“So you are going to run away from me!” said he savagely.

“Ay, Reginald,” said she meekly.

“This is your fine love, is it?”

“You have worn it out, dear,” she said softly, without turning her head from the wall.

“I wish I could say as much; but, curse it, every time I leave you I learn to love you more.  I am never really happy but when I am with you.”

“Bless you for saying that, dear.  I often thought you must find that out one day; but you took too long.”

“Oh, better late than never.  Phoebe!  Can you have the heart to go to the Cape, and leave me all alone in the world, with nobody that really cares for me?  Surely you are not obliged to go.”

“Yes; my father left Dick and me fifteen hundred pounds apiece to go:  that was the condition.  Poor Dick loves his unhappy sister.  He won’t go without me—­I should be his ruin—­poor Dick, that really loves me; and he lay a-dying here, and the good doctor and me—­God bless him—­we brought him back from the grave.  Ah, you little know what I have gone through.  You were not here.  Catch you being near me when I am in trouble.  There, I must go.  I must go.  I will go; if I fling myself into the sea half way.”

“And, if you do, I’ll take a dose of poison; for I have thrown away the truest heart, the sweetest, most unselfish, kindest, generous—­oh! oh! oh!”

And he began to howl.

This set Phoebe sobbing.  “Don’t cry, dear,” she murmured through her tears; “if you have really any love for me, come with me.”

“What, leave England, and go to a desert?”

“Love can make a desert a garden.”

“Phoebe, I’ll do anything else.  I’ll swear not to leave your side.  I’ll never look at any other face but yours.  But I can’t live in Africa.”

“I know you can’t.  It takes a little real love to go there with a poor girl like me.  Ah, well, I’d have made you so happy.  We are not poor emigrants.  I have a horse for you to ride, and guns to shoot; and me and Dick would do all the work for you.  But there are others here you can’t leave for me.  Well, then, good-by, dear.  In Africa, or here, I shall always love you; and many a salt tear I shall shed for you yet, many a one I have, as well you know.  God bless you.  Pray for poor Phoebe, that goes against her will to Africa, and leaves her heart with thee.”

This was too much even for the selfish Reginald.  He kneeled at her knees, and took her hand, and kissed it, and actually shed a tear or two over it.

She could not speak.  He had no hope of changing her resolution; and presently he heard Dick’s voice outside, so he got up to avoid him.  “I’ll come again in the morning, before you go.”

“Oh, no! no!” she gasped.  “Unless you want me to die at your feet.  I am almost dead now.”

Reginald slipped out by the kitchen.

Dick came in, and found his sister leaning with her head back against the wall.  “Why, Phoebe,” said he, “whatever is the matter?” and he took her by the shoulder.