I feel as if I was in a miserable dream." They were sitting together outside their cottage-door, with the level rays of the setting sun shining across the uplands upon them, and the fresh air of the evening breathing upon their faces.

It was an hour they both loved, but neither of them felt its beauty and tranquillity now.
"You love him next to me ?" asked old Marlowe.
"Next to you, father," she repeated.
But the subtle jealousy in the father's heart whispered that his daughter loved these grand friends of hers more than himself.

What could he be to her, deaf mute that he was?
What could he do for her?
All he had done had been swept away by the wrong-doing of this fine gentleman, for whom she was willing to lay down her life.

He looked at her with wistful eyes, longing to hold closer, swifter communication with her than could be held by their slow finger-speech.

How could he ever make her know all the love and pride pent up in his voiceless heart?
Phebe, in her girlish, blind preoccupation, saw nothing of his eager, wistful gaze, did not even notice the nervous trembling of his stammering fingers; and the old man felt thrown back upon himself, in more utter loneliness of spirit than his life had ever experienced before.