Cobwebs and Cables | Page 7

again. It was plainly irksome to her to be
disturbed by questions like these, and she was withdrawing herself into
the remote and unapproachable distance where no one could follow her.
Her finely-chiselled features and colorless skin gave her a singular
resemblance to marble; and they might almost as well have addressed
themselves to a marble image.
"Come," said Madame, "we must see Acton again."
They found him in the bank parlor, where Roland was usually to be met
with at this hour. There was an unspoken hope in their hearts that he
would be there, and so deliver them from the undefined trouble and
terror they were suffering. But only Acton was there, seated at Roland's
desk, and turning over the papers in it with a rapid and reckless hand.
His face was hidden behind the great flap of the desk, and though he
glanced over it for an instant as the door opened he concealed himself
again, as if feigning unconsciousness of any one's presence.
"My son is gone to London," said Madame, keeping at a safe distance
from him, with the door open behind her and Phebe to secure a speedy
retreat. The flap of the desk fell with a loud crash, and Acton flung his
arms above his head with a gesture of despair.
"I knew it," he exclaimed. "Oh, my dear young master! God grant he
may get away safe. All is lost!"
"What do you mean?" cried Madame, forgetting one terror in another,
and catching him by the arm; "what is lost?"

"He is gone!" he answered, "and it was more my fault than his--mine
and Mrs. Sefton's. Whatever wrong he has done it was for her.
Remember that, Madame, and you, Phebe Marlowe. If anything
happens, remember it's my fault more than his, and Mrs. Sefton's fault
more than mine."
"Tell me what you mean," urged Madame breathlessly.
"You'll know when Mr. Sefton returns, Madame," he answered, with a
sudden return to his usually calm tone and manner, which was as
startling as his former vehemence had been; "he'll explain all when he
comes home. We must open the bank now; it is striking ten."
He locked the desk and passed out of the comfortably-furnished parlor
into the office beyond, leaving them nothing to do but to return into the
house with their curiosity unsatisfied, and the mother's vague trouble
unsoothed.
"Phebe, Phebe!" cried Felix, as they slowly re-entered the pleasant
home, "my mother says we may go up the river to the osier island; and,
oh, Phebe, she will go with us her own self!"
He had run down the broad staircase to meet them, almost breathless
with delight, and with eyes shining with almost serious rapture. He
clasped Phebe's arm, and, leaning toward her, whispered into her ear,
"She took me in her arms, and said, 'I love you, Felix,' and then she
kissed me as if she meant it, Phebe. It was better than all my birthday
presents put together. My father said to me one day he adored her; and I
adore her. She is my mother, you know--the mother of me, Felix; and I
lie down on the floor and kiss her feet every day, only she does not
know it. When she looks at me her eyes seem to go through me; but, oh,
she does not look at me often."
"She is so different; not like most people," answered Phebe, with her
arms round the boy.
Madame had gone on sadly enough up-stairs to see if she could find out

anything about her son; and Phebe and Felix had turned into the
terraced garden where the boat-house was built close under the bank of
the river.
"I should be sorry for my mother to be like other people," said Felix
proudly. "She is like the evening star, my father says, and I always look
out at night to see if it is shining. You know, Phebe, when we row her
up the river, my father and me, we keep quite quiet, only nodding at
one another which way to pull, and she sits silent with eyes that shine
like stars. We would not speak for anything, not one little word, lest we
should disturb her. My father says she is a great genius; not at all like
other people, and worth thousands and thousands of common women.
But I don't think you are a common woman, Phebe," he added, lifting
up his eager face to hers, as if afraid of hurting her feelings, "and my
father does not think so, I know."
"Your father has known me all my life, and has always been my best
friend," said Phebe, with a pleasant smile. "But I am a working-woman,
Felix, and your mother is a lady and a great