his name.
"And the roses, Phœbe?"
"Mr. Cornwall gave them to me," said Phœbe, timidly.
"Can you spare me one?"
She gave it to him gladly, and he stuck it in his coat. Phœbe's heart beat quick. Every sign that came to her was in harmony with its throbbing.
"I am sorry for your sake, Phœbe, that I am not younger and stronger."
"Dear father! I grieve that you suffer so! If I only knew what to do to make you well!"
"That is spoken like a dutiful child. All that you can do is not to worry me – not to give me pain."
"Indeed, indeed, father," said Phœbe, earnestly, "I will never do that!"
"You are a good girl. It is strange that it was only the other day I suddenly discovered you were a woman. The change brings other changes; and I, your father, must not be blind to the fact. Why, Phœbe," he said, gaily, "it is more than likely that one day you will marry!" Phœbe hung her head. "You blush! – as your dear mother used to blush when she and I were talking of love. I did my best to make her happy. She died too soon for you and me!" He sighed, and paused a moment. "And now, Phœbe, I am both mother and father to you."
"Yes, dear father."
"I have only one wish in life, Phœbe – your happiness: and we must bring it about. It has happened sometimes that you have not seen me in a right light; I have said things which may have laid me open to misconstruction. They have not really come from my heart; I have been so tortured with pain that I scarcely knew what I was saying. Will you forgive me, Phœbe?"
"Dear father, I love you!"
"You are my own child, your sainted mother's child! Before she died she spoke to me of the time when you would be a woman, and when changes were before you. The duty you owed to her, you owe also to me."
"I shall never be wanting in it, father."
"You will marry – of course you will marry. You will ask for my consent, like a dutiful, loving child?"
"I could not be happy without it, father," said Phœbe, in a low tone. His voice was so benevolent, so imbued with concern for her happiness, that her heart went out to him.
"That is a promise, my dear child?"
"Yes, dear father, it is a promise."
"That you will not marry without my consent. Phœbe, this loving conversation is doing me good; it is better than all the doctors in the world: I am feeling almost well." He folded her in his arms and kissed her. "Why, what is this? A Prayer-book. Your mother's, my dear, which we read together when we went to church. She is looking down upon us now; she will guard you in your dreams to-night. Kiss this sacred book, my child, and repeat what you have promised – that you will not marry without my consent."
Without hesitation Phœbe took the book in her hand and kissed it, saying, as she did so, "Dear father, I will never marry without your consent." She laid the book upon the table, and burst into a flood of happy tears.
"Good child, good child!" said Miser Farebrother – "your sainted mother's child. Now go; I am exhausted. Good-night, Phœbe. May you have happy dreams."
Phœbe tenderly embraced him, and went to her room, the happiest of happy girls. While Miser Farebrother rubbed his hands, and muttered gleefully, "Mr. Cornwall, my cunning lawyer, and my dear sister and brother-in-law, I think I have scotched your little scheme." He went to bed in a perfectly happy frame of mind. He had done a good night's work.
On a little table by Phœbe's bed were Fred Cornwall's and Tom Barley's flowers. She kissed Fred's flowers before she blew out the light, and even in the dark she drew them to her lips, and so fell asleep with the roses at her breast.
CHAPTER V
TOM BARLEY COMMENCES A NEW LIFE
"It's going to be performed to-morrow night, and master and missis and all the family 'll be there. I 'eerd it read. It was beautiful. It give me the creeps, and it made me laugh just as if I was being tickled to death!"
The speaker was 'Melia Jane; the person she was addressing was Tom Barley; the place was the kitchen of Mrs. Lethbridge's house in Camden Town; and the subject of 'Melia Jane's remarks was Mr. Linton's comedy-drama A Heart of Gold, the first representation of which was to take place on the following evening at the Star Theatre. The whole house was in a flutter of excitement about it; the cousins were in the sitting-room above, busy over their frocks; Fred Cornwall was there, and was to accompany them to the theatre; the ticket for the stage-box was placed in a conspicuous position on the mantel-shelf, so that it should not escape the attention of any chance visitor; the conversation was animated, and full of hopeful anticipations of a great success for the poor dramatic author; and what was perhaps of greater importance than all else, Bob was in the cast. He had taken the fatal plunge, and through Kiss's influence had obtained an engagement for the run of A Heart of Gold. The "screw," as he called it, was small – ten shillings a week – but so were the parts for which, to his great disgust, he was cast. The more distinguished of the two characters he was to enact was a footman, who had to make three announcements of visitors of two words each – "Mrs. Portarlington" (a long name, that was lucky; almost as good as two or three words rolled into one), "Mr. Praxis," "Lord Fouracres." That was the extent of his part. He was greatly disappointed, having had an idea that he would be called upon to play one of the leading characters; but he was taken to task for his presumption by Kiss, who told him he might think himself lucky at being allowed to open his mouth on the stage for the first twelve months. The other character was a "guest," in which he was restricted to dumb-show, and very little of that. He unfortunately took it into his head to ask the stage-manager how he should play this dumb guest, and the answer he received, to the effect that he was to "look as little like an idiot as possible," somewhat dashed his budding aspirations. However, Kiss gave him some very good advice, and he took heart of grace, and rehearsed his six words on the stage, and also at home in the bosom of his family. Twenty times in the course of the night he would arrange the scene in which he was to appear and speak his lines, and when all was ready, would throw open the door and call "Mrs. Portarlington," upon which Fanny, as the audience, would burst into applause, which she kept up until Bob acknowledged the reception by a bow. It was perhaps fortunate that Kiss, breaking in upon the family rehearsal one evening, took the nonsense out of Bob by showing him how the thing should be done. "Make the announcements quite quietly, my lad," said Kiss; "and don't attempt to spoil the picture by thrusting yourself forward. Time enough for that when you have something to do. Remember that 'modesty is young ambition's ladder.'" "Of course I shall do as he tells me," said Bob, in confidence to Phœbe; "but did you ever know a profession in which there was so much jealousy?" Kiss found an opportunity to speak privately to the Lethbridges upon the subject of giving Bob a reception when he appeared. "For Heaven's sake," he said, "don't attempt it. Don't so much as wag your head. You don't know what a first-night audience is. Injudicious applause has ruined many a promising piece." Aunt Leth, sweet-natured as she was, was a little inclined to agree with Bob as to the dreadful amount of jealousy in the dramatic calling.
Tom Barley had not yet achieved his ambition of becoming a policeman, but he had great hopes that in a short time he would be pacing a beat, and in the vicinity of Camden Town, too. Uncle Leth was much respected, and had some influence, which he was exerting on Tom's behalf. It was 'Melia Jane who had put the idea into Tom's head. Between these two humble persons a confidence had been long since established. There was no idea of love-making – it had not entered either of their heads – but when Tom had been in attendance on Phœbe in London, he naturally found his way to the kitchen. 'Melia Jane
