“Ruin! ruin!” he murmured hoarsely, “worse than death.”
XLIII
The Conflict
The day which had intervened between Phoebe’s morning walk, and this darkling flight along the same road, had been full of agitation at the house of the Tozers. Phoebe, who would willingly have spared her lover anything more than the brief intercourse which was inevitable with her relations, could find no means of sending him away without breakfast. She had escaped from him accordingly, weary as she was, to make arrangements for such a meal as she knew him, even in his most sentimental mood, to love—a thing which required some time and supervision, though the house was always plentifully provided. When she had hastily bathed her face and changed her dress she came back to the room where she had left him, to find him in careless conversation with Tozer, who only half-recovered from the excitement of last night, but much overawed by a visit from so great a personage, had managed to put aside the matter which occupied his own thoughts, in order to carry on a kind of worship of Clarence, who was the son of the richest man he had ever heard of, and consequently appeared to the retired butterman a very demigod. Clarence was yawning loudly, his arms raised over his head in total indifference to Tozer, when Phoebe came into the room; and the old man seized upon the occasion of her entrance to perform another act of worship.
“Ah, here’s Phoebe at last. Mr. Copperhead’s come in from the country, my dear, and he’s going to make us proud, he is, by accepting of a bit of breakfast. I tell him it’s a wretched poor place for him as has palaces at his command; but what we can give him is the best quality, that I answers for—and you’re one as knows how things should be, even if we ain’t grand ourselves.”
“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 bush! 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.
“God bless you, sir! God 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 fullness of his heart.
“Grandpapa!” said Phoebe, feeling sharply pricked 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
