Miser Farebrother Volume Ii Part 9

"Stop where you are, Bob," said Fred Cornwall quietly. "It is best to keep out of difficulties with such as he. I beg your pardon, Miss Farebrother; I did not mean to say it."

"You have said what is right," said Phoebe, in a low tone. "It is I who should ask pardon of you for subjecting you to insults."

She burst into tears, and f.a.n.n.y instantly took her in her arms. The men were silent and grave, and not another word was spoken till they arrived at Camden Town. Fred paid the cabman liberally, and the party entered the house, Phoebe and f.a.n.n.y going up to their bedroom, and Fred and Bob finding refuge in the dining-room, where supper was laid out for them. As they went upstairs f.a.n.n.y called out to the young men, "We shall not be long. Don't go away, Fred." He had no intention of doing so; he paced the room in deep thought, while Bob, who, in the absence of his father, took upon himself the duties of host, ran down to the larder for beer. Returning with it, he poured out two foaming gla.s.ses, and handed one to Fred.

"Here's luck," said Bob.

"Here's luck," said Fred.

Fred emptied his gla.s.s in one pull, and when he put it on the table there was a flush on his face and a soft light in his eyes. He had formed a most important resolution. Presently he heard f.a.n.n.y's voice calling to him, and he went out to her in the pa.s.sage. That diplomatic young lady received him with her finger on her lips, and she closed the dining-room door before she spoke.

"She is in there," she whispered, pointing to the drawing-room. "I lit the gas."

"Does she wish to see me?" asked Fred, with an exact following of her cautious movements.

"She didn't say so," replied f.a.n.n.y, "but I thought you would like to go to her."

"Yes," said Fred, "I will go. You are my best friend, f.a.n.n.y."

"I am a true one, at all events. Oh, Fred!" There was nothing teasing or wilful or capricious in the tone in which these two simple words were uttered. It was fraught with wistful, tremulous feeling, and her eyes were humid with tears.

"G.o.d bless you, f.a.n.n.y!"

"And you, Fred. No one shall come in."

Phoebe looked up as he entered, expecting to see f.a.n.n.y. He sat down by her side, and said:

"I have been anxious about you. f.a.n.n.y told me you were here. You are better?"

"Yes." She would have risen and made an attempt to leave him, not out of coquetry, but maiden modesty, but she had not the strength.

"This has been a sad night," said Fred, "but it may prove to be the happiest one in my life, if my heart has not deceived me. May I say to you what my heart dictates?" He construed her silence into a.s.sent, and proceeded: "I did not intend to speak yet awhile; I thought I would first make my position--my worldly position--firmer than it is; but I can no longer be silent. Since that happy evening at Parksides I have not been idle, and though my position is not yet quite a.s.sured, I am very hopeful; I have really made progress, and I think I can see my way.

I have gained some good friends who will help me along, and once the ball is set fairly rolling, it only depends upon a man's ability and industry to keep it rolling till it reaches a home which he can call his own, and where it may be his bright fortune to enjoy the sweetest blessings of life. Industry I have, and I mean to work harder than ever; and I am told I have ability. Whatever be the measure of it, I am sure it will help me to some kind of success; and if the home of which I speak be not at first a very grand one, it will be grand enough for happiness. I ask you to have faith in my earnestness and truth. I love you with my whole heart and soul; I will work for you with my whole heart and soul; I will shield and protect you; I will be true and faithful to you. Will you not answer me? Will you not speak to me?"

She raised her eyes timidly to his, and in the tender light that shone therein he saw his answer. He clasped her in his arms; her pulses thrilled with ineffable rapture.

"Phoebe!"

"Fred!" Her voice was like the whisper of a rose, filling s.p.a.ce with sweet music.

"You will be my wife, Phoebe?"

"Yes."

"Say you love me!"

"I love you!"

Thereafter there was silence awhile, and as Phoebe lay enfolded in her lover's arms, a high resolve entered his soul to be worthy of the priceless blessing of her love. And she? Her soul was also stirred by a prayer that she might be able to make herself worthy of him--her hero, her life!

"We must go in now, Fred. They will think it so strange!"

"I am not so sure," he said, and kept her still in his embrace.

"Why are you not so sure, Fred? Indeed, indeed they will!"

"Do you know, my darling"--he paused, and repeated softly, "my darling!--my very, very own!" And then he lost himself, and forgot for a moment what he had intended to say.

"Well, Fred?"

"Well what, Phoebe?"

"You were saying, 'Do you know--'"

"Oh, yes. I said, 'Do you know.' What came afterward?"

"My darling!" she said, in a delicious whisper.

It was enough to make him forget himself again; and he did; but he presently took up the thread.

"Do you know, my darling, I have an idea that f.a.n.n.y sent me here for a purpose--bless her kind heart!"

"For what purpose?"

"For this." He pressed her closer to him.

"Oh, Fred, she never could!"

"Couldn't she? What! Our f.a.n.n.y, our dear cousin, not be equal to such a scheme! Upon my word, she deserves--what she shall get when we go to her. Thinking seriously over the matter, Phoebe--and I never was more serious in my life than I am now, my own!--I have no doubt that she had everything already planned out in her pretty little head."

"Fred, we really must go."

"Not till--"

"Till what, Fred?"

He held her face between his hands, and put his lips to hers. Thus they pledged love and faith to each other, for weal or woe.

"Well, you people!" cried f.a.n.n.y, as they entered. "We are not half ready for you; and here you come breaking in upon us so suddenly and quickly--just as Bob and I were talking secrets--weren't we, Bob? Well, I wonder at your impudence, Fred! Oh, my dear, my dear!"

The affectionate girl's arms were round Phoebe's neck, hugging her close, and her gay voice had drifted into tears. For Fred had kissed her, and Phoebe too; and somehow or other, in these kissings the news of Phoebe's and Fred's engagement was conveyed without ever a word being spoken about it. How f.a.n.n.y danced round Phoebe, and how she commanded Fred to kiss her again, and how she kissed him unblushingly more than once, and how she hugged Phoebe again and again, and how her face flushed and her eyes sparkled, and how she got her hair rumpled in the most unaccountable manner, and how she seized Bob and waltzed round the room with him, dodging the chairs and tables in the most marvellous way, and how, finally, she fell upon the sofa, out of breath, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry, and therefore doing a little of both!--all this must be imagined, for it is impossible to describe.

"And oh, my dears, my dears!" she cried, "I hope you'll be happy for ever and ever!"

For brilliant impulsiveness there never _was_ such a girl.

But what had come over Bob? Had he been so schooled and lectured by f.a.n.n.y that, metaphorically speaking, he had not a leg to stand upon, or had he already transferred his affections from Phoebe to some fair nymph at the Star Theatre, that he submitted himself to Phoebe's kiss--knowing the meaning of it--with a fairly good grace, with only just a shade of sulkiness in recognition of her perfidy, and that he shook hands with Fred with no expressed intention of having his life's blood? However it was, these things happened; and if a happier or more agreeable quartette ever sat down to a supper table, the present chronicler would like to be present on the occasion.