The Little Missis Part 7

"He was quite well when he left home."

"I hope I shall have the pleasure of meeting him the next time I call."

"I hope so, but, if possible, your cheque shall be sent on before then."

When he had gone she said to the shopman, "Reynolds, I think I can trust you." The man nodded; he wanted to say "Yes," but could not for a lump in his throat. "I do not know where Mr. Waring is, except that he has gone abroad. If anybody asks you where he is, you had better say frankly you do not know." It was hard work to keep the voice steady.

"Mrs. Waring," said Reynolds, huskily, "I'll stand by you to the best of my ability," and he put out his hand, which she took in both of hers.

"I feel sure you will," she said with a choking sob.

The thought which was uppermost in her mind that day was how she could explain her position to any one. Some report must be given to the outside world--what should that report be?--what could it be? If she did not give one the world would soon make one. She determined to go that evening and seek her sister's advice.

The first thing on arriving at the old home was to show her sister Ralph's letter. They were alone in the sister's bedroom. After it had been read twice over the sister threw her arms round Phebe's neck, exclaiming, "You poor child! you poor child!" and then they sobbed together as they had never done since the time when they were first motherless.

"What am I to do? What am I to tell people?" asked the deserted young wife.

"I don't know; I must think," was the sister's answer, who was usually so clearbrained. "Will you come home to live? I wish you would. Father wouldn't object to it if I coax him."

"No, I am not coming to be a burden on him. I must work for the children. But, oh, Lizzie, you don't know all. He has left me deeply in debt, and taken all my own money, and the stock is so low. But don't tell father!"

"Left you in debt!--the rascal!"

"No, no, don't say that; he asked me to go with him two months ago, and I would not consent. So you see it's partly my own fault. But I never thought he would go without me."

"Well, you will just have to tell anybody that asks that he has gone to start a business abroad, and that you may be joining him later. It will be best to be straight about it."

"If he sent for me, should I have to go?"

"I expect you would. You had better tell father all about it, or he will be dreadfully angry if he hears of it from anybody else."

The old father was sitting by the fire reading his paper. He was good at heart, and thought no end of his "girls," but he had always considered it would never do to let them know this, that it was a parent's duty to do a certain amount of scolding.

"How's Ralph?" was his first question. "He's not been to see me for an age."

"He was quite well when I saw him last."

"Saw him last? Why, is he away from home?"

"Yes."

"Where has he gone?"

"Abroad," in a very low voice.

"What did you say?" wheeling his chair round towards her in quite a fierce way. "Why can't you speak out properly?"

"Ralph has gone abroad."

"Gone abroad! Whatever for?"

"To start a business, I suppose."

"Well, you do astonish me. I think he might have come up to bid me 'good-bye,' that I do. And what part has he gone to?"

"To Australia, I think."

"You 'think'! Really, Phebe, you are most exasperating. What are you keeping back?"

"Look here, father," put in Lizzie, "it is like this: Ralph wanted Phebe to go to Australia and she objected. She didn't want to leave you, for one thing, so he's gone without her, and the worst of it is, he did not tell her he was going."

"Didn't want to leave _me_! that's all fiddle-sticks. She ought to have gone with him. It serves her just right he has left her. Look here, Phebe," putting his hand sharply on her knee, "I consider you have brought disgrace upon me. A wife's place is by her husband's side. A nice talk the town will make of it."

"Father! father!" exclaimed Lizzie, "do not be so hard on Phebe. You know very well you wouldn't let anybody else say a word against her. Of course it is the way of the world to put all the blame upon the woman, but it is rather hard if her own friends do not stand up for her."

"If she had got any fault to find with Ralph she should have come up and told me all about it."

"What! get a wife to tell tales about her husband!"

"Well, it is no good talking anything more about it at present. It came so suddenly upon me. It's a good thing, Phebe, my girl, he's left the business behind him, he couldn't take that with him very well. Of course he could have sold it, but then if he had done so the cat would have been out of the bag. You must just tackle things with a brave hand."

"Yes, I mean to do so, father," was all Phebe could manage to say.

Presently she bade him "good-bye" in her usual manner, though her heart was very full.

It was getting late, and there was a lonely bit of road to traverse, but the two sisters lingered at the garden gate, each loth to part from the other.

"You said, Phebe, darling," the elder sister whispered, "your stock was low and there were debts. What are you going to do for money?"

"I do not know. But I feel sure G.o.d will help me in some way or other. I am relying on Him."

"Bless you! you were always a good girl. I wish I had your faith."

"Don't say that, for you don't know how often my faith fails me. I am often ashamed of myself. But I feel sure the business will go on right enough." Just now the monetary difficulty seemed a very small one compared with the fresh shadow which had just fallen on her.

"Well, look here, dearie, let me help you. Take my money and put it in the business. You know how welcome you are to it. And if I never have it back, it will not matter; I should not make any trouble of it."

"You are good, but you know father would not like that, and we should be obliged to tell him;" then she added, as her sister was about to remonstrate, "I'll tell you what I'll do: if no other way is shown me, I will accept your loving offer."

"That's right, darling. And now good-night, and may G.o.d bless and comfort you."

All the way home her sister's words kept ringing in her ears, "It is the way of the world to put all the blame upon the woman." She had thought the world would wonder, and would doubtless pity her, but it had never dawned upon her before that the world might throw the blame of the present position upon her. Considering how she had suffered and patiently endured it was a bitter, galling thought. And how could she overcome it? how could she vindicate herself in the eyes of the world?

What a stain would rest on the lives of her children! She had thought it would be a hard battle to shield them from poverty. Now she had in some way or other to fight a still harder battle--to shield them from dishonour.

Did Stephen Collins think she was to blame? He surely could not have done so, or he would not have looked so pityingly at her.

Neighbour Bessie was waiting when she arrived home. "I am so glad you have come," exclaimed the impetuous girl; "you have just saved me from such a sad fate."