So the matter stood and the days passed.  Will’s personal affairs, and the secret of the position from which he had come was known only to Clement Hicks.  The lover talked of returning again thither after his marriage, but he remained vague on that point, and, indeed, modified his plans after the above recorded conversation with his uncle.  Twice he wrote to Phoebe in the period of waiting, and the letter had been forwarded on both occasions through Clement.  Two others knew what was afoot, and during that time of trial Phoebe found Chris her salvation.  The stronger girl supported her sinking spirit and fortified her courage.  Chris mightily enjoyed the whole romance, and among those circumstances that combined to make John Grimbal uneasy during the days of waiting was her constant presence at Monks Barton.  There she came as Phoebe’s friend, and the clear, bright eyes she often turned on him made him angry, he knew not why.  As for Mrs. Blanchard, she had secretly learnt more than anybody suspected, for while Will first determined to tell her nothing until afterwards, a second thought rebuked him for hiding such a tremendous circumstance from his mother, and he wrote to her at full length from Newton, saying nothing indeed of the past but setting out the future in detail.  Upon the subject Mrs. Blanchard kept her own counsel.

Preparations for Phoebe’s wedding moved apace, and she lived in a dim, heart-breaking dream.  John Grimbal, despite her entreaties, continued to spend money upon her; yet each new gift brought nothing but tears.  Grown desperate in his determination to win a little affection and regard before marriage, and bitterly conscious that he could command neither, the man plied her with what money would buy, and busied himself to bring her happiness in spite of herself.  Troubled he was, nevertheless, and constantly sought the miller that he might listen to comforting assurances that he need be under no concern.

“’T is natural in wan who’s gwaine to say gude-bye to maidenhood so soon,” declared Mr. Lyddon.  “I’ve thought ’bout her tears a deal.  God knaws they hurt me more ’n they do her, or you either; but such sad whims and cloudy hours is proper to the time.  Love for me’s got a share in her sorrow, tu.  ’T will all be well enough when she turns her back on the church-door an’ hears the weddin’-bells a-clashing for her future joy.  Doan’t you come nigh her much during the next few weeks.”

“Two,” corrected Mr. Grimbal, moodily.

“Eh!  Awnly two!  Well, ’t is gert darkness for me, I promise you—­gert darkness comin’ for Monks Barton wi’out the butivul sound an’ sight of her no more.  But bide away, theer’s a gude man; bide away these coming few days.  Her last maiden hours mustn’t be all tears.  But my gifts do awnly make her cry, tu, if that’s consolation to ’e.  It’s the tenderness of her li’l heart as brims awver at kindness.”