tozer, who sat with his mouth agape in admiration of the young potentate, while he recounted his many grandeurs. Clarence gave a great deal of information as to prices he had paid for various things, and the expenses of his living at Oxford and elsewhere, as he ate the kidneys, eggs, and sausages with which Phoebe's care had heaped the table. They had no _pate de foie gras_, it is true, but the simple fare was of the best quality, as Tozer had boasted. Mrs. Tozer did not come downstairs to breakfast, and thus Phoebe was alone with the two men, who suited each other so much better than she could have hoped. The girl sat by them languidly, though with a beating heart, wondering, as girls will wonder sometimes, if all men were like these, braggards and believers in brag, wors.h.i.+ppers of money and price. No doubt, young men too marvel when they hear the women about them talking across them of _chiffons_, or of little quarrels and little vanities. Phoebe had more brains than both of her interlocutors put together, and half-a-dozen more added on; but she was put down and silenced by the talk. Her lover for the moment had escaped from her. She could generally keep him from exposing himself in this way, and turn the better side of him to the light; but the presence of a believer in him turned the head of Clarence. She could not control him any more.

"A good horse is a deuced expensive thing," he said; "the governor gave a cool hundred and fifty for that mare that brought me over this morning. He bought her from Sir Robert; but he didn't know, Phoebe, the use I was going to put her to. If he'd known, he'd have put that hundred and fifty in the sea rather than have his beast rattled over the country on such an errand." Here he stopped in the midst of his breakfast, and looked at her admiringly. "But I don't repent," he added. "I'd do it again to-morrow if it wasn't done already. If you stand by me, I'll face him, and twenty like him, by Jove!"

"You don't say nothing," said her grandfather. "I wouldn't be so ungrateful. Gentlemen like Mr. Copperhead ain't picked up at every roadside."

"They ain't, by Jove!" said Clarence; "but she's shy, that's all about it," he added, tenderly; "when we're by ourselves, I don't complain."

Poor Phoebe! She smiled a dismal smile, and was very glad when breakfast was over. After that she took him into the garden, into the bright morning air, which kept her up, and where she could keep her Clarence in hand and amuse him, without allowing this revelation of the worst side of him. While they were there, Martha admitted the visitor of yesterday, Mr. Simpson from the Bank, bringing back to Phoebe's mind all the other matter of which it had been full.

"Don't you think you ought to go and see about the horse and the dog-cart?" she said suddenly, turning to her lover with one of those sudden changes which kept the dull young man amused. "You don't know what they may be about."

"They can't be up to much," said Clarence. "Thank you, Miss Phoebe, I like you better than the mare."

"But you can't be here all day, and I can't be here all day," she said.

"I must look after grandmamma, and you ought to go down and inquire after poor Mr. May--he is so ill. I have been there all night, helping Ursula. You ought to go and ask for him. People don't forget all the duties of life because--because a thing of this sort has happened--"

"Because they've popped and been accepted," said graceful Clarence. "By Jove! I'll go. I'll tell young May. I'd like to see his face when I tell him the news. You may look as demure as you like, but you know what spoons he has been upon you, and the old fellow too--made me as jealous as King Lear sometimes," cried the happy lover, with a laugh. He meant Oth.e.l.lo, let us suppose.

"Nonsense, Clarence! But go, please go. I must run to grandmamma."

Mr. Simpson had gone in, and Phoebe's heart had begun to beat loudly in her throat; but it was not so easy to get rid of this ardent lover, and when at last he did go, he was slightly sulky, which was not a state of mind to be encouraged. She rushed upstairs to her grandmother's room, which was over the little room where Tozer sat, and from which she could already hear sounds of conversation rapidly rising in tone, and the noise of opening and shutting drawers, and a general rummage. Phoebe never knew what she said to the kind old woman, who kissed and wept over her, exulting in the news.

"I ain't been so pleased since my Phoebe told me as she was to marry a minister," said Mrs. Tozer, "and this is a rise in life a deal grander than the best of ministers. But, bless your heart, what shall I do without you?" cried the old woman, sobbing.

Presently Tozer came in, with an air of angry abstraction, and began to search through drawers and boxes.

"I've lost something," he answered, with sombre looks, to his wife's inquiry. Phoebe busied herself with her grandmother, and did not ask what it was. It was only when he had searched everywhere that some chance movement directed his eyes to her. She was trembling in spite of herself. He came up to her, and seized her suddenly by the arm. "By George!" he cried, "I'm in a dozen minds to search you!"

"Tozer! let my child alone. How dare you touch her--her as is as good as Mr. Copperhead's lady? What's she got to do with your dirty papers?

Do you think Phoebe would touch them--with a pair of tongs?" cried the angry grandmother.

Phoebe shrank with all the cowardice of guilt. Her nerves were unstrung by weariness and excitement. And Tozer, with his little red eyes blazing upon her, was very different in this fury of personal injury, from the grandfather of the morning, who had been ready to see every virtue in her.

"I believe as you've got it!" he cried, giving her a shake. It was a shot at a venture, said without the least idea of its truth; but before the words had crossed his lips, he felt with a wild pa.s.sion of rage and wonder that it was true. "Give it up, you hussy!" he shrieked, with a yell of fury, his face convulsed with sudden rage, thickly and with sputtering lips.

"Tozer!" cried his wife, flinging herself between them, "take your hands off the child. Run, run to your room, my darling; he's out of his senses. Lord bless us all, Sam, are you gone stark staring mad?"

"Grandpapa," said Phoebe, trembling, "if I had it, you may be sure it would be safe out of your way. I told you I knew something about it, but you would not hear me. Will you hear me now? I'll make it up to you--double it, if you like. Grandmamma, it is a poor man he would drive to death if he is not stopped. Oh!" cried Phoebe, clasping her hands, "after what has happened this morning, will you not yield to me? and after all the love you have shown me? I will never ask anything, not another penny. I will make it up; only give in to me, give in to me--for once in my life! Grandpapa! I never asked anything from you before."

"Give it up, you piece of impudence! you jade! you d--d deceitful----"

He was holding her by the arm, emphasizing every new word by a violent shake, while poor old Mrs. Tozer dropped into a chair, weeping and trembling.

"Oh! it ain't often as he's like this; but when he is, I can't do nothing with him, I can't do nothing with him!" she cried.

But Phoebe's nerves strung themselves up again in face of the crisis. She shook him off suddenly with unexpected strength, and moving to a little distance, stood confronting him, pale but determined.

"If you think you will get the better of me in this way, you are mistaken," she said. "I am not your daughter; how dare you treat me so?

Grandmamma, forgive me. I have been up all night. I am going to lie down," said Phoebe. "If grandpapa has anything more to say against me, he can say it to Clarence. I leave myself in his hands."

Saying this, she turned round majestically, but with an anxious heart, and walked away to her room, every nerve in her trembling. When she got there, Phoebe locked the door hastily, in genuine terror; and then she laughed, and then she cried a little. "And to think it was here all the time!" she said to herself, taking out the little Russia leather purse out of her pocket. She went into the closet adjoining her room, and buried it deep in her travelling trunk which was there, relieving herself and her mind of a danger. Then--Phoebe did what was possibly the most sensible thing in the world, in every point of view. She went to bed; undressed herself quietly, rolled up her hair, and lay down with a grateful sense of ease and comfort. "When Clarence comes back he will be disappointed; but even for Clarence a little disappointment will be no harm," said the sensible young woman to herself. And what comfort it was to lie down, and feel all the throbs and pulses gradually subsiding, the fright going off, the satisfaction of success coming back, and gradually a slumberous, delicious ease stealing over her. Of all the clever things Phoebe had done in her life, it must be allowed that there was not one so masterly as the fact that she, then and there, went to sleep.

All this had taken up a good deal of time. It was twelve when Mr.

Simpson of the bank disturbed the lovers in the garden, and it was one o'clock before Phoebe put a stop to all Tozer's vindictive plans by going to bed. What he said to Mr. Simpson, when he went back to him, is not on record. That excellent man of business was much put out by the long waiting, and intimated plainly enough that he could not allow his time to be thus wasted. Mr. Simpson began to think that there was something very strange in the whole business. Tozer's house was turned upside down by it, as he could hear by the pa.s.sionate voices and the sound of crying and storming in the room above; but Cotsdean was secure in his shop, apparently fearing no evil, as he had seen as he pa.s.sed, peering in with curious eyes. What it meant he could not tell; but it was queer, and did not look as if the business was straight-forward.

"When you find the bill, or make up your mind what to do, you can send for me," he said, and went away, suspicious and half-angry, leaving Tozer to his own devices. And the afternoon pa.s.sed in the most uncomfortable lull imaginable. Though he believed his granddaughter to have it, he looked again over all his papers, his drawers, his waste-basket, every corner he had in which such a small matter might have been hid; but naturally his search was all in vain. Clarence returned in the afternoon, and was received by poor old Mrs. Tozer, very tremulous and ready to cry, who did not know whether she ought to distrust Phoebe or not, and hesitated and stumbled over her words till the young man thought his father had come in his absence, and that Phoebe had changed her mind. This had the effect of making him extremely eager and anxious, and of subduing the bragging and magnificent mood which the triumphant lover had displayed in the morning. He felt himself "taken down a peg or two," in his own fine language. He went to the Parsonage and tried very hard to see Ursula, to secure her help in case anything had gone wrong, and then to Reginald, whose vexation at the news he felt sure of, and hoped to enjoy a sight of. But he could see no one in the absorbed and anxious house. What was he to do? He wandered about, growing more and more unhappy, wondering if he had been made to fling himself into the face of fate for no reason, and sure that he could not meet his father without Phoebe's support. He could not even face her relations. It was very different from the day of triumph he had looked for; but, as Phoebe had wisely divined, this disappointment, and all the attending circ.u.mstances, did not do him any harm.

It was late in the afternoon when Northcote called. He too had acted on the information given by Betsy, and had gone to Cotsdean, who made him vaguely aware that Tozer had some share in the business in which Mr. May was involved, and who, on being asked whether it could be set right by money, grew radiant and declared that nothing could be easier. But when Northcote saw Tozer, there ensued a puzzling game at cross purposes, for Tozer had no notion that Mr. May had anything to do with the business, and declined to understand.

"I ain't got nothing to do with parsons, and if you'll take my advice, sir, it 'ud be a deal better for you to give 'em up too. You're a-aggravating the connection for no good, you are," said Tozer, surely by right of his own troubles and perplexities, and glad to think he could make some one else uncomfortable too.

"I shall do in that respect as I think proper," said Northcote, who was not disposed to submit to dictation.

"Fact is, he's a deal too well off for a minister," Tozer said to his wife when the young man disappeared, "they're too independent that sort; and I don't know what he means by his Mays and his fine folks. What have we got to do with Mr. May?"

"Except that he's been good to the child, Tozer; we can't forget as he's been very good to the child."

"Oh, dash the child!" cried the old man, infuriated; "if you say much more I'll be sorry I ever let you see her face. What has she done with my bill?"