That ring at the bell! What an abominable goose she was to find a flush of expectation in her cheek! And after all it was only Sir John. He had found that his son had heard nothing from the Holt that morning, and had come in to ask if she thought a call would be acceptable. 'I knew they were come home,' he said, 'for I saw them at the station yesterday. I did not show myself, for I did not know how poor young Sandbrook might like it. But who have they got with them?'
'Mr. Randolf, Owen Sandbrook's Canadian friend.'
'Did I not hear he was some sort of relation?'
'Yes; his mother was a Charlecote.'
'Ha! that accounts for it. Seeing him with her, I could almost have thought it was thirty years ago, and that it was my dear old friend.'
Phoebe could have embraced Sir John. She could not conceal her glow of delight so completely that Bertha did not laugh and say, 'Mr. Charlecote is what the Germans would call Phoebe's Bild. She always blushes and looks conscious if he is mentioned.'
Sir John laughed, but with some emotion, and Phoebe hastily turned her still more blushing face away. Certainly, if Phoebe had had any prevision of her present state of mind, she never would have bought that chiffonier.
When Sir John had sufficiently admired the details of the choice little drawing-room, and had been shown by the eager sisters all over the house, he asked if Phoebe would walk up with him to the Holt. He had hoped his eldest son, who had ridden over with him, would have come in, and gone up with them, but he supposed Charlie had seized on him. (Poor Sir John, his attempt at match-making did not flourish.) However, he had secured Phoebe's most intense gratitude by his proposal, and down she came, a very pretty picture, in her dark brown dress, scarlet cloak, and round, brown felt hat, with the long, curly, brown feather tipped with scarlet, her favourite winter robin colouring. Her cheeks were brilliant, and her eyes not only brighter, but with a slight drooping that gave them the shadiness they sometimes wanted. And it was all from a ridiculous trepidation which made it well-nigh impossible to bring out what she was longing to say-'So you think Mr. Randolf like Mr. Charlecote.'
Fortunately he was beforehand with her, for both the likeness and the path through the pine woods reminded him strongly of his old friend, and he returned to the subject. 'So you are a great admirer of dear old Charlecote, Phoebe: you can't remember him?'
'No, but Robert does, and I sometimes think I do.' (Then it came.) 'You think Mr. Randolf like him?' Thanks to her hat, she could blush more comfortably now.
'I did not see him near. It was only something in air and figure. People inherit those things wonderfully. Now, my son Charlie sits on horseback exactly like his grandfather, whom he never saw; and John-'
Oh! was he going to run away on family likenesses? Phoebe would not hear the 'and John;' and observed, 'Mr. Charlecote was his godfather, was he not?'
Which self-evident fact brought him back again to 'Yes; and I only wish he had seen more of him! These are his plantations, I declare, that he used to make so much of!'
'Yes, that is the reason Miss Charlecote is so fond of them.'
'Miss Charlecote! When I think of him, I have no patience with her. I do believe he kept single all his life for her sake: and why she never would have him I never could guess. You ladies are very unreasonable sometimes, Phoebe.'
Phoebe tried to express a rational amount of wonder at poor Honor's taste, but grew incoherent in fear lest it should be irrational, and was rather frightened at finding Sir John looking at her with some amusement; but he was only thinking of how willingly the poor little heiress of the Mervyns had once been thrown at Humfrey Charlecote's head. But he went on to tell her of all that her hero had ever been to him and to the county, and of the blank his death had left, and never since supplied, till she felt more and more what a 'wise' man truly was!
No one was in the drawing-room, but Honor came down much more cheerful and lively than she had been for years, and calling Owen materially better-the doctors thought the injury to the head infinitely mitigated, and the first step to recovery fairly taken-there were good accounts of the Prendergasts, and all things seemed to be looking well. Presently Sir John, to Phoebe's great satisfaction, spoke of her guest, and his resemblance, but Honor answered with half-resentful surprise. Some of the old servants had made the same remark, but she could not understand it, and was evidently hurt by its recurrence. Phoebe sat on, listening to the account of Lucilla's letters, and the good spirits and health they manifested; forcing herself not too obviously to watch door or window, and when Sir John was gone, she only offered to depart, lest Miss Charlecote should wish to be with Owen.
'No, my dear, thank you; Mr. Randolf is with him, and he can read a little now. We are getting above the solitaire board, I assure you. I have fitted up the little room beyond the study for his bedroom, and he sits in the study, so there are no stairs, and he is to go out every day in a chair or the carriage.'
'Does the little boy amuse him?'
'No, not exactly, poor little fellow. They are terribly afraid of each other, that is the worst of it. And then we left the boy too long with the old woman. I hear his lessons for a quarter of an hour a day, and he is a clever child enough; but his pronunciation and habits are an absolute distress, and he is not happy anywhere but in the housekeeper's room. I try to civilize him, but as yet I cannot worry poor Owen. You can't think how comfortable we are together, Phoebe, when we are alone. Since his sister went we have got on so much better. He was shy before her; but I must tell you, my dear, he asked me to read my Psalms and Lessons aloud, as I used to do; and we have had such pleasant evenings, and he desired that the servants might still come in to prayers in the study. But then he always was different with me.'
And Phoebe, while assenting, could not silence a misgiving that she thought very cruel. She would believe Owen sincere if Humfrey Randolf did. Honor, however, was very happy, and presently begged her to come and see Owen. She obeyed with alacrity, and was conducted to the study. No Randolf was there, only pen, ink, paper, and algebra. But as she was greeting Owen, who looked much better and less oppressed, Honor made an exclamation, and from the window they saw the young man leaning over the sundial, partly studying its mysteries, partly playing with little Owen, who hung on him as an old playmate.
'Yes,' said Owen, 'he has taken pity on the boy-he is very good to him-has served an apprenticeship.'
Mr. Randolf looked up, saw Phoebe, gave a start of recognition and pleasure, and sped towards the house.
'Yes, Phoebe, I do see some likeness,' said Honor, as though a good deal struck and touched.
All the ridiculous and troublesome confusion was so good as to be driven away in the contentment of Humfrey Randolf's presence, and the wondrous magnetic conviction that he was equally glad to be with her. She lost all restlessness, and was quite ready to amuse Owen by a lively discussion and comparison of the two weddings, but she so well knew that she should like to stay too long, that she cut her time rather over short, and would not stay to luncheon. This was not like the evenings that began with Hiawatha and ended at Lakeville, or on Lake Ontario; but one pleasure was in store for Phoebe. While she was finding her umbrella, and putting on her clogs, Humfrey Randolf ran down-stairs to her, and said, 'I wanted to tell you something. My stepmother is going to be married.'
'You are glad?'
'Very glad. It is to a merchant whom she met at Buffalo, well off, and speaking most kindly of the little boys.'
'That must be a great load off your mind.'