“It has been lovely having her here, but how we shall miss her, shall we not, when she goes?” said Phebe, softly.

“Goes?” repeated Halloway, blankly.  “It is scarcely September yet.”

“What, have you not heard?” exclaimed Phebe.  “Do you not know?  Gerald has been sent for.  She and Olly go back next Thursday.”

“Thursday?” echoed Halloway, in a sort of stunned way.  “So soon?  Going for good?  Thursday?”

What closely guarded secret did the loving gray eyes, fastened upon him, read in the swift, uncontrollable look that flashed suddenly across his face, like the lightning that leaps out of the dark by night, laying all earth bare in one brief, vivid glimpse?  He was so taken by surprise as to be completely off guard.  It was but an instant, and with a start he recovered himself.

“I had not heard your news,” he said, with perfect quiet, reaching out to the table for an uncut magazine, and proceeding leisurely to open its pages.  “I suppose it is a sign that summer is over when the birds begin to fly home.”

Phebe did not answer immediately.  In that one short moment, all her face had changed also.  As by the stroke of a wand, its brightness and sweet content had given place to an expression of unutterable weariness.  She got up and went to the window, standing with her back to Halloway.

“We had our first cold night that evening of my accident,” she said, with an effort to speak very calmly.  “I think the summer really ended then.”

CHAPTER XIII.

JOPPA’S TRIAL.

It was the night before Gerald’s departure, and a number of people strayed into Mrs. Lane’s parlor to bid the fair traveller god-speed.  She had not been at all a popular guest, but that was no reason why Joppa should lack in any possible courtesy toward her, little as she appreciated the magnanimity of its conduct.

“Very sorry to lose you, very,” said Mr. Hardcastle, taking her hand in the soft, warm grasp that Gerald so particularly detested.  “But maybe it’s as well you are going.  Joppa isn’t the place it used to be.  Here’s Mr. Anthony’s got the fever to-night, and there’s a poor family down in the village as have all got it, Dennis says; and I noticed that little Nellie Atterbury had monstrous red cheeks when Dick and I passed her to-night, and indeed I crossed the street to avoid her in case she might be going to have the fever too.  Where one has a family one has duties one would never feel for one’s self.  So I say, my dear, it’s as well you’re going, if only on account of that boy of yours.  We must all learn early to sacrifice ourselves for our children.”

“Olly isn’t my child,” said Gerald, twisting her handkerchief around her hand to efface the remembrance of Mr. Hardcastle’s touch.

“Hey?  Ah, yes, to be sure, he’s your brother; but it’s all one.  You stand in the light of a parent to him just now, my dear.”  He was actually going to pat Gerald paternally on the shoulder, but she moved abruptly aside, and he pulled Olly’s ear instead.  It was necessary to do something with his outstretched hand before drawing it back.  Olly was playing cat’s-cradle with the good-natured Mr. Upjohn, and merely kicked out at his caresser, as a warning that he was not to be interrupted.