Hopes and Fears Part 83

'No, nor then,' said Phoebe. 'Come to-morrow, and see her. She is no subject for _an establishment_. And I beg you will let me be with her; I would much prefer being with any lady who would receive us both.'

'Very amiable,' said Mr. Crabbe.

'Ha!' interrupted Mervyn, 'you are not afraid I shall let Augusta carry you off, Phoebe. She would give the world to get you, but I don't mean to part with you.'

'It is of no use to talk to her, Mervyn,' cried Augusta's loud voice from the other end of the room. 'She knows that she cannot remain with you.

Robert himself would tell her so.'

'Robert knows better than to interfere,' said Mervyn, with one of his scowls. 'Now then, Phoebe, settle it for yourself. Will you stay and keep house for me at home, or be Augusta's companion? There! the choice of Hercules. Virtue or vice?' he added, trying to laugh.

'Neither,' said Phoebe, readily. 'My home is fixed by Maria's.'

'Phoebe, are you crazy?' broke out the three voices; while Sir Nicholas slowly and sententiously explained that he regretted the unfortunate circ.u.mstance, but Maria's peculiarities made it impossible to produce her in society; and that when her welfare and happiness had been consulted by retirement, Phoebe would find a home in his house, and be treated as Lady Bannerman's sister, and a young lady of her expectations, deserved.

'Thank you,' said Phoebe; then turning to her brother, 'Mervyn, do you, too, cast off poor Maria?'

'I told you what I thought of that long ago,' said Mervyn, carelessly.

'Very well, then,' said Phoebe, sadly; 'perhaps you will let us stay till some lady can be found of whom Mr. Crabbe may approve, with whom Maria and I can live.'

'Lady Acton!' Sir Bevil's voice was low and entreating, but all heard it.

'I am not going to enc.u.mber myself,' she answered. 'I always disliked girls, and I shall certainly not make Acton Manor an idiot asylum.'

'And mind,' added Augusta, 'you won't cone to me for the season! I have no notion of your leaving me all the dull part of the year for some gay widow at a watering-place, and then expecting me to go out with you in London.'

'By Heaven!' broke out Mervyn, 'they _shall_ stay here, if only to balk your spite. My sisters shall not be driven from pillar to post the very day their mother is put under ground.'

'Some respectable lady,' began Robert.

'Some horrid old harridan of a boarding-house keeper,' shouted Mervyn, the louder for his interference. 'Ay, you would like it, and spend all their fortunes on parsons in long coats! I know better! Come here, Phoebe, and listen. You shall live here as you have always done, Maria and all, and keep the Fennimore woman to mind the children. Answer me, will that content you? Don't go looking at Robert, but say yes or no.'

Mervyn's innuendo had deprived his offer of its grace, but in spite of the pang of indignation, in spite of Robert's eye of disapproval, poor desolate Phoebe must needs cling to her home, and to the one who alone would take her and her poor companion. 'Mervyn, thank you; it is right!'

'Right! What does that mean? If any one has a word to say against my sisters being under my roof, let me hear it openly, not behind my back.

Eh, Juliana, what's that?'

'Only that I wonder how long it will last,' sneered Lady Acton.

'And,' added Robert, 'there should be some guarantee that they should not be introduced to unsuitable acquaintance.'

'You think me not to be trusted with them.'

'I do not.'

Mervyn ground his teeth, answering, 'Very well, sir, I stand indebted to you. I should have imagined, whatever your opinion of me, you would have considered your favourite sky-blue governess an immaculate guardian, or can you be contented with nothing short of a sisterhood?'

'Robert,' said Phoebe, fearing lest worse should follow, 'Mervyn has always been good to us; I trust to him.' And her clear eyes were turned on the eldest brother with a grateful confidence that made him catch her hand with something between thanks and triumph, as he said--

'Well said, little one! There, sir, are you satisfied?'

'I must be,' replied Robert.

Sir Bevil, able to endure no longer, broke in with some intelligence from the newspaper, which he had been perusing ever since his unlucky appeal to his lady. Every one thankfully accepted this means of ending the discussion.

'Well, Miss,' was Juliana's good night, 'you have attained your object.

I hope you may find it answer.'

'Yes,' added Augusta, 'when Mervyn brings home that Frenchwoman, you will wish you had been less tenacious.'

'That's all an idea of yours,' said Juliana. 'She'll have punishment enough in Master Mervyn's own temper. I wouldn't keep house for him, no, not for a week.'

'Stay till you are asked,' said Augusta.

Phoebe could bear no more, but slipped through the swing-door, reached her room, and sinking into a chair, pa.s.sively let Lieschen undress her, not attempting to raise her drooping head, nor check the tears that trickled, conscious only of her broken, wounded, oppressed state of dejection, into the details of which she durst not look. How could she, when her misery had been inflicted by such hands? The mere fact of the unseemly broil between the brothers and sisters on such an evening was shame and pain enough, and she felt like one bruised and crushed all over, both in herself and Maria, while the one drop of comfort in Mervyn's kindness was poisoned by the strife between him and Robert, and the doubt whether Robert thought she ought to have accepted it.

When her maid left her, she only moved to extinguish her light, and then cowered down again as if to hide in the darkness; but the soft summer twilight gloom seemed to soothe and restore her, and with a longing for air to refresh her throbbing brow, she leant out into the cool, still night, looking into the northern sky, still pearly with the last reminiscence of the late sunset, and with the pale large stars beaming calmly down.

'Oh mother, mother! Well might you long to take your poor Maria with you--there where the weary are at rest--where there is mercy for the weak and slow! Home! home! we have none but with you!'

Nay, had she not a home with Him whose love was more than mother's love; whose soft stars were smiling on her now; whose gentle breezes fanned her burning cheeks, even as a still softer breath of comfort was stilling her troubled spirit! She leant out till she could compose herself to kneel in prayer, and from prayer rose up quietly, weary, and able to rest beneath the Fatherly Wings spread over the orphan.

She was early astir, though with heavy, swollen eyelids; and anxious to avoid Bertha's inquiries till all should be more fully settled, she betook herself to the garden, to cool her brow and eyes. She was bathing them in the dewy fragrant heart of a full-blown rose, that had seemed to look at her with a tearful smile of sympathy, when a step approached, and an arm was thrown round her, and Robert stood beside her.

'My Phoebe,' he said tenderly, 'how are you? It was a frightful evening!'

'Oh! Robert, were you displeased with me?'

'No, indeed. You put us all to shame. I grieved that you had no more preparation, but some of the guests stayed late, afterwards I was hindered by business, and then Bevil laid hands on me to advise me privately against this establishment for poor Maria.'

'I thought it was Juliana who pressed it!'

'Have you not learnt that whatever he dislikes she forwards?'

'Oh! Robert, you can hinder that scheme from ever being thought of again!'

'Yes,' said Robert; '_there_ she should never have been, even had you not made resistance.'

'And, Robert, may we stay here?' asked Phoebe, trembling.

'Crabbe sees no objection,' he answered.

'Do you, Robert? If you think we ought not, I will try to change; but Mervyn is kind, and it _is_ home! I saw you thought me wrong, but I could not help being glad he relented to Maria.'

'You were right. Your eldest brother is the right person to give you a home. I cannot. It would have shown an evil, suspicious temper if you had refused him.'

'Yet you do not like it.'