She raised her head, and with a blind look of anguish at her aunt and Fred, stretched forth her trembling arms, as though imploring them to save her. Then her strength gave way, and she fell senseless to the ground. CHAPTER XV. PHOEBE IS STILL FURTHER ENTRAPPED. When Phoebe recovered her senses she found herself in her bedroom, with Mrs. Pamflett in attendance upon her. She was so dazed and confused that for a few minutes she could not recall what had transpired, but presently she remembered, and she burst into tears. "There! there!" said Mrs. Pamflett, smoothing the young girl's hair with her hand. "Don't take on so! Everything will come right, and you will soon be as happy as a bird." Surprised at Mrs. Pamflett's tender tone and gentle manner, Phoebe dried her eyes and gazed upon her father's house-keeper. "Then they are still here?" said Phoebe. "Who, my pet?" asked Mrs. Pamflett. "My aunt and--and Mr. Cornwall." "No," replied Mrs. Pamflett, still speaking with tenderness: "they have gone; and it is to be hoped that they will never come back." "'Gone'!" exclaimed Phoebe. "'They will never come back'!" "If they do," said Mrs. Pamflett, hovering officiously about Phoebe, "it will be worse for them. They have been found out at last. You have had a narrow escape. While you were lying in a fainting condition on the ground your father unmasked them, and compelled them to confess that all their pretended kindness to you was done to wring money out of him, only because they thought he was rich. He _is_ rich, my pet, and can make a lady of you; and so can Jeremiah, who is dying of love for you, and who is the cleverest man and the finest gentleman in England. We shall all be as happy as the day is long, and you will bring comfort to your father, who is suffering a martyrdom, and who has the first claim on your heart. Yes, my pet, you have had a narrow escape--a narrow escape! I shall give thanks for it before I go to bed to-night." Phoebe fixed her clear, honest eyes upon the white face of Mrs. Pamflett, who made an impotent attempt to return the gaze with equal frankness. "I remember everything now," said Phoebe, in a tone of forced calmness. "My father turned my dear friends out of the house!" "He did turn them away. But to call them your dear friends after what they said! Phoebe, Phoebe, you are too simple and confiding. You should be angry; you should cast them off, as your father has done." "'After what they said'! What did they say? I heard not a word which they should not have spoken." "That was their artfulness and wickedness. They have been playing upon you all through. It was while you were unconscious and could not hear what was spoken that your false aunt, Mrs. Lethbridge--" "Stop!" cried Phoebe; "I will not hear her called so. If you wish to tell me anything that passed after I fainted you can do so, but I will not listen to you if you speak against those I love."