“Give my love to Ursula,” she said. “I shall not come tonight as she has a nurse, and I think he will be better. Make her rest, Mr. May—and if I don’t see her, say goodbye to her for me—”
“Goodbye?”
“Yes, goodbye—things have happened—Tell her I hope she will not forget me,” said Phoebe, the tears dropping down her cheeks. “But oh, please never mind me, look at him, he is quite quiet, he is worn out. Take him home.”
“There is nothing else to be done,” said poor Reginald, whose heart began to ache with a sense of the unknown which surrounded him on every side. He took his father by the arm, who had been standing quite silent, motionless, and apathetic. He had no need for any help, for Mr. May went with him at a touch, as docile as a child. Northcote followed with grave looks and very sad. Tozer had been seated in his favourite chair, much subdued, and giving vent now and then to something like a sob. His nerves had been terribly shaken. But as he saw the three gentlemen going away, nature awoke in the old butterman. He put out his hand and plucked Northcote by the sleeve. “I’ll not say no to that money, not now, Mr. Northcote, sir,” he said.
XLIV
Phoebe’s Last Trial
“Now if you please,” said Mr. Copperhead. “I think it’s my turn. I wanted May to hear what I had got to say, but as he’s ill or mad, or something, it is not much good. I can’t imagine what all these incantations meant, and all your play, Miss Phoebe, eyes and all. That sort of thing don’t suit us plain folks. If you don’t mind following your friends, I want to speak to old Tozer here by himself. I don’t like to have women meddling in my affairs.”
“Grandpapa is very tired, and he is upset,” said Phoebe. “I don’t think he can have any more said to him tonight.”
“By George, but he shall though, and you too. Look here,” said Mr. Copperhead, “you’ve taken in my boy Clarence here. He’s been a fool, and he always was a fool; but you’re not a fool, Miss Phoebe. You know precious well what you’re about. And just you listen to me; he shan’t marry you, not if he breaks his heart over it. I ain’t a man that thinks much of breaking hearts. You and he may talk what nonsense you like, but you shan’t marry my boy; no, not if there wasn’t another woman in the world.”
“He has asked me,” said Phoebe; “but I certainly did not ask him. You must give your orders to your son, Mr. Copperhead. You have no right to dictate to me. Grandpapa, I think you and I have had enough for tonight.”
With this Phoebe began to close the shutters, which had been left open, and to put away books and things which were lying about. Tozer made a feeble attempt to stop her energetic proceedings.
“Talk to the gentleman, Phoebe, if Mr. Copperhead ’as anything to say to you—don’t, don’t you go and offend him, my dear!” the old man cried in an anxious whisper; and then he raised himself from the chair, in which he had sunk exhausted by the unusual commotions to which he had been subjected. “I am sure, sir,” Tozer began, “it ain’t my wish, nor the wish o’ my family, to do anything as is against your wishes—”
“Grandpapa,” said Phoebe, interrupting him ruthlessly, “Mr. Copperhead’s wishes may be a rule to his own family, but they are not to be a rule to yours. For my part I won’t submit to it. Let him take his son away if he pleases—or if he can,” she added, turning round upon Clarence with a smile. “Mr. Clarence Copperhead is as free as I am to go or to stay.”
“By Jove!” cried that young man, who had been hanging in the background, dark and miserable. He came close up to her, and caught first her sleeve and then her elbow; the contact seemed to give him strength. “Look here, sir,” he said, ingratiatingly, “we don’t want to offend you—I don’t want to fly in your face; but I can’t go on having coaches forever, and here’s the only one in the world that can do the business instead of coaches. Phoebe knows I’m fond of her, but that’s neither here nor there. Here is the one that can make something of me. I ain’t clever, you know it as well as I do—but she is. I don’t mind going into parliament, making speeches and that sort of thing, if I’ve got her to back me up. But without her I’ll never do anything, without her you may put me in a cupboard, as you’ve often said. Let me have her, and I’ll make a figure, and do you credit. I can’t say any fairer,” said Clarence, taking the rest of her arm into his grasp, and holding her hand. He was stupid—but he was a man, and Phoebe felt proud of him, for the moment at least.
“You idiot!” cried his father, “and I was an idiot too to put any faith in you; come away from that artful girl. Can’t you see that it’s all a made-up plan from beginning to end? What was she sent down here for but to catch you, you oaf, you fool, you! Drop her, or you drop me. That’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Yes, drop me, Clarence,” said Phoebe,
