"You can't: don't try. Come into this little park, and let us talk."

And, drawing her hand through his arm, Archie led her into what to other eyes was a very dismal square, with a boarded-up fountain in the middle, sodden gra.s.s-plots, and dead leaves dancing in the wintry wind.

But to them it was a summery Paradise; and they walked to and fro in the pale sunshine, quite unconscious that they were objects of interest to several ladies and gentlemen waiting anxiously for their dinner, or yawning over the dull books kept for Sunday reading.

"Are you ready to come home now, Phebe?" asked Archie, tenderly, as he looked at the downcast face beside him, and wondered why all women did not wear delightful little black velvet bonnets, with one deep-red flower against their hair.

"Not yet. I haven't done enough," began Phebe, finding it very hard to keep the resolution made a year ago.

"You have proved that you can support yourself, make friends, and earn a name, if you choose. No one can deny that; and we are all getting proud of you. What more can you ask, my dearest?"

"I don't quite know, but I am very ambitious. I want to be famous, to do something for you all, to make some sacrifice for Rose, and, if I can, to have something to give up for your sake. Let me wait and work longer: I know I haven't earned my welcome yet," pleaded Phebe, so earnestly that her lover knew it would be vain to try and turn her; so wisely contented himself with half, since he could not have the whole.

"Such a proud woman! Yet I love you all the better for it, and understand your feeling. Rose made me see how it seems to you; and I don't wonder that you cannot forget the unkind things that were looked, if not said, by some of my amiable aunts. I'll try to be patient on one condition, Phebe."

"And what is that?"

"You are to let me come sometimes while I wait, and wear this lest you should forget me," he said, pulling a ring from his pocket, and gently drawing a warm, bare hand out of the m.u.f.f where it lay hidden.

"Yes, Archie, but not here,--not now!" cried Phebe, glancing about her, as if suddenly aware that they were not alone.

"No one can see us here: I thought of that. Give me one happy minute, after this long, long year of waiting," answered Archie, pausing just where the fountain hid them from all eyes, for there were houses only on one side.

Phebe submitted; and never did a plain gold ring slip more easily to its place than the one he put on in such a hurry that cold December day. Then one hand went back into the m.u.f.f red with the grasp he gave it, and the other to its old place on his arm, with a confiding gesture, as if it had a right there.

"Now I feel sure of you," said Archie, as they went on again, and no one the wiser for that tender transaction behind the ugly pyramid of boards. "Mac wrote me that you were much admired by your church people, and that certain wealthy bachelors evidently had designs on the retiring Miss Moore. I was horribly jealous, but now I defy every man of them."

Phebe smiled with the air of proud humility that was so becoming, and answered briefly,--

"There was no danger: kings could not change me, whether you ever came or not. But Mac should not have told you."

"You shall be revenged on him, then; for, as he told secrets about you, I'll tell you one about him. Phebe, he loves Rose!" And Archie looked as if he expected to make a great sensation with his news.

"I know it." And Phebe laughed at his sudden change of countenance, as he added inquiringly,--

"She told you, then?"

"Not a word. I guessed it from her letters: for lately she says nothing about Mac, and before there was a good deal; so I suspected what the silence meant, and asked no questions."

"Wise girl! then you think she does care for the dear old fellow?"

"Of course she does. Didn't he tell you so?"

"No, he only said when he went away, 'Take care of my Rose, and I'll take care of your Phebe,' and not another thing could I get out of him; for _I_ did ask questions. He stood by me like a hero, and kept Aunt Jane from driving me stark mad with her 'advice.' I don't forget that, and burned to lend him a hand somewhere; but he begged me to let him manage his wooing in his own way. And from what I see I should say he knew how to do it," added Archie, finding it very delightful to gossip about love affairs with his sweetheart.

"Dear little mistress! how does she behave?" asked Phebe, longing for news, but too grateful to ask at headquarters; remembering how generously Rose had tried to help her, even by silence, the greatest sacrifice a woman can make at such interesting periods.

"Very sweet and shy and charming. I try not to watch: but upon my word I cannot help it sometimes; she is so 'cunning,' as you girls say.

When I carry her a letter from Mac she tries so hard not to show how glad she is, that I want to laugh, and tell her I know all about it.

But I look as sober as a judge, and as stupid as an owl by daylight; and she enjoys her letter in peace, and thinks I'm so absorbed by my own pa.s.sion that I'm blind to hers."

"But why did Mac come away? He says lectures brought him, and he goes; but I am sure something else is in his mind, he looks so happy at times. I don't see him very often, but when I do I'm conscious that he isn't the Mac I left a year ago," said Phebe, leading Archie away: for inexorable propriety forbade a longer stay, even if prudence and duty had not given her a reminding nudge; as it was very cold, and afternoon church came in an hour.

"Well, you see Mac was always peculiar, and he cannot even grow up like other fellows. I don't understand him yet, and am sure he's got some plan in his head that no one suspects, unless it is Uncle Alec.

Love makes us all cut queer capers; and I've an idea that the Don will distinguish himself in some uncommon way. So be prepared to applaud whatever it is. We owe him that, you know."

"Indeed we do! If Rose ever speaks of him to you, tell her I shall see that he comes to no harm, and she must do the same for my Archie."

That unusual demonstration of tenderness from reserved Phebe very naturally turned the conversation into a more personal channel; and Archie devoted himself to building castles in the air so successfully that they pa.s.sed the material mansion without either being aware of it.

"Will you come in?" asked Phebe, when the mistake was rectified, and she stood on her own steps looking down at her escort, who had discreetly released her before a pull at the bell caused five heads to pop up at five different windows.

"No, thanks. I shall be at church this afternoon, and the Oratorio this evening. I must be off early in the morning, so let me make the most of precious time, and come home with you to-night as I did before," answered Archie, making his best bow, and quite sure of consent.

"You may," and Phebe vanished, closing the door softly, as if she found it hard to shut out so much love and happiness as that in the heart of the sedate young gentleman, who went briskly down the street, humming a verse of old "Clyde" like a tuneful ba.s.s viol.

"'Oh, let our mingling voices rise In grateful rapture to the skies, Where love has had its birth.

Let songs of joy this day declare That spirits come their bliss to share With all the sons of earth.'"

That afternoon Miss Moore sang remarkably well, and that evening quite electrified even her best friends by the skill and power with which she rendered "Inflammatus" in the oratorio.

"If that is not genius, I should like to know what it is?" said one young man to another, as they went out just before the general crush at the end.

"Some genius and a great deal of love. They are a grand team, and, when well driven, astonish the world by the time they make in the great race," answered the second young man, with the look of one inclined to try his hand at driving that immortal span.

"Dare say you are right. Can't stop now: she's waiting for me. Don't sit up, Mac."

"The G.o.ds go with you, Archie."

And the cousins separated: one to write till midnight, the other to bid his Phebe good-by, little dreaming how unexpectedly and successfully she was to earn her welcome home.

CHAPTER XX.

_WHAT MAC DID._

Rose, meantime, was trying to find out what the sentiment was with which she regarded her cousin Mac. She could not seem to reconcile the character she had known so long with the new one lately shown her; and the idea of loving the droll, bookish, absent-minded Mac of former times appeared quite impossible and absurd: but the new Mac, wide awake, full of talent, ardent and high-minded, was such a surprise to her she felt as if her heart was being won by a stranger, and it became her to study him well before yielding to a charm which she could not deny.

Affection came naturally, and had always been strong for the boy; regard for the studious youth easily deepened to respect for the integrity of the young man: and now something warmer was growing up within her; but at first she could not decide whether it was admiration for the rapid unfolding of talent of some sort, or love answering to love.

As if to settle that point, Mac sent her on New-Year's day a little book plainly bound and modestly ent.i.tled "Songs and Sonnets." After reading this with ever-growing surprise and delight, Rose never had another doubt about the writer's being a poet; for, though she was no critic, she had read the best authors and knew what was good.

Unpretending as it was, this had the true ring, and its very simplicity showed conscious power; for, unlike so many first attempts, the book was not full of "My Lady," neither did it indulge in Swinburnian convulsions about

"The lilies and languors of peace, The roses and raptures of love;"