PHEBE'S GOOD-BY.
When was it Phebe first fell ill? No one knew. Mr. Hardcastle had kept
cautiously out of her way this long time past, but nobody else suspected
that the brilliant cheeks and eyes which shone like stars were telltales
of a hidden fire burning her life away. The fever was abating in the
village. The doctors declared the epidemic virtually over, and mutually
congratulated each other upon the success of their measures. Mr.
Hardcastle returned to the sidewalks; Mr. Upjohn brought back Maria; Miss
Lydia said death had spared her this once, but next time it would be her
turn to go; Mrs. Lane said she needn't make her will yet for all that;
and everybody said how very much worse the fever would have been in any
less peculiarly healthy spot than Joppa. How was it that at the very
last, when there was no reason at all, when she had been apparently so
perfectly well all along, Phebe Lane should suddenly take to her bed? Not
only one doctor was called in, but both, and when they saw her they said
the fever had been running a long time already, and then they looked very
grave and shook their heads. She did not seem so ill. Most of their
patients had had far more aggravated symptoms yet still they shook their
heads as they looked at her, and murmured something about lack of
vitality, a general giving way, a complete want of will power, etc.
People looked at each other aghast. Was it possible that little Phebe
Lane was really going to die? Nobody really believed it could be,
excepting only Soeur Angélique. "Oh, my darling, my darling!" she cried
out when she first heard of it, and then she instantly went over and
installed herself in Phebe's room. And there she sat the slow days
through, waiting and waiting with a breaking heart. Phebe suffered very
little. She lay generally perfectly still, too weak to move, too weak to
care to speak. People came and went noiselessly below, but no one was
admitted to her room save her step-mother and Mrs. Whittridge. Mrs. Lane
watched her with growing anxiety. The fever was so slight, why did she
not rally from it? How was it credible she could fail so rapidly and so
causelessly? And Mrs. Whittridge sat by with despair in her heart.
One day, late in the afternoon, as she sat so watching, Phebe suddenly
opened her eyes. "Will you call him, please? I hear him."
"Who? Denham?" asked Soeur Angélique, with quick intuition. A finer
ear than hers had caught the light step and low voice in the narrow
hall below.
"Yes, Denham," said Phebe, softly. "Denham. I want to see him."
It pleased her to say his name so. She said it to herself over and over
beneath her breath, while waiting for him to come. It was but a moment,
and he was kneeling by the bedside, holding both her hands in his. She
looked up in his face and smiled, and said his name again, lower still.
"Denham."
"Yes, Phebe--yes, dear," he answered, too moved to say more.
"I only wanted to say good-by," she continued, her eyes full of a love
unutterable that not even the shadow of coming death could wholly darken.
"Will you kiss me good-by please, this once, good-by--for always?"
A faint, soft flush crept up over her white face, and he bent down and
kissed her gently, as one would kiss the Madonna of a shrine.
"Phebe," he whispered, "not for always only for a time, dear--good-by."
"Yes," she said, with a glad smile lighting up all her sweet, pure face.
"Only for a time."
And them, still holding her hands tightly clasped in his, Denham bent
down his head upon them and prayed.
The sunset came and faded, and the twilight came and went, giving place
to the solemn stillness of the enduring night. The stars shone clear and
still. Not a breath stirred. In his study Denham knelt alone, praying for
a dear and lovely life, praying against hope, against belief--against all
but faith. He did not know what time it was--it seemed as if it might be
morning---when at last the door opened and Soeur Angélique came in. He
got up and stood waiting, too agitated to speak. What news could she
bring him but the one? She came slowly up to him, then gave a little
gasp, and flinging her arms around his neck, burst into tears.
"O Denham, Denham, all is over! Phebe is dead!"