The
men were chopping wood, sending wheat to the mill to be ground
before the road should become impassable for a cart and horse. My
cousin and Phillis had gone up-stairs to the apple-room to cover
up the fruit from the frost. I had been out the greater part of
the morning, and came in about an hour before dinner. To my
surprise, knowing how she had planned to be engaged, I found
Phillis sitting at the dresser, resting her head on her two hands
and reading, or seeming to read. She did not look up when I came
in, but murmured something about her mother having sent her down
out of the cold. It flashed across me that she was crying, but I
put it down to some little spirt of temper; I might have known
better than to suspect the gentle, serene Phillis of crossness,
poor girl; I stooped down, and began to stir and build up the
fire, which appeared to have been neglected. While my head was
down I heard a noise which made me pause and listen--a sob, an
unmistakable, irrepressible sob. I started up.
'Phillis!' I cried, going towards her, with my hand out, to take
hers for sympathy with her sorrow, whatever it was. But she was
too quick for me, she held her hand out of my grasp, for fear of
my detaining her; as she quickly passed out of the house, she
said,--
'Don't, Paul! I cannot bear it!' and passed me, still sobbing,
and went out into the keen, open air.
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