THE DARKNESS DEEPENS
Early the next morning, as soon as the shutters were down, Phebe was in
the shop taking a general look round, and examining the stock. With the
help of Reynolds, the shopman who gave her the roses, she got a very
good grasp of the state of things. "The stock is very low indeed," said
Reynolds; "some things we are out of altogether. It's not my fault, for
I told master a fortnight ago, and again last week, but he took no
notice--said it was not my business."
[Illustration: "PHEBE WAS IN THE SHOP TAKING A GENERAL LOOK ROUND."]
Phebe only replied, "We must see to these things as soon as possible;
thank you for helping me," and then went in to breakfast.
She had got a clear view of the situation as far as the business was
concerned, but all else was in a mist. When she tried to analyse her own
feelings with regard to Ralph's conduct, what exactly it was that had
prompted him to such a course, how it would appear to outsiders, what
steps she was to take to secure capital to work the business, all seemed
chaos.
Breakfast over, she picked up a little Revised Bible from her
book-corner, and went out into the arbour for a few minutes' quiet,
hoping she might gain a little light. She had only just bought this
Revised Bible, indeed it had not been out long. Opening it at random,
her eyes fell on these words, from the prayer of Asa, "We rely on Thee."
A feeling of awe crept over her. Surely an angel must have opened the
Book! The sign she had prayed for last night had come. Scanning the page
to find out all the story, the leaf was turned over, and then she caught
sight of this description: "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro
throughout the whole earth to show Himself strong in the behalf of them
whose heart is perfect towards Him."
"I must pray for the perfect heart," she said to herself, "and I shall
just rely on God, and I am now going to watch how He will show Himself
strong for me. I feel sure He will, for He knows I am relying on Him."
But the angel's work was not over yet. Just then there dropped out of
the Bible a little New Year's card which she had never carefully read as
yet. Picking it up she looked at it in an absent sort of way, and then
feeling that it was in some way specially meant for her she read:
"An inner light, an inner calm,
Have they who trust God's mighty arm,
And hearing, do His will."
"For He hath said, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'
I took it as His word of honour."--David Livingstone.
"And so will I," she said fervently. Just then there was a call from the
shop, and all at once, with hardly a moment's warning, she went from the
golden gate to the busy mart.
A commercial traveller was waiting to see her, presenting an account for
twenty-five pounds.
With all a woman's wits about her she stood where her face was in the
shadow. "I am sorry that Mr. Waring is not at home," she answered, "he
is out of town. Can the account stand over till your next visit?" Her
voice was quite steady. The traveller looked fixedly at her, but was
quite unrewarded for his trouble, through her face being in the shadow.
She however saw his uncertainty, but he answered suavely, "Certainly,
madam, Mr. Waring's credit has always been good." Then added, after
another moment's reflection, "Can I have another order to-day? I have
some very cheap lines."
Turning to Reynolds, she said, "You know better than I do what we are
wanting; just make a list of what we usually have from this gentleman's
firm," and she stood quietly by while this was done.
"I hope Mr. Waring is well," remarked the traveller.
"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 God 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 God 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."
"Whatever do you mean?" and Phebe, in spite of her heartache, was
obliged to smile at Bessie's dramatic attitude.
"Mother thinks I am soundly asleep under the blankets by now. But how
could I sleep without one sight of you?--haven't caught a glimpse of you
all day. Mother will lock the door at ten o'clock, and if I am not in
before then I shall have to sleep on the clothes line in the back yard.
It is all up ready."