She was a good deal changed; but her black clothes seemed only to add a sort of refining touch to her beauty. “I am so pleased to see you, Mr. Phillips,” she said frankly, putting out her hand, “if one really ought to be pleased at anything, considering that we have buried my father--I mean Mr. Tallant--to-day.” Phœbe spoke with some restraint and hesitation, and Arthur was visibly nervous and excited. “I am sure you will pardon me,” said Arthur, “if with the view of suppressing any embarrassment I tell you that I have been made acquainted with all that has taken place. I came down here from London yesterday, ignorant even of Mr. Tallant’s death; but I could not return without venturing to say to you, personally, how deeply, how respectfully, I sympathise with you in your troubles.” There was a tone of deferential homage and sincere interest in Arthur’s manner which did not fail to make an impression upon Phœbe. “I am sure I thank you sincerely, Mr. Phillips, and appreciate, as I hope I ought, your great kindness: I have frequently wondered why you had deserted Barton,” said Phœbe. “I shall hope to have an opportunity to explain to you one of these days,” said Arthur. “Nothing I hope ever occurred here to induce your absence?” said Phœbe. “O no; on the contrary,” said Arthur, looking at the speaker with undisguised emotion, “engagements of a pressing character have kept me confined to my studio.” Then the conversation dropped into matters of fact concerning the late Mr. Tallant’s troubles, his illness and death; and eventually Phœbe Somerton and Arthur shook hands, and Arthur asked permission to call and see his fair pupil on an early day, which permission was readily granted. And so Arthur went back to Severntown, to his quiet house beneath the shadow of the old cathedral, full of new hopes, a new man, and with the future opening up to him bright and sunny. He found several congratulatory letters at home about his work, “Seeking New Homes,” and two offers of purchase, the highest being fifteen hundred pounds. This was cheerful; for though Arthur was by no means mercenary, he felt that this was a practical tribute to the excellence of his work; and, moreover, he had, as we have already learnt, been a heavy loser through the recent bank failures. He sat in the firelight with his happy dreams, listening to the roar of the river without, and letting it bear away his thoughts on its bosom. The cathedral chimes fell dreamily upon his ear, and he thought of a merry village peal which might some day be rung in token of the consummation of his wildest hopes. Thoughts of the cold damp church, with the coffin in it, would crop up now and then, but they had no abiding-place in his mind that night; happier thoughts crowded in and dispersed them.