THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE

By Charlotte Yonge

CHAPTER 1

 In such pursuits if wisdom lies, Who, Laura, can thy taste despise? --GAY

The drawing-room of Hollywell House was one of the favoured apartments, where a peculiar air of home seems to reside, whether seen in the middleof summer, all its large windows open to the garden, or, as when ourstory commences, its bright fire and stands of fragrant green-houseplants contrasted with the wintry fog and leafless trees of November. There were two persons in the room--a young lady, who sat drawing atthe round table, and a youth, lying on a couch near the fire, surroundedwith books and newspapers, and a pair of crutches near him. Both lookedup with a smile of welcome at the entrance of a tall, fine-looking youngman, whom each greeted with 'Good morning, Philip. '

'Good morning, Laura. Good morning, Charles; I am glad you aredownstairs again! How are you to-day?'

'No way remarkable, thank you, ' was the answer, somewhat wearily givenby Charles. 

'You walked?' said Laura. 

'Yes. Where's my uncle? I called at the post-office, and brought aletter for him. It has the Moorworth post-mark, ' he added, producing it. 

'Where's that?' said Charles. 

'The post-town to Redclyffe; Sir Guy Morville's place. '

'That old Sir Guy! What can he have to do with my father?'

'Did you not know, ' said Philip, 'that my uncle is to be guardian to theboy--his grandson?'

'Eh? No, I did not. '

'Yes, ' said Philip; 'when old Sir Guy made it an especial point that myfather should take the guardianship, he only consented on conditionthat my uncle should be joined with him; so now my uncle is alone inthe trust, and I cannot help thinking something must have happened atRedclyffe. It is certainly not Sir Guy's writing. '

'It must wait, unless your curiosity will carry you out in search ofpapa, ' said Charles; 'he is somewhere about, zealously supplying theplace of Jenkins. '

'Really, Philip, ' said Laura, 'there is no telling how much good youhave done him by convincing him of Jenkins' dishonesty. To say nothingof the benefit of being no longer cheated, the pleasure of having tooverlook the farming is untold. '

Philip smiled, and came to the table where she was drawing. 'Do you knowthis place?' said she, looking up in his face. 

'Stylehurst itself! What is it taken from?'

'From this pencil sketch of your sister's, which I found in mamma'sscrap book. '

'You are making it very like, only the spire is too slender, and thattree--can't you alter the foliage?--it is an ash. '

'Is it? I took it for an elm. '

'And surely those trees in the foreground should be greener, to throwback the middle distance. That is the peak of South Moor exactly, if itlooked further off. '

She began the alterations, while Philip stood watching her progress, a shade of melancholy gathering on his face. Suddenly, a voice called'Laura! Are you there? Open the door, and you will see. '

On Philip's opening it, in came a tall camellia; the laughing face, and light, shining curls of the bearer peeping through the dark greenleaves. 

'Thank you! Oh, is it you, Philip? Oh, don't take it. I must bring myown camellia to show Charlie. '

'You make the most of that one flower, ' said Charles. 

'Only see how many buds!' and she placed it by his sofa. Is it not aperfect blossom, so pure a white, and so regular! And I am so proud ofhaving beaten mamma and all the gardeners, for not another will be outthis fortnight; and this is to go to the horticultural show. Sam wouldhardly trust me to bring it in, though it was my nursing, not his. '

'Now, Amy, ' said Philip, when the flower had been duly admired, 'youmust let me put it into the window, for you. It is too heavy for you. '

'Oh, take care, ' cried Amabel, but too late; for, as he took it fromher, the solitary flower struck against Charles's little table, and wasbroken off. 

'O Amy, I am very sorry. What a pity! How did it happen?'

'Never mind, ' she answered; 'it will last a long time in water. '

'It was very unlucky--I am very sorry--especially because of thehorticultural show. '

'Make all your apologies to Sam, ' said Amy, 'his feelings will be morehurt than mine. I dare say my poor flower would have caught cold at theshow, and never held up its head again. '

Her tone was gay; but Charles, who saw her face in the glass, betrayedher by saying, 'Winking away a tear, O Amy!'

'I never nursed a dear gazelle!' quoted Amy, with a merry laugh; andbefore any more could be said, there entered a middle-aged gentleman, short and slight, with a fresh, weather-beaten, good-natured face, graywhiskers, quick eyes, and a hasty, undecided air in look and movement. He greeted Philip heartily, and the letter was given to him. 

'Ha! Eh? Let us look. Not old Sir Guy's hand. Eh? What can be thematter? What? Dead! This is a sudden thing. '

'Dead! Who? Sir Guy Morville?'

'Yes, quite suddenly--poor old man. ' Then stepping to the door, heopened it, and called, 'Mamma; just step here a minute, will you, mamma?'

The summons was obeyed by a tall, handsome lady, and behind her crept, with doubtful steps, as if she knew not how far to venture, a littlegirl of eleven, her turned-up nose and shrewd face full of curiosity. She darted up to Amabel; who, though she shook her head, and held up herfinger, smiled, and took the little girl's hand, listening meanwhile tothe announcement, 'Do you hear this, mamma? Here's a shocking thing! SirGuy Morville dead, quite suddenly. '

'Indeed! Well, poor man, I suppose no one ever repented or suffered morethan he. Who writes?'

'His grandson--poor boy! I can hardly make out his letter. ' Holding ithalf a yard from his eyes, so that all could see a few lines of hasty, irregular writing, in a forcible hand, bearing marks of having beenpenned under great distress and agitation, he read aloud:--

'"DEAR MR. EDMONSTONE, --

My dear grandfather died at six this morning. He had an attack ofapoplexy yesterday evening, and never spoke again, though for a shorttime he knew me. We hope he suffered little. Markham will make allarrangements. We propose that the funeral should take place on Tuesday;I hope you will be able to come. I would write to my cousin, PhilipMorville, if I knew his address; but I depend on you for saying all thatought to be said. Excuse this illegible letter, --I hardly know what Iwrite. 

 '"Yours, very sincerely, '"Guy Morville. "'

'Poor fellow!' said Philip, 'he writes with a great deal of properfeeling. '

'How very sad for him to be left alone there!' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'Very sad--very, ' said her husband. 'I must start off to him atonce--yes, at once. Should you not say so--eh, Philip?'

'Certainly. I think I had better go with you. It would be the correctthing, and I should not like to fail in any token of respect for poorold Sir Guy. '

'Of course--of course, ' said Mr. Edmonstone; 'it would be the correctthing. I am sure he was always very civil to us, and you are next heirafter this boy. '

Little Charlotte made a sort of jump, lifted her eyebrows, and stared atAmabel. 

Philip answered. 'That is not worth a thought; but since he and Iare now the only representatives of the two branches of the house ofMorville, it shall not be my fault if the enmity is not forgotten. '

'Buried in oblivion would sound more magnanimous, ' said Charles; atwhich Amabel laughed so uncontrollably, that she was forced to hideher head on her little sister's shoulder. Charlotte laughed too, animprudent proceeding, as it attracted attention. Her father smiled, saying, half-reprovingly--'So you are there, inquisitive pussy-cat?' Andat her mother's question, --'Charlotte, what business have you here?' Shestole back to her lessons, looking very small, without the satisfactionof hearing her mother's compassionate words--'Poor child!'

'How old is he?' asked Mr. Edmonstone, returning to the former subject. 

'He is of the same age as Laura--seventeen and a half, ' answered Mrs. Edmonstone. 'Don't you remember my brother saying what a satisfactionit was to see such a noble baby as she was, after such a poor littlemiserable thing as the one at Redclyffe?'

'He is grown into a fine spirited fellow, ' said Philip. 

'I suppose we must have him here, ' said Mr. Edmonstone. Should you notsay so--eh, Philip?'

'Certainly; I should think it very good for him. Indeed, hisgrandfather's death has happened at a most favourable time for him. Thepoor old man had such a dread of his going wrong that he kept him--'

'I know--as tight as a drum. '

'With strictness that I should think very bad for a boy of his impatienttemper. It would have been a very dangerous experiment to send him atonce among the temptations of Oxford, after such discipline and solitudeas he has been used to. '

'Don't talk of it, ' interrupted Mr. Edmonstone, spreading out his handsin a deprecating manner. 'We must do the best we can with him, for Ihave got him on my hands till he is five-and-twenty--his grandfatherhas tied him up till then. If we can keep him out of mischief, well andgood; if not, it can't be helped. '

'You have him all to yourself, ' said Charles. 

'Ay, to my sorrow. If your poor father was alive, Philip, I should befree of all care. I've a pretty deal on my hands, ' he proceeded, lookingmore important than troubled. 'All that great Redclyffe estate is nosinecure, to say nothing of the youth himself. If all the world willcome to me, I can't help it. I must go and speak to the men, if I am tobe off to Redclyffe tomorrow. Will you come, Philip?'

'I must go back soon, thank you, ' replied Philip. 'I must see about myleave; only we should first settle when to set off. '

This arranged, Mr. Edmonstone hurried away, and Charles began by saying, 'Isn't there a ghost at Redclyffe?'

'So it is said, ' answered his cousin; 'though I don't think it iscertain whose it is. There is a room called Sir Hugh's Chamber, overthe gateway, but the honour of naming it is undecided between Hugo deMorville, who murdered Thomas a Becket, and his namesake, the firstBaronet, who lived in the time of William of Orange, when the quarrelbegan with our branch of the family. Do you know the history of it, aunt?'

'It was about some property, ' said Mrs Edmonstone, 'though I don't knowthe rights of it. But the Morvilles were always a fiery, violent race, and the enmity once begun between Sir Hugh and his brother, was keptup, generation after generation, in a most unjustifiable way. Even Ican remember when the Morvilles of Redclyffe used to be spoken of in ourfamily like a sort of ogres. '

'Not undeservedly, I should think, ' said Philip. 'This poor old man, whois just dead, ran a strange career. Stories of his duels and mad freaksare still extant. '

'Poor man! I believe he went all lengths, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'What was the true version of that horrible story about his son?' saidPhilip. 'Did he strike him?'

'Oh, no! it was bad enough without that. '

'How?' asked Laura. 

'He was an only child, and lost his mother early. He was very illbrought up, and was as impetuous and violent as Sir Guy himself, thoughwith much kindliness and generosity. He was only nineteen when he made arunaway marriage with a girl of sixteen, the sister of a violin player, who was at that time in fashion. His father was very much offended, andthere was much dreadfully violent conduct on each side. At last, theyoung man was driven to seek a reconciliation. He brought his wife toMoorworth, and rode to Redclyffe, to have an interview with his father. Unhappily, Sir Guy was giving a dinner to the hunt, and had beendrinking. He not only refused to see him, but I am afraid he usedshocking language, and said something about bidding him go back tohis fiddling brother in-law. The son was waiting in the hall, heardeverything, threw himself on his horse, and rushed away in the dark. Hisforehead struck against the branch of a tree, and he was killed on thespot. '

'The poor wife?' asked Amabel, shuddering. 

'She died the next day, when this boy was born. '

'Frightful!' said Philip. 'It might well make a reformation in old SirGuy. '

'I have heard that nothing could be more awful than the stillnessthat fell on that wretched party, even before they knew what hadhappened--before Colonel Harewood, who had been called aside by theservants, could resolve to come and fetch away the father. No wonder SirGuy was a changed man from that hour. '

'It was then that he sent for my father, ' said Philip. 

'But what made him think of doing so?'

'You know Colonel Harewood's house at Stylehurst? Many years ago, whenthe St. Mildred's races used to be so much more in fashion, Sir Guy andColonel Harewood, and some men of that stamp, took that house amongstthem, and used to spend some time there every year, to attend tosomething about the training of the horses. There were some malpracticesof their servants, that did so much harm in the parish, that my brotherwas obliged to remonstrate. Sir Guy was very angry at first, but behavedbetter at last than any of the others. I suspect he was struck bymy dear brother's bold, uncompromising ways, for he took to him to acertain degree--and my brother could not help being interested in him, there seemed to be so much goodness in his nature. I saw him once, andnever did I meet any one who gave me so much the idea of a finishedgentleman. When the poor son was about fourteen, he was with a tutor inthe neighbourhood, and used to be a good deal at Stylehurst, and, afterthe unhappy marriage, my brother happened to meet him in London, heardhis story, and tried to bring about a reconciliation. '

'Ha!' said Philip; 'did not they come to Stylehurst? I have a dimrecollection of somebody very tall, and a lady who sung. '

'Yes; your father asked them to stay there, that he might judge of her, and wrote to Sir Guy that she was a little, gentle, childish thing, capable of being moulded to anything, and representing the mischief ofleaving them to such society as that of her brother, who was actuallymaintaining them. That letter was never answered, but about ten daysor a fortnight after this terrible accident, Colonel Harewood wrote toentreat my brother to come to Redclyffe, saying poor Sir Guy had eagerlycaught at the mention of his name. Of course he went at once, and hetold me that he never, in all his experience as a clergyman, saw any oneso completely broken down with grief. '

I found a great many of his letters among my father's papers, ' saidPhilip; 'and it was a very touching one that he wrote to me on myfather's death. Those Redclyffe people certainly have great force ofcharacter. '

'And was it then he settled his property on my uncle?' said Charles. 

'Yes, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'My brother did not like his doing so, buthe would not be at rest till it was settled. It was in vain to put himin mind of his grandchild, for he would not believe it could live; and, indeed, its life hung on a thread. I remember my brother telling me howhe went to Moorworth to see it--for it could not be brought home--inhopes of bringing, back a report that might cheer its grandfather, buthow he found it so weak and delicate, that he did not dare to try tomake him take interest in it. It was not till the child was two or threeyears old, that Sir Guy ventured to let himself grow fond of it. '

'Sir Guy was a very striking person, ' said Philip; 'I shall not easilyforget my visit to Redclyffe four years ago. It was more like a scene ina romance than anything real--the fine old red sandstone house crumblingaway in the exposed parts, the arched gateway covered with ivy; thegreat quadrangle where the sun never shone, and full of echoes; thelarge hall and black wainscoted rooms, which the candles never wouldlight up. It is a fit place to be haunted. '

'That poor boy alone there!' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'I am glad you andyour uncle are going to him. '

'Tell us about him, ' said Laura. 

'He was the most incongruous thing there, ' said Philip. 'There was acalm, deep melancholy about the old man added to the grand courtesywhich showed he had been what old books call a fine gentleman, that madehim suit his house as a hermit does his cell, or a knight his castle;but breaking in on this "penseroso" scene, there was Guy--'

'In what way?' asked Laura. 

'Always in wild spirits, rushing about, playing antics, provoking thesolemn echoes with shouting, whooping, singing, whistling. There wassomething in that whistle of his that always made me angry. '

'How did this suit old Sir Guy?'

'It was curious to see how Guy could rattle on to him, pour out thewhole history of his doings, laughing, rubbing his hands, springingabout with animation--all with as little answer as if he had beentalking to a statue. '

'Do you mean that Sir Guy did not like it?'

'He did in his own way. There was now and then a glance or a nod, toshow that he was attending; but it was such slight encouragement, thatany less buoyant spirits must have been checked. '

'Did you like him, on the whole?' asked Laura. 'I hope he has notthis tremendous Morville temper? Oh, you don't say so. What a grievousthing. '

'He is a fine fellow, ' said Philip; 'but I did not think Sir Guy managedhim well. Poor old man, he was quite wrapped up in him, and only thoughthow to keep him out of harm's way. He would never let him be with otherboys, and kept him so fettered by rules, so strictly watched, and sosternly called to account, that I cannot think how any boy could standit. '

'Yet, you say, he told everything freely to his grandfather, ' said Amy. 

'Yes, ' added her mother, 'I was going to say that, as long as that wenton, I should think all safe. 

'As I said before, ' resumed Philip, 'he has a great deal of frankness, much of the making of a fine character; but he is a thorough Morville. Iremember something that will show you his best and worst sides. You knowRedclyffe is a beautiful place, with magnificent cliffs overhanging thesea, and fine woods crowning them. On one of the most inaccessibleof these crags there was a hawk's nest, about half-way down, so thatlooking from the top of the precipice, we could see the old birds flyin and out. Well, what does Master Guy do, but go down this headlongdescent after the nest. How he escaped alive no one could guess; and hisgrandfather could not bear to look at the place afterwards--but climbit he did, and came back with two young hawks, buttoned up inside hisjacket. '

'There's a regular brick for you!' cried Charles, delighted. 

'His heart was set on training these birds. He turned the library upsidedown in search of books on falconry, and spent every spare moment onthem. At last, a servant left some door open, and they escaped. I shallnever forget Guy's passion; I am sure I don't exaggerate when I say hewas perfectly beside himself with anger. '

'Poor boy!' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'Served the rascal right, ' said Charles. 

'Nothing had any effect on him till his grandfather came out, and, atthe sight of him, he was tamed in an instant, hung his head, came up tohis grandfather, and said--"I am very sorry, " Sir Guy answered, "My poorboy!" and there was not another word. I saw Guy no more that day, andall the next he was quiet and subdued. But the most remarkable part ofthe story is to come. A couple of days afterwards we were walking inthe woods, when, at the sound of Guy's whistle, we heard a flapping andrustling, and beheld, tumbling along, with their clipped wings, thesetwo identical hawks, very glad to be caught. They drew themselves upproudly for him to stroke them, and their yellow eyes looked at him withpositive affection. '

'Pretty creatures!' said Amabel. 'That is a very nice end to the story. '

'It is not the end, ' said Philip. 'I was surprised to see Guy so sober, instead of going into one of his usual raptures. He took them home; butthe first thing I heard in the morning was, that he was gone to offerthem to a farmer, to keep the birds from his fruit. '

'Did he do it of his own accord?' asked Laura. 

'That was just what I wanted to know; but any hint about them broughtsuch a cloud over his face that I thought it would be wanton to irritatehim by questions. However, I must be going. Good-bye, Amy, I hope yourCamellia will have another blossom before I come back. At least, I shallescape the horticultural meeting. '

'Good-bye, ' said Charles. 'Put the feud in your pocket till you canbury it in old Sir Guy's grave, unless you mean to fight it out with hisgrandson, which would be more romantic and exciting. '

Philip was gone before he could finish. Mrs. Edmonstone looked annoyed, and Laura said, 'Charlie, I wish you would not let your spirits carryyou away. '

'I wish I had anything else to carry me away!' was the reply. 

'Yes, ' said his mother, looking sadly at him. 'Your high spirits are ablessing; but why misuse them? If they are given to support you throughpain and confinement, why make mischief with them?'

Charles looked more impatient than abashed, and the compunction seemedchiefly to rest with Amabel. 

'Now, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'I must go and see after my poor littleprisoner. '

'Ah!' said Laura, as she went; 'it was no kindness in you to encourageCharlotte to stay, Amy, when you know how often that inquisitive temperhas got her into scrapes. '

'I suppose so, ' said Amy, regretfully; 'but I had not the heart to sendher away. '

'That is just what Philip says, that you only want bones and sinews inyour character to--'

'Come, Laura, ' interrupted Charles, 'I won't hear Philip's criticismsof my sister, I had rather she had no bones at all, than that they stuckout and ran into me. There are plenty of angles already in the world, without sharpening hers. '

He possessed himself of Amy's round, plump, childish hand, and spreadout over it his still whiter, and very bony fingers, pinching her 'softpinky cushions, ' as he called them, 'not meant for studying anatomyupon. '

'Ah! you two spoil each other sadly, ' said Laura, smiling, as she leftthe room. 

'And what do Philip and Laura do to each other?' said Charles. 

'Improve each other, I suppose, ' said Amabel, in a shy, simple tone, atwhich Charles laughed heartily. 

'I wish I was as sensible as Laura!' said she, presently, with a sigh. 

'Never was a more absurd wish, ' said Charles, tormenting her hand stillmore, and pulling her curls; 'unwish it forthwith. Where should I bewithout silly little Amy? If every one weighed my wit before laughing, Ishould not often be in disgrace for my high spirits, as they call them. '

'I am so little younger than Laura, ' said Amy, still sadly, thoughsmiling. 

'Folly, ' said Charles; 'you are quite wise enough for your age, whileLaura is so prematurely wise, that I am in constant dread that naturewill take her revenge by causing her to do something strikinglyfoolish!'

'Nonsense!' cried Amy, indignantly. 'Laura do anything foolish!'

'What I should enjoy, ' proceeded Charles, 'would be to see her over headand ears in love with this hero, and Philip properly jealous. '

'How can you say such things, Charlie?'

'Why? was there ever a beauty who did not fall in love with her father'sward?'

'No; but she ought to live alone with her very old father and horriblygrim maiden aunt. '

'Very well, Amy, you shall be the maiden, aunt. ' And as Laura returnedat that moment, he announced to her that they had been agreeing that nohero ever failed to fall in love with his guardian's beautiful daughter. 

'If his guardian had a beautiful daughter, ' said Laura, resolved not tobe disconcerted. 

'Did you ever hear such barefaced fishing for compliments?' saidCharles; but Amabel, who did not like her sister to be teased, andwas also conscious of having wasted a good deal of time, sat down topractise. Laura returned to her drawing, and Charles, with a yawn, listlessly turned over a newspaper, while his fair delicate features, which would have been handsome but that they were blanched, sharpened, and worn with pain, gradually lost their animated and rather satiricalexpression, and assumed an air of weariness and discontent. 

Charles was at this time nineteen, and for the last ten years had beenafflicted with a disease in the hip-joint, which, in spite of themost anxious care, caused him frequent and severe suffering, and hadoccasioned such a contraction of the limb as to cripple him completely, while his general health was so much affected as to render him an objectof constant anxiety. His mother had always been his most devoted andindefatigable nurse, giving up everything for his sake, and watching himnight and day. His father attended to his least caprice, and his sisterswere, of course, his slaves; so that he was the undisputed sovereign ofthe whole family. 

The two elder girls had been entirely under a governess till a monthor two before the opening of our story, when Laura was old enough tobe introduced; and the governess departing, the two sisters becameCharles's companions in the drawing-room, while Mrs. Edmonstone, who hada peculiar taste and talent for teaching, undertook little Charlotte'slessons herself. 

CHAPTER 2

 If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't. --THE TEMPEST

One of the pleasantest rooms at Hollywell was Mrs. Edmonstone'sdressing-room--large and bay-windowed, over the drawing-room, havinglittle of the dressing-room but the name, and a toilet-table with ablack and gold japanned glass, and curiously shaped boxes to match; herroom opened into it on one side, and Charles's on the other; it was asort of up-stairs parlour, where she taught Charlotte, cast up accounts, spoke to servants, and wrote notes, and where Charles was usually tobe found, when unequal to coming down-stairs. It had an air of greatsnugness, with its large folding-screen, covered with prints andcaricatures of ancient date, its book-shelves, its tables, itspeculiarly easy arm-chairs, the great invalid sofa, and the grate, whichalways lighted up better than any other in the house. 

In the bright glow of the fire, with the shutters closed and curtainsdrawn, lay Charles on his couch, one Monday evening, in a gorgeousdressing-gown of a Chinese pattern, all over pagodas, while littleCharlotte sat opposite to him, curled up on a footstool. He was notalways very civil to Charlotte; she sometimes came into collision withhim, for she, too, was a pet, and had a will of her own, and at othertimes she could bore him; but just now they had a common interest, andhe was gracious. 

'It is striking six, so they must soon be here. I wish mamma would letme go down; but I must wait till after dinner. '

'Then, Charlotte, as soon as you come in, hold up your hands, andexclaim, "What a guy!" There will be a compliment!'

'No, Charlie; I promised mamma and Laura that you should get me into nomore scrapes. '

'Did you? The next promise you make had better depend upon yourselfalone. '

'But Amy said I must be quiet, because poor Sir Guy will be toosorrowful to like a racket; and when Amy tells me to be quiet, I knowthat I must, indeed. '

'Most true, ' said Charles, laughing. 

'Do you think you shall like Sir Guy?'

'I shall be able to determine, ' said Charles, sententiously, 'when Ihave seen whether he brushes his hair to the right or left. '

'Philip brushes his to the left. '

'Then undoubtedly Sir Guy will brush his to the right. '

'Is there not some horrid story about those Morvilles of Redclyffe?'asked Charlotte. 'I asked Laura, and she told me not to be curious, soI knew there was something in it; and then I asked Amy, and she said itwould be no pleasure to me to know. '

'Ah! I would have you prepared. '

'Why, what is it? Oh! dear Charlie! are you really going to tell me?'

'Did you ever hear of a deadly feud?'

'I have read of them in the history of Scotland. They went on hatingand killing each other for ever. There was one man who made his enemy'schildren eat out of a pig-trough, and another who cut off his head. '

'His own?'

'No, his enemy's, and put it on the table, at breakfast, with a piece ofbread in its mouth. '

'Very well; whenever Sir Guy serves up Philip's head at breakfast, witha piece of bread in his mouth, let me know. '

Charlotte started up. 'Charles, what do you mean? Such things don'thappen now. '

'Nevertheless, there is a deadly feud between the two branches of thehouse of Morville. '

'But it is very wrong, ' said Charlotte, looking frightened. '

'Wrong? Of course it is. '

'Philip won't do anything wrong. But how will they ever get on?'

'Don't you see? It must be our serious endeavour to keep the peace, andprevent occasions of discord. '

'Do you think anything will happen?'

'It is much to be apprehended, ' said Charles, solemnly. 

At that moment the sound of wheels was heard, and Charlotte flew off toher private post of observation, leaving her brother delighted at havingmystified her. She returned on tip-toe. 'Papa and Sir Guy are come, butnot Philip; I can't see him anywhere. '

'Ah you have not looked in Sir Guy's great-coat pocket. '

'I wish you would not plague me so! You are not in earnest?'

The pettish inquiring tone was exactly what delighted him. And hecontinued to tease her in the same style till Laura and Amabel camerunning in with their report of the stranger. 

'He is come!' they cried, with one voice. 

'Very gentlemanlike!' said Laura. 

'Very pleasant looking, ' said Amy. 'Such fine eyes!'

'And so much expression, ' said Laura. 'Oh!'

The exclamation, and the start which accompanied it, were caused byhearing her father's voice close to the door, which had been left partlyopen. 'Here is poor Charles, ' it said, 'come in, and see him; get overthe first introduction--eh, Guy?' And before he had finished, both heand the guest were in the room, and Charlotte full of mischievous gleeat her sister's confusion. 

'Well, Charlie, boy, how goes it?' was his father's greeting. 'Better, eh? Sorry not to find you down-stairs; but I have brought Guy tosee you. ' Then, as Charles sat up and shook hands with Sir Guy, hecontinued--'A fine chance for you, as I was telling him, to have acompanion always at hand: a fine chance? eh, Charlie?'

'I am not so unreasonable as to expect any one to be always at hand, 'said Charles, smiling, as he looked up at the frank, open face, andlustrous hazel eyes turned on him with compassion at the sight ofhis crippled, helpless figure, and with a bright, cordial promise ofkindness. 

As he spoke, a pattering sound approached, the door was pushed open, and while Sir Guy exclaimed, 'O, Bustle! Bustle! I am very sorry, ' theresuddenly appeared a large beautiful spaniel, with a long silky black andwhite coat, jetty curled ears, tan spots above his intelligent eyes, andtan legs, fringed with silken waves of hair, but crouching and lookingbeseeching at meeting no welcome, while Sir Guy seemed much distressedat his intrusion. 

'O you beauty!' cried Charles. 'Come here, you fine fellow. '

Bustle only looked wistfully at his master, and moved nothing but hisfeather of a tail. 

'Ah! I was afraid you would repent of your kindness, ' said Sir Guy toMr. Edmonstone. 

'Not at all, not at all!' was the answer; 'mamma never objects toin-door pets, eh, Amy?'

'A tender subject, papa, ' said Laura; 'poor Pepper!'

Amy, ashamed of her disposition to cry at the remembrance of the deardeparted rough terrier, bent down to hide her glowing face, and held outher hand to the dog, which at last ventured to advance, still creepingwith his body curved till his tail was foremost, looking imploringly athis master, as if to entreat his pardon. 

'Are you sure you don't dislike it?' inquired Sir Guy, of Charles. 

'I? O no. Here, you fine creature. '

'Come, then, behave like a rational dog, since you are come, ' said SirGuy; and Bustle, resuming the deportment of a spirited and well-bredspaniel, no longer crouched and curled himself into the shape of acomma, but bounded, wagged his tail, thrust his nose into his master'shand and then proceeded to reconnoitre the rest of the company, payingespecial attention to Charles, putting his fore-paws on the sofa, andrearing himself up to contemplate him with a grave, polite curiosity, that was very diverting. 

'Well, old fellow, ' said Charles, 'did you ever see the like of such adressing-gown? Are you satisfied? Give me your paw, and let us swear aneternal friendship. '

'I am quite glad to see a dog in the house again, ' said Laura, and, after a few more compliments, Bustle and his master followed Mr. Edmonstone out of the room. 

'One of my father's well-judged proceedings, ' murmured Charles. 'Thatpoor fellow had rather have gone a dozen, miles further than have beenlugged in here. Really, if papa chooses to inflict such dressing-gownson me, he should give me notice before he brings men and dogs to make metheir laughing-stock!'

'An unlucky moment, ' said Laura. 'Will my cheeks ever cool?'

'Perhaps he did not hear, ' said Amabel, consolingly. 

'You did not ask about Philip?' said Charlotte, with great earnestness. 

'He is staying at Thorndale, and then going to St. Mildred's, ' saidLaura. 

'I hope you are relieved, ' said her brother; and she looked in doubtwhether she ought to laugh. 

'And what do you think of Sir Guy?'

'May he only be worthy of his dog!' replied Charles. 

'Ah!' said Laura, 'many men are neither worthy of their wives, nor oftheir dogs. '

'Dr. Henley, I suppose, is the foundation of that aphorism, ' saidCharles. 

'If Margaret Morville could marry him, she could hardly be too worthy, 'said Laura. 'Think of throwing away Philip's whole soul!'

'O Laura, she could not lose that, ' said Amabel. 

Laura looked as if she knew more; but at that moment, both her fatherand mother entered, the former rubbing his hands, as he always did whenmuch pleased, and sending his voice before him, as he exclaimed, 'Well, Charlie, well, young ladies, is not he a fine fellow--eh?'

'Rather under-sized, ' said Charles. 

'Eh? He'll grow. He is not eighteen, you know; plenty of time; a verygood height; you can't expect every one to be as tall as Philip; buthe's a capital fellow. And how have you been?--any pain?'

'Hem--rather, ' said Charles, shortly, for he hated answering kindinquiries, when out of humour. 

'Ah, that's a pity; I was sorry not to find you in the drawing-room, butI thought you would have liked just to see him, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, disappointed, and apologizing. 

'I had rather have had some notice of your intention, ' said Charles, 'Iwould have made myself fit to be seen. '

'I am sorry. I thought you would have liked his coming, ' said poor Mr. Edmonstone, only half conscious of his offence; 'but I see you are notwell this evening. '

Worse and worse, for it was equivalent to openly telling Charles he wasout of humour; and seeing, as he did, his mother's motive, he was stillfurther annoyed when she hastily interposed a question about Sir Guy. 

'You should only hear them talk about him at Redclyffe, ' said MrEdmonstone. 'No one was ever equal to him, according to them. Every onesaid the same--clergyman, old Markham, all of them. Such attention tohis grandfather, such proper feeling, so good-natured, not a bit ofpride--it is my firm belief that he will make up for all his familybefore him. '

Charles set up his eyebrows sarcastically. 

'How does he get on with Philip?' inquired Laura. 

'Excellently. Just what could be wished. Philip is delighted with him;and I have been telling Guy all the way home what a capital friend hewill be, and he is quite inclined to look up to him. ' Charles made anexaggerated gesture of astonishment, unseen by his father. 'I told himto bring his dog. He would have left it, but they seemed so fond of eachother, I thought it was a pity to part them, and that I could promise itshould be welcome here; eh, mamma?'

'Certainly. I am very glad you brought it. '

'We are to have his horse and man in a little while. A beautifulchestnut--anything to raise his spirits. He is terribly cut up about hisgrandfather. 

It was now time to go down to dinner; and after Charles had made facesof weariness and disgust at all the viands proposed to him by hismother, almost imploring him to like them, and had at last ungraciouslygiven her leave to send what he could not quite say he disliked, he wasleft to carry on his teasing of Charlotte, and his grumbling over thedinner, for about the space of an hour, when Amabel came back to him, and Charlotte went down. 

'Hum!' he exclaimed. 'Another swan of my father's. '

'Did not you like his looks?'

'I saw only an angular hobbetyhoy. '

'But every one at Redclyffe speaks so well of him. '

'As if the same things were not said of every heir to more acres thanbrains! However, I could have swallowed everything but the dispositionto adore Philip. Either it was gammon on his part, or else the work ofmy father's imagination. '

'For shame, Charlie. '

'Is it within the bounds of probability that he should be willing, atthe bidding of his guardian, to adopt as Mentor his very correct andsententious cousin, a poor subaltern, and the next in the entail? Dependupon it, it is a fiction created either by papa's hopes or Philip'sself-complacency, or else the unfortunate youth must have been broughtvery low by strait-lacing and milk-and-water. '

'Mr. Thorndale is willing to look up to Philip, '

'I don't think the Thorndale swan very--very much better than a tamegoose, ' said Charles, 'but the coalition is not so monstrous in hiscase, since Philip was a friend of his own picking and choosing, andso his father's adoption did not succeed in repelling him. But thatMorville should receive this "young man's companion, " on the word of aguardian whom he never set eyes on before, is too incredible--utterlymythical I assure you, Amy. And how did you get on at dinner?'

'Oh, the dog is the most delightful creature I ever saw, so sensible andwell-mannered. '

'It was of the man that I asked. '

'He said hardly anything, and sometimes started if papa spoke to himsuddenly. He winced as if he could not bear to be called Sir Guy, sopapa said we should call him only by his name, if he would do the sameby us. I am glad of it, for it seems more friendly, and I am sure hewants to be comforted. '

'Don't waste your compassion, my dear; few men need it less. With hisproperty, those moors to shoot over, his own master, and with health toenjoy it, there are plenty who would change with him for all your pity, my silly little Amy. '

'Surely not, with that horrible ancestry. '

'All very well to plume oneself upon. I rather covet that ghost myself. '

'Well, if you watched his face, I think you would be sorry for him. '

'I am tired of the sound of his name. One fifth of November is enough inthe year. Here, find something to read to me among that trumpery. '

Amy read till she was summoned to tea, when she found a conversationgoing on about Philip, on whose history Sir Guy did not seem fullyinformed. Philip was the son of Archdeacon Morville, Mrs. Edmonstone'sbrother, an admirable and superior man, who had been dead about fiveyears. He left three children, Margaret and Fanny, twenty-five andtwenty-three years of age, and Philip, just seventeen. The boy was atthe head of his school, highly distinguished for application and goodconduct; he had attained every honour there open to him, won goldenopinions from all concerned with him, and made proof of talentswhich could not have failed to raise him to the highest universitydistinctions. He was absent from home at the time of his father's death, which took place after so short an illness, that there had been no timeto summon him back to Stylehurst. Very little property was left to bedivided among the three; and as soon as Philip perceived how smallwas the provision for his sisters, he gave up his hopes of universityhonours, and obtained a commission in the army. 

On hearing this, Sir Guy started forward: 'Noble!' he cried, 'and yetwhat a pity! If my grandfather had but known it--'

'Ah! I was convinced of _that_, ' broke in Mr. Edmonstone, 'and so, I amsure, was Philip himself; but in fact he knew we should never have givenour consent, so he acted quite by himself, wrote to Lord Thorndale, andnever said a word, even to his sisters, till the thing was done. I neverwas more surprised in my life. '

'One would almost envy him the opportunity of making such a sacrifice, 'said Sir Guy, yet one must lament it. 

'It was done in a hasty spirit of independence, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone;'I believe if he had got a fellowship at Oxford, it would have answeredmuch better. '

'And now that poor Fanny is dead, and Margaret married, there is allhis expensive education thrown away, and all for nothing, ' said Mr. Edmonstone. 

'Ah, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'he planned for them to go on living atStylehurst, so that it would still have been his home. It is agreat pity, for his talent is thrown away, and he is not fond of hisprofession. '

'You must not suppose, though, that he is not a practical man, ' said Mr. Edmonstone; 'I had rather take his opinion than any one's, especiallyabout a horse, and there is no end to what I hear about his good sense, and the use he is of to the other young men. '

'You should tell about Mr. Thorndale, papa, ' said Laura. 

'Ah that is a feather in master Philip's cap; besides, he is yourneighbour--at least, his father is. '

'I suppose you know Lord Thorndale?' said Mrs. Edmonstone, inexplanation. 

'I have seen him once at the Quarter Sessions, ' said Sir Guy; 'but helives on the other side of Moorworth, and there was no visiting. '

'Well, this youth, James Thorndale, the second son, was Philip's fag. '

'Philip says he was always licking him!' interposed Charlotte. '

'He kept him out of some scrape or other, continued Mr. Edmonstone. 'Lord Thorndale was very much obliged to him, had him to stay at hishouse, took pretty much to him altogether. It was through him thatPhilip applied for his commission, and he has put his son into the sameregiment, on purpose to have him under Philip's eye. There he is atBroadstone, as gentlemanlike a youth as I would wish to see. We willhave him to dinner some day, and Maurice too--eh, mamma? Maurice--he isa young Irish cousin of my own, a capital fellow at the bottom, but aregular thoroughgoing rattle. That was my doing. I told his father thathe could not do better than put him into the --th. Nothing like a steadyfriend and a good example, I said, and Kilcoran always takes my advice, and I don't think he has been sorry. Maurice has kept much more out ofscrapes of late. '

'O papa, ' exclaimed Charlotte, 'Maurice has been out riding on a hiredhorse, racing with Mr. Gordon, and the horse tumbled down at the bottomof East-hill, and broke its knees. '

'That's the way, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, 'the instant my back is turned. '

Thereupon the family fell into a discussion of home affairs, and thoughtlittle more of their silent guest. 

CHAPTER 3

 The hues of bliss more brightly glow Chastised by sober tints of woe. --GRAY

'What use shall I make of him?' said Charles to himself, as he studiedSir Guy Morville, who sat by the table, with a book in his hand. 

He had the unformed look of a growing boy, and was so slender as toappear taller than he really was. He had an air of great activity; andthough he sat leaning back, there was no lounging in his attitude, andat the first summons he roused up with an air of alert attention thatrecalled to mind the eager head of a listening greyhound. He had nopretension to be called handsome; his eyes were his best feature; theywere very peculiar, of a light hazel, darker towards the outside ofthe iris, very brilliant, the whites tinted with blue, and the lashesuncommonly thick and black; the eyebrows were also very dark, and ofa sharply-defined angular shape, but the hair was much lighter, loose, soft, and wavy; the natural fairness of the complexion was shown bythe whiteness of the upper part of the forehead, though the rest ofthe face, as well as the small taper hands, were tanned by sunshine andsea-breezes, into a fresh, hardy brown, glowing with red on the cheeks. 

'What use shall I make of him?' proceeded Charles's thoughts. 'Hewon't be worth his salt if he goes on in this way; he has got a graverspecimen of literature there than I ever saw Philip himself read ona week-day; he has been puritanized till he is good for nothing; I'lltrouble myself no more about him!' He tried to read, but presentlylooked up again. 'Plague! I can't keep my thoughts off him. That soberlook does not sit on that sun-burnt face as if it were native to it;those eyes don't look as if the Redclyffe spirit was extinguished. '

Mrs. Edmonstone came in, and looking round, as if to find someoccupation for her guest, at length devised setting him to play at chesswith Charles. Charles gave her an amiable look, expressing that neitherliked it; but she was pretty well used to doing him good against hiswill, and trusted to its coming right in time. Charles was a capitalchess-player, and seldom found any one who could play well enough toafford him much real sport, but he found Sir Guy more nearly a matchthan often fell to his lot; it was a bold dashing game, that obligedhim to be on his guard, and he was once so taken by surprise as to beabsolutely check-mated. His ill-humour evaporated, he was delighted tofind an opponent worth playing with, and henceforth there were gamesalmost every morning or evening, though Sir Guy seemed not to care muchabout them, except for the sake of pleasing him. 

When left to himself, Guy spent his time in reading or in walking aboutthe lanes alone. He used to sit in the bay-window of the drawing-roomwith his book; but sometimes, when they least expected it, thegirls would find his quick eyes following them with an air of amusedcuriosity, as Amabel waited on Charles and her flowers, or Lauradrew, wrote letters, and strove to keep down the piles of books andperiodicals under which it seemed as if her brother might some day bestifled--a vain task, for he was sure to want immediately whatever sheput out of his reach. 

Laura and Amabel both played and sung, the former remarkably well, andthe first time they had any music after the arrival of Sir Guy, his lookof delighted attention struck everyone. He ventured nearer, stood by thepiano when they practised, and at last joined in with a few notes ofso full and melodious a voice, that Laura turned round in surprise, exclaiming, 'You sing better I than any of us!'

He coloured. 'I beg your pardon, ' he said, 'I could not help it; I knownothing of music. '

'Really!' said Laura, smiling incredulously. 

'I don't even know the notes. '

'Then you must have a very good ear. Let us try again. '

The sisters were again charmed and surprised, and Guy looked gratified, as people do at the discovery of a faculty which they are particularlyglad to possess. It was the first time he appeared to brighten, andLaura and her mother agreed that it would do him good to have plenty ofmusic, and to try to train that fine voice. He was beginning to interestthem all greatly by his great helpfulness and kindness to Charles, ashe learnt the sort of assistance he required, as well as by thesilent grief that showed how much attached he must have been to hisgrandfather. 

On the first Sunday, Mrs. Edmonstone coming into the drawing-room atabout half-past five, found him sitting alone by the fire, his dog lyingat his feet. As he started up, she asked if he had been here in the darkever since church-time?

'I have not wanted light, ' he answered with a sigh, long, deep, andirrepressible, and as she stirred the fire, the flame revealed to herthe traces of tears. She longed to comfort him, and said--

'This Sunday twilight is a quiet time for thinking. '

'Yes, ' he said; 'how few Sundays ago--' and there he paused. 

'Ah! you had so little preparation. '

'None. That very morning he had done business with Markham, and hadnever been more clear and collected. '

'Were you with him when he was taken ill?' asked Mrs. Edmonstone, perceiving that it would be a relief to him to talk. 

'No; it was just before dinner. I had been shooting, and went into thelibrary to tell him where I had been. He was well then, for he spoke, but it was getting dark, and I did not see his face. I don't think Iwas ten minutes dressing, but when I came down, he had sunk back in hischair. I saw it was not sleep--I rang--and when Arnaud came, we knew howit was. ' His, voice became low with strong emotion. '

'Did he recover his consciousness?'

'Yes, that was _the_ comfort, ' said Guy, eagerly. 'It was after he hadbeen bled that he seemed to wake up. He could not speak or move, but helooked at me--or--I don't know what I should have done. ' The last wordswere almost inaudible from the gush of tears that he vainly struggledto repress, and he was turning away to hide them, when he saw that Mrs. Edmonstone's were flowing fast. 

'You had great reason to be attached to him!' said she, as soon as shecould speak. 

'Indeed, indeed I had. ' And after a long silence--'He was everything tome, everything from the first hour I can recollect. He never let memiss my parents. How he attended to all my pleasures and wishes, how hewatched and cared for me, and bore with me, even I can never know. '

He spoke in short half sentences of intense feeling, and Mrs. Edmonstonewas much moved by such affection in one said to have been treated withan excess of strictness, much compassionating the lonely boy, who hadlost every family tie in one. 

'When the first pain of the sudden parting has passed, ' said she, 'youwill like to remember the affection which you knew how to value. '

'If I had but known!' said Guy; 'but there was I, hasty, reckless, disregarding his comfort, rebelling against--O, what would I not give tohave those restraints restored!'

'It is what we all feel in such losses, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'There isalways much to wish otherwise; but I am sure you can have the happinessof knowing you were his great comfort. '

'It was what I ought to have been. '

She knew that nothing could have been more filial and affectionate thanhis conduct, and tried to say something of the kind, but he would notlisten. 

'That is worst of all, ' he said; 'and you must not trust what they sayof me. They would be sure to praise me, if I was anything short of abrute. '

A silence ensued, while Mrs. Edmonstone was trying to think of someconsolation. Suddenly Guy looked up, and spoke eagerly:--

'I want to ask something--a great favour--but you make me venture. Yousee how I am left alone--you know how little I can trust myself. Willyou take me in hand--let me talk to you--and tell me if I am wrong, asfreely as if I were Charles? I know it is asking a great deal, but youknew my grandfather, and it is in his name. '

She held out her hand; and with tears answered--

'Indeed I will, if I see any occasion. '

'You will let me trust to you to tell me when I get too vehement? aboveall, when you see my temper failing? Thank you; you don't know what arelief it is!'

'But you must not call yourself alone. You are one of us now. '

'Yes; since you have made that promise, ' said Guy; and for the firsttime she saw the full beauty of his smile--a sort of sweetness andradiance of which eye and brow partook almost as much as the lips. Italone would have gained her heart. 

'I must look on you as a kind of nephew, ' she added, kindly. 'I used tohear so much of you from my brother. '

'Oh!' cried Guy, lighting up, 'Archdeacon Morville was always so kind tome. I remember him very well!'

'Ah! I wish--' there she paused, and added, --tête-à-tête 'it is notright to wish such things--and Philip is very like his father. '

'I am very glad his regiment is so near. I want to know him better. '

'You knew him at Redclyffe, when he was staying there?'

'Yes, ' said Guy, his colour rising; 'but I was a boy then, and avery foolish, headstrong one. I am glad to meet him again. What agrand-looking person he is!'

'We are very proud of him, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling. 'I don'tthink there has been an hour's anxiety about him since he was born. '

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of Charles's crutchesslowly crossing the hall. Guy sprang to help him to his sofa, and then, without speaking, hurried up-stairs. 

'Mamma, tete-a-tete with the silent one!' exclaimed Charles. 

'I will not tell you all I think of him, ' said she, leaving the room. 

'Hum!' soliloquised Charles. 'That means that my lady mother has adoptedhim, and thinks I should laugh at her, or straightway set up a disliketo him, knowing my contempt for heroes and hero-worship. It's a treatto have Philip out of the way, and if it was but possible to get out ofhearing of his perfection, I should have some peace. If I thought thisfellow had one spice of the kind, I'd never trouble my head about himmore; and yet I don't believe he has such a pair of hawk's eyes fornothing!'

The hawk's eyes, as Charles called them, shone brighter from thatday forth, and their owner began to show more interest in what passedaround. Laura was much amused by a little conversation she held withhim one day when a party of their younger neighbours were laughing andtalking nonsense round Charles's sofa. He was sitting a little way offin silence, and she took advantage of the loud laughing to say:

'You think this is not very satisfactory?' And as he gave a quick glanceof inquiry--'Don't mind saying so. Philip and I often agree that it is apity spend so much time in laughing at nothing--at such nonsense. '

'It is nonsense?'

'Listen--no don't, it is too silly. '

'Nonsense must be an excellent thing if it makes people so happy, ' saidGuy thoughtfully. 'Look at them; they are like--not a picture--that hasno life--but a dream--or, perhaps a scene in a play. '

'Did you never see anything like it?'

'Oh, no! All the morning calls I ever saw were formal, every one stiff, and speaking by rote, or talking politics. How glad I used to be to geton horseback again! But to see these--why, it is like the shepherd'sglimpse at the pixies!--as one reads a new book, or watches what oneonly half understands--a rook's parliament, or a gathering of sea-fowlon the Shag Rock. '

'A rook's parliament?'

'The people at home call it a rook's parliament when a whole cloud ofrooks settle on some bare, wide common, and sit there as if they wereconsulting, not feeding, only stalking about, with drooping wings, andsolemn, black cloaks. '

'You have found a flattering simile, ' said Laura, 'as you know thatrooks never open their mouths without cause. '

Guy had never heard the riddle, but he caught the pun instantly, and theclear merry sound of his hearty laugh surprised Charles, who instantlynoted it as another proof that was some life in him. 

Indeed, each day began to make it evident that he had, on the whole, rather a superabundance of animation than otherwise. He was quiteconfidential with Mrs. Edmonstone, on whom he used to lavish, withboyish eagerness, all that interested him, carrying her the passagesin books that pleased him, telling her about Redclyffe's affairs, andgiving her his letters from Markham, the steward. His head was fullof his horse, Deloraine, which was coming to him under the charge of agroom, and the consultations were endless about the means of transport, Mr. Edmonstone almost as eager about it as he was himself. 

He did not so quickly become at home with the younger portion of thefamily, but his spirits rose every day. He whistled as he walked in thegarden, and Bustle, instead of pacing soberly behind him, now capered, nibbled his pockets, and drew him into games of play which Charles andAmabel were charmed to overlook from the dressing-room window. There wasGuy leaping, bounding, racing, rolling the dog over, tripping him up, twitching his ears, tickling his feet, catching at his tail, laughing atBustle's springs, contortions, and harmless open-mouthed attacks, whilethe dog did little less than laugh too, with his intelligent amber eyes, and black and red mouth. Charles began to find a new interest in hislistless life in the attempt to draw Guy out, and make him give one ofhis merry laughs. In this, however, he failed when his wit consistedin allusions to the novels of the day, of which Guy knew nothing. Onemorning he underwent a regular examination, ending in--

'Have you read anything?'

'I am afraid I am very ignorant of modern books. '

'Have you read the ancient ones?' asked Laura. 

'I've had nothing else to read. '

'Nothing to read but ancient books!' exclaimed Amabel, with a mixture ofpity and astonishment. 

'Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus!' said Guy, smiling. 

'There, Amy, ' said Charles, 'if he has the Vicar of Wakefield among hisancient books, you need not pity him. '

'It is like Philip, ' said Laura; 'he was brought up on the old standardbooks, instead of his time being frittered away on the host of idlemodern ones. '

'He was free to concentrate his attention on Sir Charles Grandison, 'said Charles. 

'How could any one do so?' said Guy. 'How could any one have anysympathy with such a piece of self-satisfaction?'

'Who could? Eh, Laura?' said Charles. 

'I never read it, ' said Laura, suspecting malice. 

'What is your opinion of perfect heroes?' continued Charles. 

'Here comes one, ' whispered Amy to her brother, blushing at her piece ofnaughtiness, as Philip Morville entered the room. 

After the first greetings and inquiries after his sister, whom he hadbeen visiting, Laura told him what they had been saying of the advantageof a scanty range of reading. 

'True, ' said Philip; 'I have often been struck by finding how ignorantpeople are, even of Shakspeare; and I believe the blame chiefly rests onthe cheap rubbish in which Charlie is nearly walled up there. '

'Ay, ' said Charles, 'and who haunts that rubbish at the beginning ofevery month? I suppose to act as pioneer, though whether any one butLaura heeds his warnings, remains to be proved. '

'Laura does heed?' asked Philip, well pleased. 

'I made her read me the part of Dombey that hurts women's feelingsmost, just to see if she would go on--the part about little Paul--andI declare, I shall think the worse of her ever after--she was so stonyhearted, that to this day she does not know whether he is dead oralive. '

'I can't quite say I don't know whether he lived or died, ' said Laura, 'for I found Amy in a state that alarmed me, crying in the green-house, and I was very glad to find it was nothing worse than little Paul. '

'I wish you would have read it, ' said Amy; and looking shyly at Guy, sheadded--'Won't you?'

'Well done, Amy!' said Charles. 'In the very face of the young man'scompanion!'

'Philip does not really think it wrong, ' said Amy. 

'No, ' said Philip; 'those books open fields of thought, and as theirprinciples are negative, they are not likely to hurt a person well armedwith the truth. '

'Meaning, ' said Charles, 'that Guy and Laura have your graciouspermission to read Dombey. '

'When Laura has a cold or toothache. '

'And I, ' said Guy. 

'I am not sure about, the expediency for you, ' said Philip 'it would bea pity to begin with Dickens, when there is so much of a higher gradeequally new to you. I suppose you do not understand Italian?'

'No, ' said Guy, abruptly, and his dark eyebrows contracted. 

Philip went on. 'If you did, I should not recommend you the translationof "I promessi Sponsi, " one of the most beautiful books in any language. You have it in English, I think, Laura. '

Laura fetched it; Guy, with a constrained 'thank you, ' was going to takeit up rather as if he was putting a force upon himself, when Philipmore quickly took the first volume, and eagerly turned over the pages--Ican't stand this, ' he said, 'where is the original?'

It was soon produced; and Philip, finding the beautiful history of FraCristoforo, began to translate it fluently and with an admirable choiceof language that silenced Charles's attempts to interrupt and criticise. Soon Guy, who had at first lent only reluctant attention, was entirelyabsorbed, his eyebrows relaxed, a look of earnest interest succeeded, his countenance softened, and when Fra Cristoforo humbled himself, exchanged forgiveness, and received "il pane del perdono, " tears hung onhis eyelashes. 

The chapter was finished, and with a smothered exclamation ofadmiration, he joined the others in begging Philip to proceed. The storythus read was very unlike what it had been to Laura and Amy, when theypuzzled it out as an Italian lesson, or to Charles, when he carelesslytossed over the translation in search of Don Abbondio's humours;and thus between reading and conversation, the morning passed veryagreeably. 

At luncheon, Mr. Edmonstone asked Philip to come and spend a day or twoat Hollywell, and he accepted the invitation for the next week. 'I willmake Thorndale drive me out if you will give him a dinner. '

'Of course, of course, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, 'we shall be delighted. Wewere talking of asking him, a day or two ago; eh, mamma?'

'Thank you, ' said Philip; 'a family party is an especial treat to him, 'laying a particular stress on the word 'family party, ' and looking athis aunt. 

At that moment the butler came in, saying, 'Sir Guy's servant is come, and has brought the horse, sir. '

'Deloraine come!' cried Guy, springing up. 'Where?'

'At the door, sir. '

Guy darted out, Mr. Edmonstone following. In another instant, however, Guy put his head into the room again. 'Mrs. Edmonstone, won't you comeand see him? Philip, you have not seen Deloraine. '

Off he rushed, and the others were just in time to see the cordial lookof honest gladness with which William, the groom, received his youngmaster's greeting, and the delighted recognition between Guy, Bustle, and Deloraine. Guy had no attention for anything else till he had heardhow they had prospered on the journey; and then he turned to claimhis friend's admiration for the beautiful chestnut, his grandfather'sbirthday present. The ladies admired with earnestness that compensatedfor want of knowledge, the gentlemen with greater science anddiscrimination; indeed, Philip, as a connoisseur, could not but, for thesake of his own reputation, discover something to criticise. Guy's browsdrew together again, and his eyes glanced as if he was much inclinedto resent the remarks, as attacks at once on Deloraine and on hisgrandfather; but he said nothing, and presently went to the stable withMr. Edmonstone, to see about the horse's accommodations. Philip stood inthe hall with the ladies. 

'So I perceive you have dropped the title already, ' observed he toLaura. 

'Yes, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, replying for her daughter, 'it seemed togive him pain by reminding him of his loss, and he was so strange andforlorn just at first, that we were glad to do what we could to make himfeel himself more at home. '

'Then you get on pretty well now?'

The reply was in chorus with variations--'Oh, excellently!'

'He is so entertaining, ' said Charlotte. 

'He sings so beautifully, ' said Amabel. 

'He is so right-minded, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'So very well informed, ' said Laura. 

Then it all began again. 

'He plays chess so well, ' said Amy. 

'Bustle is such a dear dog, ' said Charlotte. 

'He is so attentive to Charlie, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, going into thedrawing-room to her son. 

'Papa says he will make up for the faults of all his ancestors, ' saidAmabel. 

'His music! oh, his music!' said Laura. 

'Philip, ' said Charlotte, earnestly, 'you really should learn to likehim. '

'Learn, impertinent little puss?' said Philip, smiling, 'why should Inot like him?'

'I was sure you would try, ' said Charlotte, impressively. 

'Is it hard?' said Amy. 'But, oh, Philip! you could not help liking hissinging. '

'I never heard such a splendid voice, ' said Laura; 'so clear andpowerful, and yet so wonderfully sweet in the low soft notes. And a veryfine ear: he has a real talent for music. '

'Ah! inherited, poor fellow, ' said Philip, compassionately. 

'Do you pity him for it?' said Amy, smiling. 

'Do you forget?' said Philip. 'I would not advise you to make much ofthis talent in public; it is too much a badge of his descent. '

'Mamma did not think so, ' said Amy. 'She thought it a pity he should notlearn regularly, with such a talent; so the other day, when Mr. Radfordwas giving us a lesson, she asked Guy just to sing up and down thescale. I never saw anything so funny as old Mr Radford's surprise, it was almost like the music lesson in "La Figlia del Reggimento"; hestarted, and looked at Guy, and seemed in a perfect transport, and nowGuy is to take regular lessons. 

'Indeed. '

'But do you really mean, ' said Laura, 'that if your mother had been amusician's daughter, and you had inherited her talent, that you would beashamed of it. '

'Indeed, Laura, ' said Philip, with a smile, 'I am equally far fromguessing what I should do if my mother had been anything but what shewas, as from guessing what I should do if I had a talent for music. '

Mrs. Edmonstone here called her daughters to get ready for their walk, as she intended to go to East-hill, and they might as well walk withPhilip as far as their roads lay together. 

Philip and Laura walked on by themselves, a little in advance of theothers. Laura was very anxious to arrive at a right understanding of hercousin's opinion of Guy. 

'I am sure there is much to like in him, ' she said. 

'There is; but is it the highest praise to say there is much to like?People are not so cautious when they accept a man in toto. '

'Then, do you not?'

Philip's answer was--

 'He who the lion's whelp has nurst, At home with fostering hand, Finds it a gentle thing at first, Obedient to command, '

'Do you think him a lion's whelp?'

'I am afraid I saw the lion just now in his flashing eyes and contractedbrow. There is an impatience of advice, a vehemence of manner that Ican hardly deem satisfactory. I do not speak from prejudice, for I thinkhighly of his candour, warmth of heart, and desire to do right; but fromall I have seen, I should not venture as yet to place much dependence onhis steadiness of character or command of temper. '

'He seems to have been very fond of his grandfather, in spite of hisseverity. He is but just beginning to brighten up a little. '

'Yes; his disposition is very affectionate, --almost a misfortune to oneso isolated from family ties. He showed remarkably well at Redclyffe, the other day; boyish of course, and without much self-command, but veryamiably. It is very well for him that he is removed from thence, forall the people idolize him to such a degree that they could not fail tospoil him. '

'It would be a great pity if he went wrong. '

'Great, for he has many admirable qualities, but still they are justwhat persons are too apt to fancy compensation for faults. I neverheard that any of his family, except perhaps that unhappy old Hugh, were deficient in frankness and generosity, and therefore these do notsatisfy me. Observe, I am not condemning him; I wish to be perfectlyjust; all I say is, that I do not trust him till I have seen him tried. '

Laura did not answer, she was disappointed; yet there was a justice andguardedness in what Philip said, that made it impossible to gainsayit, and she was pleased with his confidence. She thought how cool andprudent he was, and how grieved she should be if Guy justified hisdoubts; and so they walked on in such silence as is perhaps thestrongest proof of intimacy. She was the first to speak, led to do soby an expression of sadness about her cousin's mouth. 'What are youthinking of, Philip?'

'Of Locksley Hall. There is nonsense, there is affectation in that, Laura, there is scarcely poetry, but there is power, for there istruth. '

'Of Locksley Hall! I thought you were at Stylehurst. '

'So I was, but the one brings the other. '

'I suppose you went to Stylehurst while you were at St. Mildred's? DidMargaret take you there?'

'Margaret? Not she; she is too much engaged with her book-club, and hersoirées, and her societies of every sort and kind. '

'How did you get on with the Doctor?'

'I saw as little of him as I could, and was still more convinced that hedoes not know what conversation is. Hem!' Philip gave a deep sigh. 'No;the only thing to be done at St. Mildred's is to walk across the moorsto Stylehurst. It is a strange thing to leave that tumult of gossip, andnovelty, and hardness, and to enter on that quiet autumnal old world, with the yellow leaves floating silently down, just as they used to do, and the atmosphere of stillness round the green churchyard. '

'Gossip!' repeated Laura. ' Surely not with Margaret?'

'Literary, scientific gossip is worse than gossip in a primary sense, without pretension. '

'I am glad you had Stylehurst to go to. How was the old sexton's wife?'

'Very well; trotting about on her pattens as merrily as ever. '

'Did you go into the garden?'

'Yes; Fanny's ivy has entirely covered the south wall, and the acacia isso tall and spreading, that I longed to have the pruning of it. Old Willkeeps everything in its former state. '

They talked on of the old home, till the stern bitter look of regret andcensure had faded from his brow, and given way to a softened melancholyexpression. 

CHAPTER 4

 A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees, A fig for all dunces and dominie grandees. --SCOTT

'How glad I am!' exclaimed Guy, entering the drawing-room. 

'Wherefore?' inquired Charles. 

'I thought I was too late, and I am very glad to find no one arrived, and Mr. And Mrs. Edmonstone not come down. '

'But where have you been?'

'I lost my way on the top of the down; I fancied some one told me therewas a view of the sea to be had there. '

'And can't you exist without a view of the sea?'

Guy laughed. 'Everything looks so dull--it is as if the view was dead orimprisoned--walled up by wood and hill, and wanting that living ripple, heaving and struggling. '

'And your fine rocks?' said Laura. 

'I wish you could see the Shag stone, --a great island mass, sloping onone side, precipitous on the other, with the spray dashing on it. If yousee it from ever so far off, there is still that white foam coming andgoing--a glancing speck, like the light in an eye. '

'Hark! a carriage. '

'The young man and the young man's companion, ' said Charles. 

'How can you?' said Laura. 'What would any one suppose Mr. Thorndale tobe?'

'Not Philip's valet, ' said Charles, 'if it is true that no man is a heroto his "valley-de-sham"; whereas, what is not Philip to the HonourableJames Thorndale?'

'Philip, Alexander, and Bucephalus into the bargain, ' suggested Amy, in her demure, frightened whisper, sending all but Laura into a fit oflaughter, the harder to check because the steps of the parties concernedwere heard approaching. 

Mr. Thorndale was a quiet individual, one of those of whom there isleast to be said, so complete a gentleman that it would have been aninsult, to call him gentleman-like; agreeable and clever rather thanotherwise, good-looking, with a high-bred air about him, so that italways seemed strange that he did not make more impression. 

A ring at the front-door almost immediately followed their arrival. 

'Encore?' asked Philip, looking at Laura with a sort of displeasedsurprise. 

'Unfortunately, yes, ' said Laura, drawing aside. 

'One of my uncle's family parties, ' said Philip. 'I wish I had notbrought Thorndale. Laura, what is to be done to prevent the titteringthat always takes place when Amy and those Harpers are together?'

'Some game?' said Laura. He signed approval; but she had time to say nomore, for her father and mother came down, and some more guests entered. 

It was just such a party that continually grew up at Hollywell, forMr. Edmonstone was so fond of inviting, that his wife never knew in themorning how many would assemble at her table in the evening. But she wasused to it, and too good a manager even to be called so. She liked tosee her husband enjoy himself in his good-natured, open-hearted way. Thechange was good for Charles, and thus it did very well, and there werefew houses in the neighbourhood more popular than Hollywell. 

The guests this evening were Maurice de Courcy, a wild young Irishman, all noise and nonsense, a great favourite with his cousin, Mr. Edmonstone; two Miss Harpers, daughters of the late clergyman, good-natured, second-rate girls; Dr. Mayerne, Charles's kind oldphysician, the friend and much-loved counsellor at Hollywell, and thepresent vicar, Mr. Ross with his daughter Mary. 

Mary Ross was the greatest friend that the Miss Edmonstones possessed, though, she being five-and-twenty, they had not arrived at perceivingthat they were on the equal terms of youngladyhood. 

She had lost her mother early, and had owed a great deal to the kindnessof Mrs. Edmonstone, as she grew up among her numerous elder brothers. She had no girlhood; she was a boy till fourteen, and then a woman, andshe was scarcely altered since the epoch of that transition, the samein likings, tastes, and duties. 'Papa' was all the world to her, andpleasing him had much the same meaning now as then; her brothers werelike playfellows; her delights were still a lesson in Greek from papa, aschool-children's feast, a game at play, a new book. It was only a pityother people did not stand still too. 'Papa, ' indeed, had never grownsensibly older since the year of her mother's death: but her brotherswere whiskered men, with all the cares of the world, and no holidays;the school-girls went out to service, and were as a last year's brood toan old hen; the very children she had fondled were young ladies, as old, to all intents and purposes, as herself, and here were even Laura andAmy Edmonstone fallen into that bad habit of growing up! though littleAmy had still much of the kitten in her composition, and could playas well as Charlotte or Mary herself, when they had the garden tothemselves. 

Mary took great pains to amuse Charles, always walking to see him inthe worst weather, when she thought other visitors likely to fall, andchatting with him as if she was the idlest person in the world, thoughthe quantity she did at home and in the parish would be too amazingto be recorded. Spirited and decided, without superfluous fears andfineries, she had a firm, robust figure, and a rosy, good-natured face, with a manner that, though perfectly feminine, had in it an air ofstrength and determination. 

Hollywell was a hamlet, two miles from the parish church of East-hill, and Mary had thus seen very little of the Edmonstone's guest, havingonly been introduced to him after church on Sunday. The pleasure onwhich Charles chiefly reckoned for that evening was the talking him overwith her when the ladies came in from the dining-room. The Miss Harpers, with his sisters, gathered round the piano, and Mrs. Edmonstone sat atCharles's feet, while Mary knitted and talked. 

'So you get on well with him?'

'He is one of those people who are never in the way, and yet you nevercan forgot their presence, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'His manners are quite the pink of courtesy, ' said Mary. 

'Like his grandfather's, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'that old-schooldeference and attention is very chivalrous, and sits prettily andquaintly on his high spirits and animation; I hope it will not wearoff. '

'A vain hope, ' said Charles. 'At present he is like that German myth, Kaspar Hauser, who lived till twenty in a cellar. It is lucky for mammathat, in his green state, he is courtly instead of bearish. '

'Lucky for you, too, Charlie; he spoils you finely. '

'He has the rare perfection of letting me know my own mind. I never knewwhat it was to have my own way before. '

'Is that your complaint, Charlie? What next?' said Mary. 

'So you think I have my way, do you, Mary? That is all envy, you see, and very much misplaced. Could you guess what a conflict it is everytime I am helped up that mountain of a staircase, or the slope ofmy sofa is altered? Last time Philip stayed here, every step cost anargument, till at last, through sheer exhaustion, I left myself a deadweight on his hands, to be carried up by main strength. And after all, he is such a great, strong fellow, that I am afraid he did not mind it;so next time I _crutched_ myself down alone, and I hope that did provokehim. '

'Sir Guy is so kind that I am ashamed, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'It seemsas if we had brought him for the sole purpose of waiting on Charles. '

'Half his heart is in his horse, ' said Charles. 'Never had man suchdelight in the "brute creation. "'

'They have been his chief playfellows, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'Thechief of his time was spent in wandering in the woods or on the beach, watching them and their ways. '

'I fairly dreamt of that Elysium of his last night, ' said Charles:'a swamp half frozen on a winter's night, full of wild ducks. Here, Charlotte, come and tell Mary the roll of Guy's pets. '

Charlotte began. 'There was the sea-gull, and the hedgehog, and the fox, and the badger, and the jay, and the monkey, that he bought because itwas dying, and cured it, only it died the next winter, and a toad, and araven, and a squirrel, and--'

'That will do, Charlotte. '

'Oh! but Mary has not heard the names of all his dogs. And Mary, he hascured Bustle of hunting my Puss. We held them up to each other, and Pusshissed horribly, but Bustle did not mind it a bit; and the other day, when Charles tried to set him at her, he would not take the leastnotice. '

'Now, Charlotte, ' said Charles, waving his hand, with a provoking mockpoliteness, 'have the goodness to return to your friends. 

Tea over, Laura proposed the game of definitions. 'You know it. Philip, 'said she, 'you taught us. '

'Yes I learnt it of your sisters, Thorndale, ' said Philip. 

'O pray let us have it. It must be charming!' exclaimed Miss Harper, onthis recommendation. 

'Definitions!' said Charles, contemptuously. 'Dr. Johnson must be thehand for them. '

'They are just the definitions not to be found in Johnson, ' said Mr. Thorndale. 'Our standing specimen is adversity, which may be differentlyexplained according to your taste, as "a toad with a precious jewel inits head, " or "the test of friendship. "'

'The spirit of words, ' said Guy, looking eager and interested. 

'Well, we'll try, ' said Charles, 'though I can't say it sounds to mepromising. Come, Maurice, define an Irishman. '

'No, no, don't let us be personal, ' said Laura; 'I had thought of theword "happiness". We are each to write a definition on a slip of paper, then compare them. '

The game was carried on with great spirit for more than an hour. It washard to say, which made most fun, Maurice, Charles, or Guy; the lastno longer a spectator, but an active contributor to the sport. When thebreak-up came, Mary and Amabel were standing over the table together, collecting the scattered papers, and observing that it had been verygood fun. 'Some so characteristic, ' said Amy, 'such as Maurice'sdefinition of happiness, --a row at Dublin. '

'Some were very deep, though, ' said Mary; 'if it is not treason, Ishould like to make out whose that other was of happiness. '

'You mean this, ' said Amy: '"Gleams from a brighter world, too sooneclipsed or forfeited. " I thought it was Philip's, but it is Sir Guy'swriting. How very sad! I should not like to think so. And he was somerry all the time! This is his, too, I see; this one about riches beingthe freight for which the traveller is responsible. '

'There is a great deal of character in them, ' said Mary. 'I should nothave wondered at any of us, penniless people, philosophizing in the foxand grapes style, but, for him, and at his age--'

'He has been brought up so as to make the theory of wisdom come early, 'said Philip, who was nearer than she thought. 

'Is that intended for disparagement?' she asked quickly. 

I think very highly of him; he has a great deal of sense and rightfeeling, ' was Philip's sedate answer; and he turned away to say somelast words to Mr. Thorndale. 

The Rosses were the last to depart, Mary in cloak and clogs, while Mr. Edmonstone lamented that it was in vain to offer the carriage; and Marylaughed, and thanked, and said the walk home with Papa was the greatestof treats in the frost and star-light. 

'Don't I pity you, who always go out to dinner in a carriage!' were herlast words to Laura. 

'Well, Guy, ' said Charlotte, 'how do you like it?'

'Very much, indeed. It was very pleasant. '

'You are getting into the fairy ring, ' said Laura, smiling. 

'Ay' he said, smiling too; 'but it does not turn to tinsel. Would it ifI saw more of it?' and he looked at Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'It would be no compliment to ourselves to say so, ' she answered. 

'I suppose tinsel or gold depends on the using, ' said he, thoughtfully;'there are some lumps of solid gold among those papers, I am sure, one, in particular, about a trifle. May I see that again? I mean--

 'Little things On little wings Bear little souls to heaven. '

'Oh! that was only a quotation, ' said Amy, turning over the definitionsagain with him, and laughing at some of the most amusing; while, in themean time, Philip went to help Laura, who was putting some books away inthe ante-room. 

'Yes, Laura, ' he said, 'he has thought, mind, and soul; he is no mererattle. '

'No indeed. Who could help seeing his superiority over Maurice?'

'If only he does not pervert his gifts, and if it is not all talk. Idon't like such excess of openness about his feelings; it is too liketalking for talking's sake. '

'Mamma says it in the transparency of youthfulness. You know he hasnever been at school; so his thoughts come out in security of sympathy, without fear of being laughed at. But it is very late. Good night. '

The frost turned to rain the next morning, and the torrents streamedagainst the window, seeming to have a kind of attraction for Philip andGuy, who stood watching them. 

Guy wondered if the floods would be out at Redclyffe and his cousinswere interested by his description of the sudden, angry rush of themountain streams, eddying fiercely along, bearing with them tree androck, while the valleys became lakes, and the little mounds islets; andthe trees looked strangely out of proportion when only their brancheswere visible. 'Oh! a great flood is famous fun, ' said he. 

'Surely, ' said Philip, 'I have heard a legend of your being nearlydrowned in some flood. 

'Yes, ' said Guy, 'I had a tolerable ducking. '

'Oh, tell us about it!' said Amy. 

'Ay! I have a curiosity to hear a personal experience of drowning, ' saidCharles. 'Come, begin at the beginning. '

'I was standing watching the tremendous force of the stream, when I sawan unhappy old ram floating along, bleating so piteously, and makingsuch absurd, helpless struggles, that I could not help pulling off mycoat and jumping in after him. It was very foolish, for the stream wastoo strong--I was two years younger then. Moreover, the beast was veryheavy, and not at all grateful for any kind intentions, and I foundmyself sailing off to the sea, with the prospect of a good many rocksbefore long; but just then an old tree stretched out its friendlyarms through the water; it stopped the sheep, and I caught hold of thebranches, and managed to scramble up, while my friend got entangled inthem with his wool'--

 'Omne quum Proteus pecus egit altos Visere montes, '

quoted Philip. 

 'Ovium et summa, genus haesit ulmo, '

added Guy. 

'_Ovium_, ' exclaimed Philip, with a face of horror. 'Don't you know that_O_ in _Ovis_ is short? Do anything but take liberties with Horace!'

'Get out of the tree first, Guy, ' said Charles, 'for at present yourhistory seems likely to end with a long ohone!'

'Well, Triton--not Proteus--came to the rescue at last, ' said Guy, laughing; 'I could not stir, and the tree bent so frightfully with thecurrent that I expected every minute we should all go together; so Ihad nothing for it but to halloo as loud as I could. No one heard butTriton, the old Newfoundland dog, who presently came swimming up, soeager to help, poor fellow, that I thought he would have throttled me, or hurt himself in the branches. I took off my handkerchief and threw itto him, telling him to take it to Arnaud, who I knew would understand itas a signal of distress. '

'Did he? How long had you to wait?'

'I don't know--it seemed long enough before a most welcome boatappeared, with some men in it, and Triton in an agony. They would neverhave found me but for him, for my voice was gone; indeed the next thingI remember was lying on the grass in the park, and Markham saying, 'Well, sir, if you do wish to throw away your life, let it be forsomething better worth saving than Farmer Holt's vicious old ram!'

'In the language of the great Mr. Toots, ' said Charles 'I am afraid yougot very wet. '

'Were you the worse for it?' said Amy. 

'Not in the least. I was so glad to hear it was Holt's! for you mustknow that I had behaved very ill to Farmer Holt. I had been very angryat his beating our old hound, for, as he thought, worrying his sheep;not that Dart ever did, though. 

'And was the ram saved?'

'Yes, and next time I saw it, it nearly knocked me down. '

'Would you do it again?' said Philip. 

'I don't know. '

'I hope you had a medal from the Humane Society, ' said Charles. 

'That would have been more proper for Triton. '

'Yours should have been an ovation, ' said Charles, cutting the oabsurdly short, and looking at Philip. 

Laura saw that the spirit of teasing was strong in Charles this morningand suspected that he wanted to stir up what he called the deadlyfeud, and she hastened to change the conversation by saying, 'You quiteimpressed Guy with your translation of Fra Cristoforo. '

'Indeed I must thank you for recommending the book, ' said Guy; 'howbeautiful it is!'

'I am glad you entered into it, ' said Philip; 'it has every quality thata fiction ought to have. '

'I never read anything equal to the repentance of the nameless man. '

'Is he your favourite character?' said Philip, looking at himattentively. 

'Oh no--of course not--though he is so grand that one thinks most abouthim, but no one can be cared about as much as Lucia. '

'Lucia! She never struck me as more than a well-painted peasant girl, 'said Philip. 

'Oh!' cried Guy, indignantly; then, controlling himself, he continued:'She pretends to no more than she is, but she shows the beauty ofgoodness in itself in a--a--wonderful way. And think of the power ofthose words of hers over that gloomy, desperate man. '

'Your sympathy with the Innominato again, ' said Philip. Every subjectseemed to excite Guy to a dangerous extent, as Laura thought, and sheturned to Philip to ask if he would not read to them again. 

'I brought this book on purpose, ' said Philip. 'I wished to read you adescription of that print from Raffaelle--you know it--the Madonna diSan Sisto?'

'The one you brought to show us?' said Amy, 'with the two littleangels?'

'Yes, here is the description, ' and he began to read--

'Dwell on the form of the Child, more than human in grandeur, seated onthe arms of the Blessed Virgin as on an august throne. Note the tokensof divine grace, His ardent eyes, what a spirit, what a countenance isHis; yet His very resemblance to His mother denotes sufficiently that Heis of us and takes care for us. Beneath are two figures adoring, each intheir own manner. On one side is a pontiff, on the other a virgin eacha most sweet and solemn example, the one of aged, the other of maidenlypiety and reverence. Between, are two winged boys, evidently presentinga wonderful pattern of childlike piety. Their eyes, indeed, are notturned towards the Virgin, but both in face and gesture, they show howcareless of themselves they are in the presence of God. '

All were struck by the description. Guy did not speak at first, butthe solemn expression of his face showed how he felt its power andreverence. Philip asked if they would like to hear more, and Charlesassented: Amy worked, Laura went on with her perspective, and Guy satby her side, making concentric circles with her compasses, or when shewanted them he tormented her parallel ruler, or cut the pencils, neverletting his fingers rest except at some high or deep passage, or whensome interesting discussion arose. All were surprised when luncheon timearrived; Charles held out his hand for the book; it was given with aslight smile, and he exclaimed' Latin! I thought you were translating. Is it your own property?'

'Yes. '

'Is it very tough? I would read it, if any one would read it with me. '

'Do you mean me?' said Guy; 'I should like it very much, but you haveseen how little Latin I know. '

'That is the very thing, ' said Charles; 'that Ovis of yours was music; Iwould have made you a Knight of the Golden Fleece on the spot. Tutors Icould get by shoals, but a fellow-dunce is inestimable. '

'It is a bargain, then, ' said Guy; 'if Philip has done with the book andwill lend it to us. '

The luncheon bell rang, and they all adjourned to the dining-room. Mr. Edmonstone came in when luncheon was nearly over, rejoicing that hisletters were done, but then he looked disconsolately from the window, and pitied the weather. 'Nothing for it but billiards. People might sayit was nonsense to have a billiard-table in such a house, but for hispart he found there was no getting through a wet day without them. Philip must beat him as usual, and Guy might have one of the youngladies to make a fourth. '

'Thank you, ' said Guy, 'but I don't play. '

'Not play--eh?' Well, we will teach you in the spinning of a ball, andI'll have my little Amy to help me against you and Philip. '

'No, thank you, ' repeated Guy, colouring, 'I am under a promise. '

'Ha! Eh? What? Your grandfather? He could see no harm in such play asthis. For nothing, you understand. You did not suppose I meant anythingelse?'

'O no, of course not, ' eagerly replied Guy; 'but it is impossible for meto play, thank you. I have promised never even to look on at a game atbilliards. '

'Ah, poor man, he had too much reason. ' uttered Mr. Edmonstone tohimself, but catching a warning look from his wife, he became suddenlysilent. Guy, meanwhile, sat looking lost in sad thoughts, till, rousinghimself, he exclaimed, 'Don't let me prevent you. '

Mr. Edmonstone needed but little persuasion, and carried Philip off tothe billiard-table in the front hall. 

'O, I am so glad!' cried Charlotte, who had, within the last week, learnt Guy's value as a playfellow. 'Now you will never go to thosestupid billiards, but I shall have you always, every rainy day. Come andhave a real good game at ball on the stairs. '

She already had hold of his hand, and would have dragged him off atonce, had he not waited to help Charles back to his sofa; and in themean time she tried in vain to persuade her more constant playmate, Amabel, to join the game. Poor little Amy regretted the being obliged torefuse, as she listened to the merry sounds and bouncing balls, sighingmore than once at having turned into a grown-up young lady; while Philipobserved to Laura, who was officiating as billiard-marker, that Guy wasstill a mere boy. 

The fates favoured Amy at last for about half after three, the billiardswere interrupted, and Philip, pronouncing the rain to be almost over, invited Guy to take a walk, and they set out in a very gray wet mist, while Charlotte and Amy commenced a vigorous game at battledore andshuttle-cock. 

The gray mist had faded into twilight, and twilight into something likenight, when Charles was crossing the hall, with the aid of Amy's arm, Charlotte carrying the crutch behind him, and Mrs. Edmonstone helpingLaura with her perspective apparatus, all on their way to dress fordinner; the door opened and in came the two Morvilles. Guy, without, even stopping to take off his great coat, ran at once up-stairs, andthe next moment the door of his room was shut with a bang that shook thehouse, and made them all start and look at Philip for explanation. 

'Redclyffe temper, ' said he, coolly, with a half-smile curling his shortupper lip. 

'What have you been doing to him?' said Charles. '

'Nothing. At least nothing worthy of such ire. I only entered on thesubject of his Oxford life, and advised him to prepare for it, for hiseducation has as yet been a mere farce. He used to go two or three daysin the week to one Potts, a self-educated genius--a sort of superiorwriting-master at the Moorworth commercial school. Of course, though itis no fault of his, poor fellow, he is hardly up to the fifth form, andhe must make the most of his time, if he is not to be plucked. I setall this before him as gently as I could, for I knew with whom I had todeal, yet you see how it is. '

'What did he say?' asked Charles. 

'He said nothing; so far I give him credit; but he strode on furiouslyfor the last half mile, and this explosion is the finale. I am verysorry for him, poor boy; I beg no further notice may be taken of it. Don't you want an arm, Charlie?'

'No thank you, ' answered Charles, with a little surliness. 

'You had better. It really is too much for Amy, ' said Philip, making amove as if to take possession of him, as he arrived at the foot of thestairs. 

'Like the camellia, I suppose, ' he replied; and taking his other crutchfrom Charlotte, he began determinedly to ascend without assistance, resolved to keep Philip a prisoner below him as long as he could, andenjoying the notion of chafing him by the delay. Certainly teasingPhilip was a dear delight to Charles, though it was all on trust, as, ifhe succeeded, his cousin never betrayed his annoyance by look or sign. 

About a quarter of an hour after, there was a knock at thedressing-room door. 'Come in, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking up from herletter-writing, and Guy made his appearance, looking very downcast. 

'I am come, ' he said, 'to ask pardon for the disturbance I made justnow. I was so foolish as to be irritated at Philip's manner, when he wasgiving me some good advice, and I am very sorry. '

'What has happened to your lip?' she exclaimed. 

He put his handkerchief to it. 'Is it bleeding still? It is a trickof mine to bite my lip when I am vexed. It seems to help to keep downwords. There! I have given myself a mark of this hateful outbreak. '

He looked very unhappy, more so, Mrs. Edmonstone thought, than theactual offence required. 'You have only failed in part, ' she said. 'Itwas a victory to keep down words. '

'The feeling is the _thing_, ' said Guy; 'besides, I showed it plainlyenough, without speaking. '

'It is not easy to take advice from one so little your elder, ' beganMrs. Edmonstone, but he interrupted her. 'It was not the advice. Thatwas very good; I--' but he spoke with an effort, --'I am obliged tohim. It was--no, I won't say what, ' he added, his eyes kindling, thenchanging in a moment to a sorrowful, resolute tone, 'Yes, but I _will_, and then I shall make myself thoroughly ashamed. It was his veiledassumption of superiority, his contempt for all I have been taught. Just as if he had not every right to despise me, with his talent andscholarship, after such egregious mistakes as I had made in the morning. I gave him little reason to think highly of my attainments; but let himslight me as much as he pleases, he must not slight those who taught me. It was not Mr. Potts' fault. '

Even the name could not spoil the spirited sound of the speech, and Mrs. Edmonstone was full of sympathy. 'You must remember, ' she said, 'that inthe eyes of a man brought up at public school, nothing compensates forthe want of the regular classical education. I have no doubt it was veryprovoking. '

'I don't want to be excused, thank you, ' said Guy. 'Oh I am grieved; forI thought the worst of my temper had been subdued. After all that haspassed--all I felt--I thought it impossible. Is there no hope for--'He covered his face with his hands, then recovering and turning to Mrs. Edmonstone, he said, 'It is encroaching too much on your kindness tocome here and trouble you with my confessions. '

'No, no, indeed, ' said she, earnestly. 'Remember how we agreed that youshould come to me like one of my own children. And, indeed, I do not seewhy you need grieve in this despairing way, for you almost overcame thefit of anger; and perhaps you were off your guard because the trial camein an unexpected way?'

'It did, it did, ' he said, eagerly; 'I don't, mind being told pointblank that I am a dunce, but that Mr. Potts--nay, by implication--mygrandfather should be set at nought in that cool--But here I am again!'said he, checking himself in the midst of his vehemence; 'he did notmean that, of course. I have no one to blame but myself. '

'I am sure, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'that if you always treat yourfailings in this way, you must subdue them at last. '

'It is all failing, and resolving, and failing again!' said Guy. 

'Yes, but the failures become slighter and less frequent, and the end isvictory. '

'The end victory!' repeated Guy, in a musing tone, as he stood leaningagainst the mantelshelf. 

'Yes, to all who persevere and seek for help, ' said Mrs Edmonstone;and he raised his eyes and fixed them on her with an earnest look thatsurprised her, for it was almost as if the hope came home to himas something new. At that moment, however, she was called away, anddirectly after a voice in the next room exclaimed, 'Are you there, Guy?I want an arm!' while he for the first time perceived that Charles'sdoor was ajar. 

Charles thought all this a great fuss about nothing, indeed he was gladto find there was anyone who had no patience with Philip; and in hisusual mischievous manner, totally reckless of the fearful evil ofinterfering with the influence for good which it was to be hoped thatPhilip might exert over Guy, he spoke thus: 'I begin to think the worldmust be more docile than I have been disposed to give it credit for. Howa certain cousin of ours has escaped numerous delicate hints to mind hisown business is to me one of the wonders of the world. '

'No one better deserves that his advice should be followed, ' said Guy, with some constraint. 

'An additional reason against it, ' said Charles. 'Plague on that bell!I meant to have broken through your formalities and had a candid opinionof Don Philip before it rang. '

'Then I am glad of it; I could hardly have given you a candid opinionjust at present. '

Charles was vexed; but he consoled himself by thinking that Guy did notyet feel himself out of his leading-strings, and was still on his goodbehaviour. After such a flash as this there was no fear, but there wasthat in him which would create mischief and disturbance enough. Charleswas well principled at the bottom, and would have shrunk with horror hadit been set before him how dangerous might be the effect of destroyingthe chance of a friendship between Guy and the only person whoseguidance was likely to be beneficial to him; but his idle, unoccupiedlife, and habit of only thinking of things as they concerned hisimmediate amusement, made him ready to do anything for the sake ofopposition to Philip, and enjoy the vague idea of excitement to bederived from anxiety about his father's ward, whom at the same time heregarded with increased liking as he became certain that what he calledthe Puritan spirit was not native to him. 

At dinner-time, Guy was as silent as on his first arrival, and therewould have been very little conversation had not the other gentlemantalked politics, Philip leading the discussion to bear upon the dutiesand prospects of landed proprietors, and dwelling on the extent oftheir opportunities for doing good. He tried to get Guy's attention, byspeaking of Redclyffe, of the large circle influenced by the head ofthe Morville family, and of the hopes entertained by Lord Thorndalethat this power would prove a valuable support to the rightful cause. He spoke in vain; the young heir of Redclyffe made answers as brief, absent, and indifferent, as if all this concerned him no more than theEmperor of Morocco, and Philip, mentally pronouncing him sullen, turnedto address himself to Laura. 

As soon as the ladies had left the dining-room, Guy roused himself, andbegan by saying to his guardian that he was afraid he was very deficientin classical knowledge; that he found he must work hard before going toOxford; and asked whether there was any tutor in the neighbourhood towhom he could apply. 

Mr. Edmonstone opened his eyes, as much amazed as if Guy had asked ifthere was any executioner in the neighbourhood who could cut off hishead. Philip was no less surprised, but he held his peace, thinking itwas well Guy bad sense enough to propose it voluntarily, as he wouldhave suggested it to his uncle as soon as there was an opportunity ofdoing so in private. As soon as Mr. Edmonstone had recollected himself, and pronounced it to be exceedingly proper, &c. , they entered into adiscussion on the neighbouring curates, and came at last to a resolutionthat Philip should see whether Mr. Lascelles, a curate of Broadstone, and an old schoolfellow of his own, would read with Guy a few hours inevery week. 

After this was settled, Guy looked relieved, though he was not himselfall the evening, and sat in his old corner between the plants and thewindow, where he read a grave book, instead of talking, singing, orfinishing his volume of 'Ten Thousand a Year. ' Charlotte was all thistime ill at ease. She looked from Guy to Philip, from Philip to Guy; sheshut her mouth as if she was forming some great resolve, then coloured, and looked confused, rushing into the conversation with something moremal-apropos than usual, as if on purpose to appear at her ease. At last, just before her bed-time, when the tea was coming in, Mrs. Edmonstoneengaged with that, Laura reading, Amy clearing Charles's little table, and Philip helping Mr. Edmonstone to unravel the confused accountsof the late cheating bailiff, Guy suddenly found her standing by him, perusing his face with all the power of her great blue eyes. She startedas he looked up, and put her face into Amabel's great myrtle as if shewould make it appear that she was smelling to it. 

'Well, Charlotte?' said he, and the sound of his voice made her speak, but in a frightened, embarrassed whisper. 

'Guy--Guy--Oh! I beg your pardon, but I wanted to--'

'Well, what?' said he, kindly. 

'I wanted to make sure that you are not angry with Philip. You don'tmean to keep up the feud, do you?'

'Feud?--I hope not, ' said Guy, too much in earnest to be diverted withher lecture. 'I am very much obliged to him. '

'Are you really?' said Charlotte, her head a little on one side. 'Ithought he had been scolding you. '

Scolding was so very inappropriate to Philip's calm, argumentative wayof advising, that it became impossible not to laugh. 

'Not scolding, then?' said Charlotte. 'You are too nearly grown up forthat, but telling you to learn, and being tiresome. '

'I was so foolish as to be provoked at first, ' answered Guy; 'but I hopeI have thought better of it, and am going to act upon it. '

Charlotte opened her eyes wider than ever, but in the midst of heramazement Mrs. Edmonstone called to Guy to quit his leafy screen andcome to tea. 

Philip was to return to Broadstone the next day, and as Mrs. Edmonstonehad some errands there that would occupy her longer than Charles likedto wait in the carriage, it was settled that Philip should drive herthere in the pony phaeton, and Guy accompany them and drive back, thushaving an opportunity of seeing Philip's print of the 'Madonna di SanSisto, ' returning some calls, and being introduced to Mr. Lascelles, whilst she was shopping. They appointed an hour and place of meeting, and kept to it, after which Mrs. Edmonstone took Guy with her to call onMrs. Deane, the wife of the colonel. 

It was currently believed among the young Edmonstones that Mamma andMrs. Deane never met without talking over Mr. Morville's good qualities, and the present visit proved no exception. Mrs. Deane, a kind, open-hearted, elderly lady was very fond of Mr. Morville, and proudof him as a credit to the regiment; and she told several traits of hisexcellent judgment, kindness of heart, and power of leading to the rightcourse. Mrs. Edmonstone listened, and replied with delight; and noless pleasure and admiration were seen reflected in her young friend'sradiant face. 

Mrs. Edmonstone's first question, as they set out on their homewarddrive, was, whether they had seen Mr. Lascelles?

'Yes, ' said Guy, 'I am to begin to morrow, and go to him every Mondayand Thursday. '

'That is prompt. '

'Ah! I have no time to lose; besides I have been leading too smootha life with you. I want something unpleasant to keep me in order. Something famously horrid, ' repeated he, smacking the whip with arelish, as if he would have applied that if he could have found nothingelse. 

'You think you live too smoothly at Hollywell, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, hardly able, with all her respect for his good impulses, to helplaughing at this strange boy. 

'Yes. Happy, thoughtless, vehement; that is what your kindness makesme. Was it not a proof, that I must needs fly out at such a pettyprovocation?'

'I should not have thought it such a very exciting life; certainly notsuch as is usually said to lead to thoughtlessness; and we have beeneven quieter than usual since you came. '

'Ah, you don't know what stuff I am made of, ' said Guy, gravely, though smiling; 'your own home party is enough to do me harm; it is soexceedingly pleasant. '

'Pleasant things do not necessarily do harm. '

'Not to you; not to people who are not easily unsettled; but when Igo up-stairs, after a talking, merry evening, such as the night beforelast, I find that I have enjoyed it too much; I am all abroad! I canhardly fix my thoughts, and I don't know what to do, since here I mustbe, and I can't either be silent, or sit up in my own room. '

'Certainly not, ' said she, smiling; 'there are duties of society whichyou owe even to us dangerous people. '

'No, no: don't misunderstand me. The fault is in myself. If it wasnot for that, I could learn nothing but good, ' said Guy, speaking veryeagerly, distressed at her answer. 

'I believe I understand you, ' said she, marvelling at the serious, ascetic temper, coupled with the very high animal spirits. 'For yourcomfort, I believe the unsettled feeling you complain of is chiefly theeffect of novelty. You have led so very retired a life, that a livelyfamily party is to you what dissipation would be to other people: and, as you must meet with the world some time or other, it is better thefirst encounter with should be in this comparatively innocent form. Goon watching yourself, and it will do you no harm. '

Yes, but if I find it does me harm? It would be cowardly to run away, and resistance should be from within. Yet, on the other hand, there isthe duty of giving up, wrenching oneself from all that has temptation init. '

'There is nothing, ' said Mrs Edmonstone, 'that has no temptation in it;but I should think the rule was plain. If a duty such as that of livingamong us for the present, and making yourself moderately agreeable, involves temptations, they must be met and battled from within. In thesame way, your position in society, with all its duties, could not belaid aside because it is full of trial. Those who do such things arefainthearted, and fail in trust in Him who fixed their station, andfinds room for them to deny themselves in the trivial round and commontask. It is pleasure involving no duty that should be given up, if wefind it liable to lead us astray. '

'I see, ' answered Guy, musingly; 'and this reading comes naturally, andis just what I wanted to keep the pleasant things from getting a fullhold of me. I ought to have thought of it sooner, instead of dawdling awhole month in idleness. Then all this would not have happened. I hopeit will be very tough. '

'You have no great love for Latin and Greek?'

'Oh!' cried Guy, eagerly, 'to be sure I delight in Homer and theGeorgics, and plenty more. What splendid things there are in these oldfellows! But, I never liked the drudgery part of the affair; and now ifI am to be set to work to be accurate, and to get up all the grammar andthe Greek roots, it will be horrid enough in all conscience. '

He groaned as deeply as if he had not been congratulating himself justbefore on the difficulty. 

'Who was your tutor?' asked Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'Mr. Potts, ' said Guy. 'He is a very clever man; he had a commongrammar-school education, but he struggled on--taught himself a greatdeal--and at last thought it great promotion to be a teacher at theCommercial Academy, as they call it, at Moorworth, where Markham'snephews went to school. He is very clever, I assure you, and verypatient of the hard, wearing life he must have of it there; and oh! soenjoying a new book, or an afternoon to himself. When I was about eightor nine, I began with him, riding into Moorworth three times in a week;and I have gone on ever since. I am sure he has done the best he couldfor me; and he made the readings very pleasant by his own enjoyment. IfPhilip had known the difficulties that man has struggled through, andhis beautiful temper, persevering in doing his best and being contented, I am sure he could never have spoken contemptuously of him. '

'I am sure he would not, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'all he meant was, that a person without a university education cannot tell what therequirements are to which a man must come up in these days. '

'Ah!' said Guy, laughing, 'how I wished Mr. Potts had been there tohave enjoyed listening to Philip and Mr. Lascelles discussing somenew Lexicon, digging down for roots of words, and quoting passages ofobscure Greek poets at such a rate, that if my eyes had been shut Icould have thought them two withered old students in spectacles andsnuff-coloured coats. '

'Philip was in his element. ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling. 

'Really, ' proceeded Guy, with animation, 'the more I hear and see ofPhilip, the more I wonder. What a choice collection of books he has--somany of them school prizes, and how beautifully bound!'

'Ah! that is one of Philip's peculiar ways. With all his prudenceand his love of books, I believe he would not buy one unless he had areasonable prospect of being able to dress it handsomely. Did you seethe print?'

'Yes that I did. What glorious loveliness! There is nothing that doesit justice but the description in the lecture. Oh I forgot, you havenot heard it. You must let me read it to you by and by. Those two littleangels, what faces they have. Perfect innocence--one full of reasoning, the other of unreasoning adoration!'

'I see it!' suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Edmonstone; 'I see what you are likein one of your looks, not by any means, in all--it is to the larger ofthose two angels. '

'Very seldom, I should guess, ' said Guy; and sinking his voice, as ifhe was communicating a most painful fact, he added, 'My real likenessis old Sir Hugh's portrait at home. But what were we saying? Oh! aboutPhilip. How nice those stories were of Mrs. Deane's. '

'She is very fond of him. '

'To have won so much esteem and admiration, already from strangers, withno prejudice in his favour. --It must be entirely his own doing; and wellit may! Every time one hears of him, something comes out to makehim seem more admirable. You are laughing at me, and I own it ispresumptuous to praise; but I did not mean to praise, only to admire. '

'I like very much to hear my nephew praised; I was only smiling at yourenthusiastic way. '

'I only wonder I am not more enthusiastic, ' said Guy. 'I suppose it ishis plain good sense that drives away that sort of feeling, for he isas near heroism in the way of self-sacrifice as a man can be in thesedays. '

'Poor Philip! if disappointment can make a hero, it has fallen to hisshare. Ah! Guy, you are brightening and looking like one of my youngladies in hopes of a tale of true love crossed, but it was only love ofa sister. '

'The sister for whom he gave up so much?'

'Yes, his sister Margaret. She was eight or nine years older, veryhandsome, very clever, a good deal like him--a pattern elder sister;indeed, she brought him up in great part after his mother died, and hewas devoted to her. I do believe it made the sacrifice of his prospectsquite easy to him, to know it was for her sake, that she would liveon at Stylehurst, and the change be softened to her. Then came Fanny'sillness, and that lead to the marriage with Dr. Henley. It was just whatno one could object to; he is a respectable man in full practice, with alarge income; but he is much older than she is, not her equal in mind orcultivation, and though I hardly like to say so, not at all a religiousman. At any rate, Margaret Morville was one of the last people one couldbear to see marry for the sake of an establishment. '

'Could her brother do nothing?'

'He expostulated with all his might; but at nineteen he could do littlewith a determined sister of twenty-seven; and the very truth and powerof his remonstrance must have made it leave a sting. Poor fellow, Ibelieve he suffered terribly--just as he had lost Fanny, too, which hefelt very deeply, for she was a very sweet creature, and he was veryfond of her. It was like losing both sisters and home at once. '

'Has he not just been staying with Mrs. Henley?'

'Yes. There was never any coolness, as people call it. He is the onething she loves and is proud of. They always correspond, and he oftenstays with her; but he owns to disliking the Doctor, and I don't thinkhe has much comfort in Margaret herself, for he always comes back moregrave and stern than he went. Her house, with all her good wishes, canbe no home to him; and so we try to make Hollywell supply the place ofStylehurst as well as we can. '

'How glad he must be to have you to comfort him!'

'Philip? Oh no. He was always reserved; open to no one but Margaret, noteven to his father, and since her marriage he has shut himself up withinhimself more than ever. It has, at least I think it is this that hasgiven him a severity, an unwillingness to trust, which I believe isoften the consequence of a great disappointment either in love or infriendship. '

'Thank you for telling me, ' said Guy: 'I shall understand him better, and look up to him more. Oh! it is a cruel thing to find that what oneloves is, or has not been, all one thought. What must he not have gonethrough!'

Mrs. Edmonstone was well pleased to have given so much assistance toGuy's sincere desire to become attached to his cousin, one of the mostfavourable signs in the character that was winning so much upon her. 

CHAPTER 5

 A cloud was o'er my childhood's dream, I sat in solitude; I know not how--I know not why, But round my soul all drearily There was a silent shroud. --THOUGHTS IN PAST YEARS

Mrs. Edmonstone was anxious to hear Mr. Lascelle's opinion of his pupil, and in time she learnt that he thought Sir Guy had very good abilities, and a fair amount of general information; but that his classicalknowledge was far from accurate, and mathematics had been greatlyneglected. He had been encouraged to think his work done when he hadgathered the general meaning of a passage, or translated it into Englishverse, spirited and flowing, but often further from the original than heor his tutor could perceive. He had never been taught to work, at leastas other boys study, and great application would be requisite to bringhis attainments to a level with those of far less clever boys educatedat a public school. 

Mr. Lascelles told him so at first; but as there were no reflections onhis grandfather, or on Mr. Potts, Guy's lip did not suffer, and heonly asked how many hours a day he ought to read. 'Three, ' saidMr. Lascelles, with a due regard to a probable want of habits ofapplication; but then, remembering how much was undone, he added, that'it ought to be four or more, if possible. '

'Four it _shall_ be, ' said Guy; 'five if I can. '

His whole strength of will was set to accomplish these four hours, taking them before and after breakfast, working hard all the morningtill the last hour before luncheon, when he came to read the lectures onpoetry with Charles. Here, for the first time, it appeared that Charleshad so entirely ceased to consider him as company, as to domineer overhim like his own family. 

Used as Guy had been to an active out-of-doors life, and now turnedback to authors he had read long ago, to fight his way through theconstruction of their language, not excusing himself one jot of thedifficulty, nor turning aside from one mountain over which his ownefforts could carry him, he found his work as tough and tedious as hecould wish or fear, and by the end of the morning was thoroughly fagged. Then would have been the refreshing time for recreation in that pleasantidling-place, the Hollywell drawing-room. Any other time of day wouldhave suited Charles as well for the reading, but he liked to take thehour at noon, and never perceived that this made all the difference tohis friend of a toil or a pleasure. Now and then Guy gave tremendousyawns; and once when Charles told him he was very stupid, proposed adifferent time; but as Charles objected, he yielded as submissively asthe rest of the household were accustomed to do. 

To watch Guy was one of Charles's chief amusements, and he rejoicedgreatly in the prospect of hearing his history of his firstdinner-party. Mr. , Mrs. And Miss Edmonstone, and Sir Guy Morville, wereinvited to dine with Mr. And Mrs. Brownlow. Mr. Edmonstone was delightedas usual with any opportunity of seeing his neighbours; Guy looked asif he did not know whether he liked the notion or not; Laura told him itwould be very absurd and stupid, but there would be some good music, andCharles ordered her to say no more, that he might have the account, thenext morning, from a fresh and unprejudiced mind. 

The next morning's question was, of course, 'How did you like yourparty?'

'O, it was great fun. ' Guy's favourite answer was caught up in themidst, as Laura replied, 'It was just what parties always are. '

'Come, let us have the history. Who handed who in to dinner? I hope Guyhad Mrs. Brownlow. '

'Oh no, ' said Laura; we had both the honourables. '

'Not Philip!'

'No, ' said Guy; 'the fidus Achetes was without his pious Aeneas. '

'Very good, Guy, ' said Charles, enjoying the laugh. 

'I could not help thinking of it, ' said Guy, rather apologising, 'whenI was watching Thorndale's manner; it is such an imitation of Philip;looking droller, I think, in his absence, than in his presence. I wonderif he is conscious of it. '

'It does not suit him at all, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone; because he has nonatural dignity. '

'A man ought to be six foot one, person and mind, to suit with thatgrand, sedate, gracious way of Philip's, ' said Guy. 

'There's Guy's measure of Philip's intellect, ' said Charles, 'just sixfoot one inch. '

'As much more than other people's twice his height, ' said Guy. 

'Who was your neighbour, Laura?' asked Amy. 

'Dr. Mayerne; I was very glad of him, to keep off those hunting friendsof Mr. Brownlow, who never ask anything but if one has been to theraces, and if one likes balls. '

'And how did Mrs. Brownlow behave?' said Charles. 

'She is a wonderful woman, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, in her quiet way;and Guy with an expression between drollery and simplicity, said, 'Thenthere aren't many like her. '

'I hope not, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'Is she really a lady?'

'Philip commonly calls her "that woman, "' said Charles. 'He has nevergot over her one night classing him with his "young man" and myself, asthree of the shyest monkeys she ever came across. '

'She won't say so of Maurice, ' said Laura, as they recovered the laugh. 

'I heard her deluding some young lady by saying he was the eldest son, 'said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'Mamma!' cried Amy, 'could she have thought so?'

'I put in a gentle hint on Lord de Courcy's existence, to which sheanswered, in her quick way, 'O ay, I forgot; but then he is the second, and that's the next thing. '

'If you could but have heard the stories she and Maurice were tellingeach other!' said Guy. 'He was playing her off, I believe; for whatevershe told, he capped it with something more wonderful. Is she really alady?'

'By birth, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. It is only her high spirits and smalljudgment that make her so absurd. '

'How loud she is, too!' said Laura. 'What was all that about horses, Guy?'

'She was saying she drove two such spirited horses, that all the groomswere afraid of them; and when she wanted to take out her little boy, Mr. Brownlow said "You may do as you like my dear, but I won't have my son'sneck broken, whatever you do with your own. " So Maurice answered bydeclaring he knew a lady who drove not two, but four-in-hand, and whenthe leaders turned round and looked her in the face, gave a little nod, and said, 'I'm obliged for your civility. '

'Oh! I wish I had heard that, ' cried Laura. 

'Did you hear her saying she smoked cigars?'

Everyone cried out with horror or laughter. 

'Of course, Maurice told a story of a lady who had a cigar case hangingat her chatelaine, and always took one to refresh her after a ball. '

Guy was interrupted by the announcement of his horse, and rode off atonce to Mr. Lascelles. 

On his return he went straight to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Edmonstone was reading to Charles, and abruptly exclaimed, --

'I told you wrong. She only said she had smoked one cigar. ' Thenperceiving that he was interrupting, he added, 'I beg your pardon, ' andwent away. 

The next evening, on coming in from a solitary skating, he found theyounger party in the drawing-room, Charles entertaining the Miss Harperswith the story of the cigars. He hastily interposed--

'I told you it was but one. '

'Ay, tried one, and went on. She was preparing an order for Havannah. '

'I thought I told you I repeated the conversation incorrectly. '

'If it is not the letter, it is the spirit, ' said Charles, vexed at theinterference with his sport of amazing the Miss Harpers with outrageousstories of Mrs. Brownlow. 

'It is just like her, ' said one of them. 'I could believe anything ofMrs. Brownlow. '

'You must not believe this, ' said Guy, gently. 'I repeated incorrectlywhat had better have been forgotten, and I must beg my foolishexaggeration to go no further. '

Charles became sullenly silent; Guy stood thoughtful; and Laura andAmabel could not easily sustain the conversation till the visitors tooktheir leave. 

'Here's a pother!' grumbled Charles, as soon as they were gone. 

'I beg your pardon for spoiling your story, ' said Guy; but it was myfault, so I was obliged to interfere. '

'Bosh!' said Charles. 'Who cares whether she smoked one or twenty? Sheis Mrs. Brownlow still. '

The point is, what was truth?' said Laura. 

'Straining at gnats, ' said Charles. 

'Little wings?' said Guy, glancing at Amabel. 

'Have it your won way, ' said Charles, throwing his head back; 'they mustbe little souls, indeed that stick at such trash. '

Guy's brows were contracted with vexation, but Laura looked up veryprettily, saying--

'Never mind him. We must all honour you for doing such an unpleasantthing. '

'You will recommend him favourably to Philip, ' growled Charles. 

There was no reply, and presently Guy asked whether he would go up todress? Having no other way of showing his displeasure, he refused, andremained nursing his ill-humour, till he forgot how slight the offencehad been, and worked himself into a sort of insane desire--halfmischievous, half revengeful--to be as provoking as he could in histurn. 

Seldom had he been more contrary, as his old nurse was wont to call it. No one could please him, and Guy was not allowed to do anything for him. Whatever he said was intended to rub on some sore place in Guy's mind. His mother and Laura's signs made him worse, for he had the pleasure ofteasing them, also; but Guy endured it all with perfect temper, and hegrew more cross at his failure; yet, from force of habit, at bed-time, he found himself on the stairs with Guy's arm supporting him. 

'Good night, ' said Charles; 'I tried hard to poke up the lion to-night, but I see it won't do. '

This plea of trying experiments was neither absolutely true nor false;but it restored Charles to himself, by saving a confession that hehad been out of temper, and enabling him to treat with him wontedindifference the expostulations of father, mother, and Laura. 

Now that the idea of 'poking up the lion' had once occurred, it becamehis great occupation to attempt it. He wanted to see some evidence ofthe fiery temper, and it was a new sport to try to rouse it; one, too, which had the greater relish, as it kept the rest of the family onthorns. 

He would argue against his real opinion, talk against his better sense, take the wrong side, and say much that was very far from his truesentiments. Guy could not understand at first, and was quite confoundedat some of the views he espoused, till Laura came to his help, greatlyirritating her brother by hints that he was not in earnest. Next timeshe could speak to Guy alone, she told him he must not take all Charlessaid literally. 

'I thought he could hardly mean it: but why should he talk so?'

'I can't excuse him; I know it is very wrong, and at the expense oftruth, and it is very disagreeable of him--I wish he would not; but healways does what he likes, and it is one of his amusements, so we mustbear with him, poor fellow. '

From that time Guy seemed to have no trouble in reining in his temperin arguing with Charles, except once, when the lion was fairly roused bysomething that sounded like a sneer about King Charles I. 

His whole face changed, his hazel eye gleamed with light like aneagle's, and he started up, exclaiming--

'You did not mean that?'

'Ask Strafford, ' answered Charles, coolly, startled, but satisfied tohave found the vulnerable point. 

'Ungenerous, unmanly, ' said Guy, his voice low, but quivering withindignation; 'ungenerous to reproach him with what he so bitterlyrepented. Could not his penitence, could not his own blood'--but as hespoke, the gleam of wrath faded, the flush deepened on the cheek, and heleft the room. 

'Ha!' soliloquized Charles, 'I've done it! I could fancy his wrathsomething terrific when it was once well up. I didn't know what wascoming next; but I believe he has got himself pretty well in hand. It isplaying with edge tools; and now I have been favoured with one flash ofthe Morville eye, I'll let him alone; but it _ryled_ me to be treated assomething beneath his anger, like a woman or a child. '

In about ten minutes, Guy came back: 'I am sorry that I was hasty justnow, ' said he. 

'I did not know you had such personal feelings about King Charles. '

'If you would do me a kindness, ' proceeded Guy, 'you would just say youdid not mean it. I know you do not, but if you would only say so. '

'I am glad you have the wit to see I have too much taste to be aroundhead. '

'Thank you, ' said Guy; 'I hope I shall know your jest from your earnestanother time. Only if you would oblige me, you would never jest againabout King Charles. '

His brow darkened into a stern, grave expression, so entirely inearnest, that Charles, though making no answer, could not do otherwisethan feel compliance unavoidable. Charles had never been so entirelyconquered, yet, strange to say, he was not, as usual, rendered sullen. 

At night, when Guy had taken him to his room, he paused and said--'Youare sure that you have forgiven me?'

'What! You have not forgotten that yet?' said Charles. 

'Of course not. '

'I am sorry you bear so much malice, ' said Charles, smiling. 

'What are you imagining?' cried Guy. 'It was my own part I wasremembering, as I must, you know. '

Charles did not choose to betray that he did not see the necessity. 

'I thought King Charles's wrongs were rankling. I only spoke as takingliberties with a friend. '

'Yes, ' said Guy, thoughtfully, 'it may be foolish, but I do not feel asif one could do so with King Charles. He is too near home; he sufferedto much from scoffs and railings; his heart was too tender, hisrepentance too deep for his friends to add one word even in jest to theheap of reproach. How one would have loved him!' proceeded Guy, wrappedup in his own thoughts, --'loved him for the gentleness so littleaccordant with the rude times and the part he had to act--served himwith half like a knight's devotion to his lady-love, half like devotionto a saint, as Montrose did--

 'Great, good, and just, could I but rate My grief, and thy too rigid fate, I'd weep the world in such a strain, As it should deluge once again. '

'And, oh!' cried he, with sudden vehemence, 'how one would have foughtfor him!'

'You would!' said Charles. 'I should like to see you and Delorainecharging at the head of Prince Rupert's troopers. '

'I beg your pardon, ' said Guy, suddenly recalled, and colouring deeply;'I believe I forgot where I was, and have treated you to one of my olddreams in my boatings at home. You may quiz me as much as you pleasetomorrow. Good night. '

'It was a rhapsody!' thought Charles; 'yes it was. I wonder I don'tlaugh at it; but I was naturally carried along. Fancy that! He did it sonaturally; in fact, it was all from the bottom of his heart, and Icould not quiz him--no, no more than Montrose himself. He is a strangearticle! But he keeps one awake, which is more than most people do!'

Guy was indeed likely to keep every one awake just then; for Mr. Edmonstone was going to take him out hunting for the first time, andhe was half wild about it. The day came, and half an hour before Mr. Edmonstone was ready, Guy was walking about the hall, checking many anincipient whistle, and telling every one that he was beforehand with theworld, for he had read one extra hour yesterday, and had got throughthe others before breakfast. Laura thought it very true that, as Philipsaid, he was only a boy, and moralized to Charlotte on his being thesame age as herself--very nearly eighteen. Mrs. Edmonstone told Charlesit was a treat to see any one so happy, and when he began to chafe atthe delay, did her best to beguile the time, but without much success. Guy had ever learned to wait patiently, and had a custom of marching upand down, and listening with his head thrown back, or, as Charles usedto call it, 'prancing in the hall. '

If Mrs. Edmonstone's patience was tried by the preparation for the huntin the morning, it was no less her lot to hear of it in the evening. Guycame home in the highest spirits, pouring out his delight to every one, with animation and power of description giving all he said a charm. Thepleasure did not lose by repetition; he was more engrossed by itevery time; and no one could be more pleased with his ardour than Mr. Edmonstone, who, proud of him and his riding, gave a sigh to past hopesof poor Charles, and promoted the hunting with far more glee that he hadpromoted the reading. 

The Redclyffe groom, William, whose surname of Robinson was entirelyforgotten in the appellation of William of Deloraine, was as proud ofSir Guy as Mr. Edmonstone could be; but made representations to hismaster that he must not hunt Deloraine two days in the week, and ridehim to Broadstone two more. Guy then walked to Broadstone; butWilliam was no better pleased, for he thought the credit of Redclyffecompromised, and punished him by reporting Deloraine not fit to beused next hunting day. Mr. Edmonstone perceived that Guy ought to haveanother hunter; Philip heard of one for sale, and after due inspectionall admired--even William, who had begun by remarking that there mightbe so many screw-looses about a horse, that a man did not know what tobe at with them. 

Philip, who was conducting the negotiation, came to dine at Hollywell tosettle the particulars. Guy was in a most eager state; and they and Mr. Edmonstone talked so long about horses, that they sent Charles to sleep;his mother began to read, and the two elder girls fell into a low, mysterious confabulation of their own till they were startled by aquestion from Philip as to what could engross them so deeply. 

'It was, ' said Laura, 'a banshee story in Eveleen de Courcy's lastletter. '

'I never like telling ghost stories to people who don't believe inthem, ' half whispered Amabel to her sister. 

'Do you believe them?' asked Philip, looking full at her. 

'Now I won't have little Amy asked the sort of question she mostdislikes, ' interposed Laura; 'I had rather ask if you laugh at us forthinking many ghost stories inexplicable?'

'Certainly not. '

'The universal belief could hardly be kept up without some grounds, 'said Guy. 

'That would apply as well to fairies, ' said Philip. 

'Every one has an unexplained ghost story, ' said Amy. 

'Yes, ' said Philip; 'but I would give something to meet any one whoseghost story did not rest on the testimony of a friend's cousin's cousin, a very strong-minded person. '

'I can't imagine how a person who has seen a ghost could ever speak ofit, ' said Amy. 

'Did you not tell us a story of pixies at Redclyffe?' said Laura. 

'O yes; the people there believe in them firmly. Jonas Ledbury heardthem laughing one night when he could not get the gate open, ' said Guy. 

'Ah! You are the authority for ghosts, ' said Philip. 

'I forgot that, ' said Laura: 'I wonder we never asked you about yourRedclyffe ghost. '

'You look as if you had seen it yourself, ' said Philip. 

'You have not?' exclaimed Amy, almost frightened. 

'Come, let us have the whole story, ' said Philip. 'Was it your ownreflection in the glass? was it old sir Hugh? or was it the murderer ofBecket? Come, the ladies are both ready to scream at the right moment. Never mind about giving him a cocked-hat, for with whom may you take aliberty, if not with an ancestral ghost of your own?'

Amy could not think how Philip could have gone on all this time; perhapsit was because he was not watching how Guy's colour varied, how he bithis lip; and at last his eyes seemed to grow dark in the middle, andto sparkle with fire, as with a low, deep tone, like distant thunder, conveying a tremendous force of suppressed passion, he exclaimed, 'Beware of trifling--' then breaking off hastened out of the room. 

'What's the matter?' asked Mr. Edmonstone, startled from his nap; andhis wife looked up anxiously, but returned to her book, as her nephewreplied, 'Nothing. '

'How could you Philip?' said Laura. 

'I really believe he has seen it!' said Amy, in a startled whisper. 

'He has felt it, Amy--the Morville spirit, ' said Philip. 

'It is a great pity you spoke of putting a cocked hat to it, ' saidLaura; 'he must have suspected us of telling you what happened aboutMrs. Brownlow. '

'And are you going to do it now?' said her sister in a tone ofremonstrance. 

'I think Philip should hear it!' said Laura; and she proceeded to relatethe story. She was glad to see that her cousin was struck with it;he admired this care to maintain strict truth, and even opened amemorandum-book--the sight of which Charles dreaded--and read thefollowing extract: 'Do not think of one falsity as harmless, and anotheras slight, and another as unintended. Cast them all aside. They may belight and accidental, but they are an ugly soot from the smoke of thepit, for all that; and it is better that our hearts should be sweptclean of them, without over care as to which is the largest orblackest. '

Laura and Amy were much pleased; but he went on to regret that suchexcellent dispositions should be coupled with such vehemence ofcharacter and that unhappy temper. Amy was glad that her sister venturedto hint that he might be more cautious in avoiding collisions. 

'I am cautious', replied he, quickly and sternly; 'I am not to be toldof the necessity of exercising forbearance with this poor boy; but it isimpossible to reckon on all the points on which he is sensitive. '

'He is sensitive, ' said Laura. 'I don't mean only in temper, but ineverything. I wonder if it is part of his musical temperament to be askeenly alive to all around, as his ear is to every note. A bright day, a fine view, is such real happiness to him; he dwells on every beauty ofRedclyffe with such affection; and then, when he reads, Charles says itis like going over the story again himself to watch his face act it inthat unconscious manner. '

'He makes all the characters so real in talking them over, ' said Amy, 'and he does not always know how they will end before they begin. '

'I should think it hardly safe for so excitable a mind to dwell much onthe world of fiction, ' said Philip. 

'Nothing has affected him so much as Sintram, ' said Laura. 'I never sawanything like it. He took it up by chance, and stood reading it whileall those strange expressions began to flit over his face, and at lasthe fairly cried over it so much, that he was obliged to fly out of theroom. How often he has read it I cannot tell; I believe he has boughtone for himself, and it is as if the engraving had a fascination forhim; he stands looking at it as if he was in a dream. '

'He is a great mystery, ' said Amy. 

'All men are mysterious, ' said Philip 'but he not more than others, though he may appear so to you, because you have not had muchexperience, and also because most of the men you have seen have beenrounded into uniformity like marbles, their sharp angles rubbed offagainst each other at school. '

'Would it be better if there were more sharp angles?' said Laura, thussetting on foot a discussion on public schools, on which Philip had, ofcourse, a great deal to say. 

Amy's kind little heart was meanwhile grieving for Guy, and longing tosee him return, but he did not come till after Philip's departure. Helooked pale and mournful, his hair hanging loose and disordered, andher terror was excited lest he might actually have seen his ancestor'sghost, which, in spite of her desire to believe in ghosts, in general, she did not by any means wish to have authenticated. He was surprisedand a good deal vexed to find Philip gone, but he said hardly anything, and it was soon bedtime. When Charles took his arm, he exclaimed, onfinding his sleeve wet--'What can you have been doing?'

'Walking up and down under the wall, ' replied Guy, with some reluctance. 

'What, in the rain?'

'I don't know, perhaps it was. '

Amy, who was just behind, carrying the crutch, dreaded Charles's makingany allusion to Sintram's wild locks and evening wanderings, but eversince the outburst about King Charles, the desire to tease and irritateGuy had ceased. 

They parted at the dressing-room door, and as Guy bade her good night, he pushed back the damp hair that had fallen across his forehead, saying, 'I am sorry I disturbed your evening. I will tell you themeaning of it another time. '

'He has certainly seen the ghost!' said silly little Amy, as she shutherself into her own room in such a fit of vague 'eerie' fright, that itwas not till she had knelt down, and with her face hidden in her hands, said her evening prayer, that she could venture to lift up her head andlook into the dark corners of the room. 

'Another time!' Her heart throbbed at the promise. 

The next afternoon, as she and Laura were fighting with a refractorybranch of wisteria which had been torn down by the wind, and refused toreturn to its place, Guy, who had been with his tutor, came in from thestable-yard, reduced the trailing bough to obedience, and then joinedthem in their walk. He looked grave, was silent at first, and then spokeabruptly--'It is due to you to explain my behaviour last night. '

'Amy thinks you must have seen the ghost, ' said Laura, trying to be gay. 

'Did I frighten you?' said Guy, turning round, full of compunction. 'No, no. I never saw it. I never even heard of its being seen. I am verysorry. '

'I was very silly, ' said Amy smiling. 

'But, ' proceeded Guy, 'when I think of the origin of the ghost story, Icannot laugh, and if Philip knew all--'

'Oh! He does not, ' cried Laura; 'he only looks on it as we have alwaysdone, as a sort of romantic appendage to Redclyffe. I should thinkbetter of a place for being haunted. '

'I used to be proud of it, ' said Guy. 'I wanted to make out whether itwas old Sir Hugh or the murderer of Becket, who was said to groan andturn the lock of Dark Hugh's chamber. I hunted among old papers, and ahorrible story I found. That wretched Sir Hugh, --the same who began thequarrel with your mother's family--he was a courtier of Charles II, asbad or worse than any of that crew--'

'What was the quarrel about?' said Laura. 

'He was believed to have either falsified or destroyed his father'swill, so as to leave his brother, your ancestor, landless; his brotherremonstrated, and he turned him out of doors. The forgery never wasproved, but there was little doubt of it. There are traditions of hiscrimes without number, especially his furious anger and malice. Hecompelled a poor lady to marry him, though she was in love with anotherman; then he was jealous; he waylaid his rival, shut him up in theturret chamber, committed him to prison, and bribed Judge Jeffriesto sentence him--nay it is even said he carried his wife to see theexecution! He was so execrated that he fled the country; he went toHolland, curried favour with William of Orange, brought his wealth tohelp him, and that is the deserving action which got him the baronetcy!He served in the army a good many years, and came home when he thoughthis sins would be forgotten. But do you remember those lines?' and Guyrepeated them in the low rigid tone, almost of horror, in which he hadbeen telling the story:--

 'On some his vigorous judgments light, In that dread pause 'twixt day and night, Life's closing twilight hour; Round some, ere yet they meet their doom, Is shed the silence of the tomb, The eternal shadows lower. '

'It was so with him; he lost his senses, and after many actions of madviolence, he ended by hanging himself in the very room where he hadimprisoned his victim. '

'Horrible!' said Laura. 'Yet I do not see why, when it is all past, youshould feel it so deeply. '

'How should I not feel it?' answered Guy. 'Is it not written that thesins of the fathers shall be visited on the children? You wonder tosee me so foolish about Sintram. Well, it is my firm belief that sucha curse of sin and death as was on Sintram rests on the descendants ofthat miserable man. '

The girls were silent, struck with awe and dismay at the fearful realitywith which he pronounced the words. At last, Amy whispered, 'But Sintramconquered his doom. '

At the same time Laura gathered her thoughts together, and said, 'Thismust be an imagination. You have dwelt on it and fostered it till youbelieve it, but such notions should be driven away or they will worktheir own fulfilment. '

'Look at the history of the Morvilles, and see if it be an imagination, 'said Guy. 'Crime and bloodshed have been the portion of each--each hasadded weight and darkness to the doom which he had handed on. My ownpoor father, with his early death, was, perhaps, the happiest!'

Laura saw the idea was too deeply rooted to be treated as a fancy, andshe found a better argument. 'The doom of sin and death is on us all, but you should remember that if you are a Morville, you are also aChristian. '

'He does remember it!' said Amy, raising her eyes to his face, and thencasting them down, blushing at having understood his countenance, where, in the midst of the gloomy shades, there rested for an instant the gleamwhich her mother had likened to the expression of Raffaelle's cherub. '

They walked on for some time in silence. At last Laura exclaimed, 'Areyou really like the portrait of this unfortunate Sir Hugh?'

Guy made a sign of assent. 

'Oh! It must have been taken before he grew wicked, ' said Amy; and Laurafelt the same conviction, that treacherous revenge could never haveexisted beneath so open a countenance, with so much of highmindedness, pure faith and contempt of wrong in every glance of the eagle eye, inthe frank expansion of the smooth forehead. 

They were interrupted by Mr. Edmonstone's hearty voice, bawling acrossthe garden for one of the men. 'O Guy! are you there?' cried he, assoon as he saw him. 'Just what I wanted! Your gun, man! We are going toferret a rabbit. '

Guy ran off at full speed in search of his gun, whistling to Bustle. Mr. Edmonstone found his man, and the sisters were again alone. 

'Poor fellow!' said Laura. 

'You will not tell all this to Philip?' said Amy. 

'It would show why he was hurt, and it can be no secret. '

'I dare say you are right, but I have a feeling against it. Well, I amglad he had not seen the ghost!'

The two girls had taken their walk, and were just going in, when, looking round, they saw Philip walking fast and determinedly up theapproach, and as they turned back to meet him, the first thing he saidwas, 'Where is Guy?'

'Ferreting rabbits with papa. What is the matter?'

'And where is my aunt?'

Driving out with Charles and Charlotte. What is the matter?'

'Look here. Can you tell me the meaning of this which I found on mytable when I came in this morning?'

It was a card of Sir Guy Morville, on the back of which was written inpencil, 'Dear P. , I find hunting and reading don't agree, so take nofurther steps about the horse. Many thanks for your trouble. --G. M. '

'There, ' said Philip, 'is the result of brooding all night on hisresentment. ' 'Oh no!' cried Laura, colouring with eagerness, 'you do notunderstand him. He could not bear it last night, because, as he has beenexplaining to us, that old Sir Hugh's story was more shocking than weever guessed, and he has a fancy that their misfortunes are a familyfate, and he could not bear to hear it spoken of lightly. '

'Oh! He has been telling you his own story, has he?'

Laura's colour grew still deeper, 'If you had been there, ' she said, 'you would have been convinced. Why will you not believe that he findshunting interfere with reading?'

'He should have thought of that before, ' said Philip. 

'Here have I half bought the horse! I have wasted the whole morning onit, and now I have to leave it on the man's hands. I had a dozen timesrather take it myself, if I could afford it. Such a bargain as I hadmade, and such an animal as you will not see twice in your life. '

'It is a great pity, ' said Laura. 'He should have known his own mind. Idon't like people to give trouble for nothing. '

'Crazy about it last night, and giving it up this morning! A mostextraordinary proceeding. No, no, Laura, this is not simple fickleness, it would be too absurd. It is temper, temper, which makes a man punishhimself, in hopes of punishing others. 

Laura still spoke for Guy, and Amy rejoiced; for if her sister had nottaken up the defence of the absent, she must, and she felt too stronglyto be willing to speak. It seemed too absurd for one feeling himselfunder such a doom to wrangle about a horse, yet she was somewhat amusedby the conviction that if Guy had really wished to annoy Philip he hadcertainly succeeded. 

There was no coming to an agreement. Laura's sense of justice revoltedat the notion of Guy's being guilty of petty spite; while Philip, firmin his preconceived idea of his character, and his own knowledge ofmankind, was persuaded that he had imputed the true motive, and wasdispleased at Laura's attempting to argue the point. He could not waitto see any one else, as he was engaged to dine out, and he set off againat his quick, resolute pace. 

'He is very unfair!' exclaimed Amy. 

'He did not mean to be so, ' said Laura; 'and though he is mistaken inimputing such motives, Guy's conduct has certainly been vexatious. '

They were just turning to go in, when they were interrupted by thereturn of the carriage; and before Charles had been helped up the steps, their father and Guy came in sight. While Guy went to shut up Bustle, who was too wet for the drawing-room, Mr. Edmonstone came up to theothers, kicking away the pebbles before him, and fidgeting with hisgloves, as he always did when vexed. 

'Here's a pretty go!' said he. 'Here is Guy telling me he won't hunt anymore!'

'Not hunt!' cried Mrs. Edmonstone and Charles at once; 'and why?'

'Oh! something about its taking his mind from his reading; but thatcan't be it--impossible, you know; I'd give ten pounds to know what hasvexed him. So keen as he was about it last night, and I vow, one of thebest riders in the whole field. Giving up that horse, too--I declareit is a perfect sin! I told him he had gone too far, and he said he hadleft a note with Philip this morning. '

'Yes, ' said Laura; Philip has just been here about it. Guy left a card, saying, hunting and reading would not agree. '

'That is an excuse, depend upon it, ' said Mr. Edmonstone. 'Something hasnettled him, I am sure. It could not be that Gordon, could it, withhis hail-fellow-well-met manner? I thought Guy did not half like it theother day, when he rode up with his "Hollo, Morville!" The Morvilleshave a touch of pride of their own; eh, mamma?'

'I should be inclined to believe his own account of himself, ' said she. 

'I tell you, 'tis utterly against reason, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, angrily. 'If he was a fellow like Philip, or James Ross, I could believe it; buthe--he make a book-worm! He hates it, like poison, at the bottom of hisheart, I'll answer for it; and the worst of it is, the fellow puttingforward such a fair reason one can't--being his guardian, and all--saywhat one thinks of it oneself. Eh, mamma?'

'Not exactly, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling. 

'Well, you take him in hand, mamma. I dare say he will tell you therights of it, and if it is only that Gordon, explain it rightly to him, show him 'tis only the man's way; tell him he treats me so for ever, andwould the Lord-Lieutenant if he was in it. '

'For a' that and a' that, ' said Charles, as Amy led him into thedrawing-room. 

'You are sure the reading is the only reason?' said Amy. '

'He's quite absurd enough for it, ' said Charles; but 'absurd' waspronounced in a way that made its meaning far from annoying even toGuy's little champion. 

Guy came in the next moment, and running lightly up-stairs after Mrs. Edmonstone, found her opening the dressing-room door, and asked if hemight come in. 

'By all means, ' she said; 'I am quite ready for one of our twilighttalks. '

'I am afraid I have vexed Mr. Edmonstone, ' began Guy; 'and I am verysorry. '

'He was only afraid that something might have occurred to vex you, whichyou might not like to mention to him, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, hesitatinga little. 

'Me! What could I have done to make him think so? I am angry with no onebut myself. The fact is only this, the hunting is too pleasant; it fillsup my head all day and all night; and I don't attend rightly to anythingelse. If I am out in the morning and try to pay for it at night, it willnot do; I can but just keep awake and that's all; the Greek letters allseem to be hunting each other, the simplest things grow difficult, andat last all I can think of, is how near the minute hand of my watch isnear to the hour I have set myself. So, for the last fortnight, everyconstruing with Mr. Lascelles has been worse than the last; and as to myLatin verses, they were beyond everything shocking, so you see there isno making the two things agree, and the hunting must wait till I growsteadier, if I ever do. Heigho! It is a great bore to be so stupid, forI thought--But it is of no use to talk of it!'

'Mr. Edmonstone would be a very unreasonable guardian, indeed, to bedispleased, ' said his friend, smiling. You say you stopped the purchaseof the horse. Why so? Could you not keep him till you are more sure ofyourself?'

'Do you think I might?' joyously exclaimed Guy. 'I'll write to Philipthis minute by the post. Such a splendid creature: it would do you goodto see it--such action--such a neck--such spirit. It would be a shamenot to secure it. But no--no--' and he checked himself sorrowfully. 'Ihave made my mind before that I don't deserve it. If it was here, itwould always have to be tried: if I heard the hounds I don't know Ishould keep from riding after them; whereas, now I can't, for Williamwon't let me take Deloraine. No, I can't trust myself to keep such ahorse, and not hunt. It will serve me right to see Mr. Brownlow on it, and he will never miss such a chance!' and the depth of his sigh borewitness to the struggle it cost him. 

'I should not like to use anyone as you use yourself, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking at him with affectionate anxiety, which seemedsuddenly to change the current of his thought, for he exclaimedabruptly--'Mrs. Edmonstone, can you tell me anything about my mother?'

'I am afraid not, ' said she, kindly; 'you know we had so littleintercourse with your family, that I heard little but the bare facts. '

'I don't think, ' said Guy, leaning on the chimneypiece, 'that I everthought much about her till I knew you, but lately I have fancied agreat deal about what might have been if she had but lived. '

It was not Mrs. Edmonstone's way to say half what she felt, and she wenton--'Poor thing! I believe she was quite a child. '

'Only seventeen when she died, ' said Guy. 

Mrs. Edmonstone went to a drawer, took out two or three bundles ofold letters, and after searching in them by the fire-light, said--'Ah!here's a little about her; it is in a letter from my sister-in-law, Philip's mother, when they were staying at Stylehurst. '

'Who? My father and mother?' cried Guy eagerly. 

'Did you not know they had been there three or four days?'

'No--I know less about them than anybody, ' said he, sadly: but as Mrs. Edmonstone waited, doubtful as to whether she might be about to makedisclosures for which he was unprepared, he added, hastily--'I doknow the main facts of the story; I was told them last autumn;' and anexpression denoting the remembrance of great suffering came over hisface; then, pausing a moment, he said--'I knew Archdeacon Morville hadbeen very kind. '

'He was always interested about your father, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'andhappening to meet him in London some little time after his marriage, he--he was pleased with the manner in which he was behaving then, thought--thought--' And here, recollecting that she must not speak illof old Sir Guy, nor palliate his son's conduct, poor Mrs. Edmonstonegot into an inextricable confusion--all the worse because the fiercetwisting of a penwiper in Guy's fingers denoted that he was suffering agreat trial of patience. She avoided the difficulty thus: 'It is hardto speak of such things when there is so much to be regretted on bothsides; but the fact was, my brother thought your father was harshlydealt with at that time. Of course he had done very wrong; but he hadbeen so much neglected and left to himself, that it seemed hardlyfair to visit his offence on him as severely as if he had had moreadvantages. So it ended in their coming to spend a day or two atStylehurst; and this is the letter my sister-in-law wrote at the time:

'"Our visitors have just left us, and on the whole I am much betterpleased than I expected. The little Mrs. Morville is a very prettycreature, and as engaging as long flaxen curls, apple-blossomcomplexion, blue eyes, and the sweetest of voices can make her; sofull of childish glee and playfulness, that no one would stop to thinkwhether she was lady-like any more than you would with a child. Sheused to go singing like a bird about the house as soon as the firststrangeness wore off, which was after her first game of play with Fannyand Little Philip. She made them very fond of her, as indeed she wouldmake every one who spent a day or two in the same house with her. Icould almost defy Sir Guy not to be reconciled after one sight ofher sweet sunny face. She is all affection and gentleness, and withtolerable training anything might be made of her; but she is so youngin mind and manners, that one cannot even think of blaming her for herelopement, for she had no mother, no education but in music; and herbrother seems to have forced it on, thrown her in Mr. Morville's way, and worked on his excitable temperament, until he hurried them intomarriage. Poor little girl, I suppose she little guesses what she hasdone; but it was very pleasant to see how devotedly attached he seemedto her; and there was something beautiful in the softening of hisimpetuous tones when he said, 'Marianne;' and her pride in him was verypretty, like a child playing at matronly airs. "'

Guy gave a long, heavy sigh, brushed away a tear, and after a longsilence, said, 'Is that all?'

'All that I like to read to you. Indeed, there is no more about her;and it would be of no use to read all the reports that were goingabout. --Ah! here, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking into another letter, 'she speaks of your father as a very fine young man, with most generousimpulses, '--but here again she was obliged to stop, for the nextsentence spoke of 'a noble character ruined by mismanagement. ' 'Shenever saw them again, ' continued Mrs. Edmonstone; 'Mr. Dixon, yourmother's brother, had great influence with your father, and made mattersworse--so much worse, that my brother did not feel himself justified inhaving any more to do with them. '

'Ah! he went to America, ' said Guy; 'I don't know any more about himexcept that he came to the funeral and stood with his arms folded, notchoosing to shake hands with my poor grandfather. ' After another silencehe said, 'Will you read that again?' and when he had heard it, he satshading his brow with his hand, as if to bring the fair, girlish picturefully before his mind, while Mrs. Edmonstone sought in vain among herletters for one which did not speak of the fiery passions ignited oneither side, in terms too strong to be fit for his ears. 

When next he spoke it was to repeat that he had not been informed ofthe history of his parents till within the last few months. He had, of course, known the manner of their death, but had only lately becomeaware of the circumstances attending it. 

The truth was that Guy had grown up peculiarly shielded from evil, butignorant of the cause of the almost morbid solicitude with which he wasregarded by his grandfather. He was a very happy, joyous boy, leadingan active, enterprising life, though so lonely as to occasion greaterdreaminess and thoughtfulness than usual at such an early age. He wasdevotedly attached to his grandfather, looking on him as the first andbest of human beings, and silencing the belief that Sir Hugh Morvillehad entailed a doom of crime and sorrow on the family, by a reference tohim, as one who had been always good and prosperous. 

When, however, Guy had reached an age at which he must encounter theinfluences which had proved so baneful to others of his family, hisgrandfather thought it time to give him the warning of his own history. 

The sins, which the repentance of years had made more odious in theeyes of the old man, were narrated; the idleness and insubordinationat first, then the reckless pursuit of pleasure, the craving forexcitement, the defiance of rule and authority, till folly had becomevice, and vice had led to crime. 

He had fought no fewer than three duels, and only one had beenbloodless. His misery after the first had well-nigh led to a reform;but time had dulled its acuteness--it had been lost in fresh scenesof excitement--and at the next offence rage had swept away suchrecollections. Indeed, so far had he lost the natural generosity of hischaracter, that his remorse had been comparatively slight for the last, which was the worst of all, since he had forced the quarrel on hisvictim, Captain Wellwood, whose death had left a wife and childrenalmost destitute. His first awakening to a sense of what his course hadbeen, was when he beheld his only child, in the prime of youth, carriedlifeless across his threshold, and attributed his death to his ownintemperance and violence. That hour made Sir Guy Morville an old and abroken-hearted man; and he repented as vigorously as he had sinned. 

From the moment he dared to hope that his son's orphan would be spared, he had been devoted to him, but still mournfully, envying and pityinghis innocence as something that could not last. 

He saw bright blossoms put forth, as the boy grew older; but they werenot yet fruits, and he did not dare to believe they ever would be. The strength of will which had, in his own case, been the slave of hispassions, had been turned inward to subdue the passions themselves, butthis was only the beginning--the trial was not yet come. He could hopehis grandson might repent, but this was the best that he dared to thinkpossible. He could not believe that a Morville could pass unscathedthrough the world, or that his sins would not be visited on the head ofhis only descendant; and the tone of his narration was throughout suchas might almost have made the foreboding cause its own accomplishment. 

The effect was beyond what he had expected; for a soul deeply dyedin guilt, even though loathing its own stains, had not the power ofconceiving how foul was the aspect of vice, to one hitherto guarded fromits contemplation, and living in a world of pure, lofty day-dreams. Theboy sat the whole time without a word, his face bent down and hiddenby his clasped hands, only now and then unable to repress a start orshudder at some fresh disclosure; and when it was ended, he stood up, gazed round, and walked uncertainly, as if he did not know where hewas. His next impulse was to throw himself on his knee beside hisgrandfather, and caress him as he used to when a child. The 'good-night'was spoken, and Guy was shut into his room, with his overwhelmingemotions. 

His grandfather a blood-stained, remorseful man! The doom was complete, himself heir to the curse of Sir Hugh, and fated to run the same career;and as he knew full well, with the tendency to the family characterstrong within him, the germs of these hateful passions ready to takeroot downwards and bear fruit upwards, with the very countenance of SirHugh, and the same darkening, kindling eyes, of which traditions hadpreserved the remembrance. 

He was crushed for awhile. The consciousness of strength not his own, of the still small voice that could subdue the fire, the earthquake, andthe whirlwind, was slow in coming to him; and when it came, he, like hisgrandfather, had hope rather of final repentance than of keeping himselfunstained. 

His mind had not recovered the shock when his grandfather died, --diedin faith and fear, with good hope of accepted repentance, but unable toconvey the assurance of such hope to his grandson. Grief for the onlyparent he had ever known, and the sensation of being completely alone inthe world, were joined to a vague impression of horror at the suddennessof the stroke, and it was long before the influence of Hollywell, or theelasticity of his own youthfulness, could rouse him from his depression. 

Even then it was almost against his will that he returned to enjoyment, unable to avoid being amused, but feeling as if joy was not meant forhim, and as if those around were walking 'in a world of light, ' where hecould scarcely hope to tread a few uncertain steps. In this despondencywas Guy's chief danger, as it was likely to make him deem a strugglewith temptation fruitless, while his high spirits and powers of keenenjoyment increased the peril of recklessness in the reaction. 

It was Mrs. Edmonstone who first spoke with him cheerfully ofa successful conflict with evil, and made him perceive that histemptations were but such as is common to man. She had given him a clueto discover when and how to trust himself to enjoy; the story of Sintramhad stirred him deeply, and this very day, Amy's words, seeminglyunheeded and unheard, had brought home to him the hope and encouragementof that marvellous tale. 

They had helped him in standing, looking steadfastly upwards, andtreading down not merely evil, but the first token of coming evil, regardless of the bruises he might inflict on himself. Well for him ifhe was constant. 

Such was Guy's inner life; his outward life, frank and joyous, has beenshown, and the two flowed on like a stream, pure as crystal, but intowhich the eye cannot penetrate from its depth. The surface would besometimes obscured by cloud or shade, and reveal the sombre wellsbeneath; but more often the sunshine would penetrate the inmostrecesses, and make them glance and sparkle, showing themselves as clearand limpid as the surface itself. 

CHAPTER 6

 Can piety the discord heal, Or stanch the death-feud's enmity? --Scott

It must not be supposed that such a history of Guy's mind was expressedby himself, or understood by Mrs. Edmonstone; but she saw enough toguess at his character, perceive the sort of guidance he needed, and bedoubly interested in him. Much did she wish he could have such a friendas her brother would have been, and hope that nothing would prevent afriendship with her nephew. 

The present question about the horse was, she thought, unfortunate, since, though Guy had exercised great self-denial, it was no wonderPhilip was annoyed. Mr. Edmonstone's vexation was soon over. As soon asshe had persuaded him that there had been no offence, he strove to saywith a good grace, that it was very proper, and told Guy he would bea thorough book-worm and tremendous scholar, which Guy took as anexcellent joke. 

Philip had made up his mind to be forbearing, and to say no more aboutit. Laura thought this a pity, as they could thus never come to anunderstanding; but when she hinted it, he wore such a dignified air ofnot being offended, that she was much ashamed of having tried to directone so much better able to judge. On his side Guy had no idea thetrouble he had caused; so, after bestowing his thanks in a gay, off-handway, which Philip thought the worst feature of the case, he did his bestto bring Hecuba back into his mind, drive the hunters out of it, andappease the much-aggrieved William of Deloraine. 

When all William's manoeuvres resulted in his master's not hunting atall, he was persuaded it was Mr. Edmonstone's fault, compassionatedSir Guy with all his heart, and could only solace himself by takingDeloraine to exercise where he was most likely to meet the hounds. Hefurther chose to demonstrate that he was not Mr. Edmonstone's servant, by disregarding some of his stable regulations; but as soon as this cameto his master's knowledge, a few words were spoken so sharp and stern, that William never attempted to disobey again. 

It seemed as if it was the perception that so much was kept back by astrong force, that made Guy's least token of displeasure so formidable. A village boy, whom he caught misusing a poor dog, was found a fewminutes after, by Mr. Ross, in a state of terror that was positivelyludicrous, though it did not appear that Sir Guy had said or done muchto alarm him; it was only the light in his eyes, and the strengthof repressed indignation in his short broken words that had made theimpression. 

It appeared as if the force of his anger might be fearful, if once itbroke forth without control; yet at the same time he had a gentlenessand attention, alike to small and great, which, with his high spiritand good nature, his very sweet voice and pleasant smile, made him apeculiarly winning and engaging person; and few who saw him could helpbeing interested in him. 

No wonder he had become in the eyes of the Edmonstones almost a part oftheir family. Mrs. Edmonstone had assumed a motherly control over him, to which he submitted with a sort of affectionate gratitude. 

One day Philip remarked, that he never saw any one so restless asGuy, who could neither talk nor listen without playing with something. Scissors, pencil, paper-knife, or anything that came in his way, wassure to be twisted or tormented; or if nothing else was at hand, heopened and shut his own knife so as to put all the spectators in fearfor his fingers. 

'Yes, ' said Laura, 'I saw how it tortured your eyebrows all the time youwere translating Schiller to us. I wondered you were not put out. '

'I consider that to be put out--by which you mean to have the intellectat the mercy of another's folly--is beneath a reasonable creature, 'said Philip; 'but that I was annoyed, I do not deny. It is a token of arestless, ill-regulated mind. '

'Restless, perhaps, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone 'but not necessarilyill-regulated. I should think it rather a sign that he had no one totell him of the tricks which mothers generally nip in the bud. '

'I was going to say that I think he fidgets less, ' said Laura; 'but Ithink his chief contortions of the scissors have been when Philip hasbeen here. '

'They have, I believe, ' said her mother, I was thinking of giving him ahint. '

'Well, aunt, you are a tamer of savage beasts if you venture on such asubject, ' said Philip. 

'Do you dare me?' she asked, smiling. 

'Why, I don't suppose he would do more than give you one of hislightning glances: but that, I think, is more than you desire. '

'Considerably, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'for his sake as much as my own. '

'But, ' said Laura, 'mamma has nearly cured him of pawing like a horse inthe hall when he is kept waiting. He said he knew it was impatience, and begged her to tell him how to cure it. So she treated him as an oldfairy might, and advised him in a grave, mysterious way, always to goand play the "Harmonious Blacksmith, " when he found himself gettinginto "a taking", just as if it was a charm. And he always does it mostdutifully. '

'It has a very good effect, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'for it is apt to actas a summons to the other party, as well as a sedative to him. '

'I must say I am curious to see what you will devise this time, ' saidPhilip; 'since you can't set him to play on the piano; and very few canbear to be told of a trick of the kind. '

In the course of that evening, Philip caused the great atlas to bebrought out in order to make investigations on the local habitation ofa certain Khan of Kipchack, who existed somewhere in the dark ages. Thenhe came to Marco Polo, and Sir John Mandeville; and Guy, who knew boththe books in the library at Redclyffe, grew very eager in talking themover, and tracing their adventures--then to the Genoese merchants, whereGuy confessed himself perfectly ignorant. Andrea Doria was the onlyGenoese he ever heard of; but he hunted out with great interest all thelocalities of their numerous settlements. Then came modern Italy, andits fallen palaces; then the contrast between the republican merchantand aristocratic lord of the soil; then the corn laws; and then, and nottill then, did Philip glance at his aunt, to show her Guy balancing aVenetian weight on as few of his fingers as could support it. 

'Guy, ' said she, smiling, 'does that unfortunate glass inspire you withany arguments in favour of the Venetians?'

Guy put it down at once, and Philip proceeded to improved methods offarming, to enable landlords to meet the exigencies of the times. Guyhad got hold of Mr. Edmonstone's spectacle-case, and was putting itsspring to a hard trial. Mrs. Edmonstone doubted whether to interfereagain; she knew this was not the sort of thing that tried his temper, yet she particularly disliked playing him off, as it were for Philip'samusement, and quite as much letting him go on, and lower himself in hernephew's estimation. The spectacle-case settled the matter--a crack washeard, it refused to snap at all; and Guy, much discomfited, made manyapologies. 

Amy laughed; Philip was much too well-bred to do anything but curl hislip unconsciously. Mrs. Edmonstone waited till he was gone, then, whenshe was wishing Guy 'good-night' at Charles's door, she said, --

'The spectacle-case forestalled me in giving you a lecture on sparingour nerves. Don't look so very full of compunction--it is only a trickwhich your mother would have stopped at five years old, and which youcan soon stop for yourself. '

'Thank you, I will!' said Guy; 'I hardly knew I did it, but I am verysorry it has teased you. '

Thenceforward it was curious to see how he put down and pushed away allhe had once begun to touch and torture. Mrs. Edmonstone said it wasself command in no common degree; and Philip allowed that to cure soinveterate a habit required considerable strength of will. 

'However, ' he said, 'I always gave the Morvilles credit for an ironresolution. Yes, Amy, you may laugh; but if a man is not resolute in alittle, he will never be resolute in great matters. '

'And Guy has been resolute the right way this time, ' said Laura. 

'May he always be the same, ' said Philip. 

Philip had undertaken, on his way back to Broadstone, to conductCharlotte to East-hill, where she was to spend the day with a littleniece of Mary Ross. She presently came down, her bonnet-strings tiedin a most resolute-looking bow, and her little figure drawn up so as tolook as womanly is possible for her first walk alone with Philip. Shewished the party at home 'goodbye;' and as Amy and Laura stood watchingher, they could not help laughing to see her tripping feet striving tokeep step, her blue veil discreetly composed and her little head turnedup, as if she was trying hard to be on equal terms with the tall cousin, who meanwhile looked graciously down from his height, patronising herlike a very small child. After some space, Amy began to wonder whatthey could talk about, or whether they would talk at all; but Laura saidthere was no fear of Charlotte's tongue ever being still, and Charlesrejoined, --

'Don't you know that Philip considers it due to himself that hisaudience should never be without conversation suited to their capacity?'

'Nonsense, Charlie!'

'Nay, I give him credit for doing it as well as it is in nature ofthings for it to be done. The strongest proof I know of his being asuperior man, is the way he adapts himself to his company. He lays downthe law to us, because he knows we are all born to be his admirers; hecalls Thorndale his dear fellow and conducts him like a Mentor; butyou may observe how different he is with other people--Mr. Ross, forinstance. It is not showing off; it is just what the pattern hero shouldbe with the pattern clergyman. At a dinner party he is quite in hisplace; contents himself with leaving an impression on his neighbour thatMr. Morville is at home on every subject; and that he is the right thingwith his brother officers is sufficiently proved, since not even Mauriceeither hates or quizzes him. '

'Well, Charlie, ' said Laura, well pleased, I am glad you are convincedat last. '

'Do you think I ever wanted to be convinced that we were created forno other end than to applaud Philip? I was fulfilling the object of ourexistence by enlarging on a remark of Guy's, that nothing struck himmore than the way in which Philip could adapt his conversation to thehearers. So the hint was not lost on me; and I came to the conclusionthat it was a far greater proof of his sense than all the maxims helavishes on us. '

'I wonder Guy was the person to make the remark, ' said Laura; 'for it isstrange that those two never appear to the best advantage together. '

'Oh, Laura, that would be the very reason, ' said Amy. 

'The very reason?' said Charles. Draw out your meaning, Miss. '

'Yes, ' said Amy, colouring, 'If Guy--if a generous person, I mean--werevexed with another sometimes, it would be the very reason he would makethe most of all his goodness. '

'Heigh-ho!' yawned Charles. What o'clock is it? I wonder when Guy isever coming back from that Lascelles. '

'Your wonder need not last long, ' said Laura; 'for I see him riding intothe stable yard. '

In a few minutes he had entered; and, on being asked if he had metPhilip and Charlotte, and how they were getting on, he replied, --'A gooddeal like the print of Dignity and Impudence, ' at the same time throwingback his shoulders, and composing his countenance to imitate Philip'slofty deportment and sedate expression, and the next moment putting hishead on one side with a sharp little nod, and giving a certain espiegleglance of the eye, and knowing twist of one corner of the mouth, justlike Charlotte. 

'By the by, ' added he, 'would Philip have been a clergyman if he hadgone to Oxford?'

'I don't know; I don't think it was settled, ' said Laura, 'Why?'

'I could never fancy him one' said Guy. 'He would not have been whathe is now if he had gone to Oxford, ' said Charles. 'He would have livedwith men of the same powers and pursuits with himself, and have foundhis level. '

'And that would have been a very high one, ' said Guy. 

'It would; but there would be all the difference there is between afeudal prince and an Eastern despot. He would know what it is to livewith his match. '

'But you don't attempt to call him conceited!' cried Guy, with a sort ofconsternation. 

'He is far above that; far too grand, ' said Amy. 

'I should as soon think of calling Jupiter conceited, ' said Charles; andLaura did not know how far to be gratified, or otherwise. 

Charles had not over-estimated Philip's readiness of self adaptation. Charlotte had been very happy with him, talking over the "Lady of theLake", which she had just read, and being enlightened, partly toher satisfaction, partly to her disappointment, as to how much washistorical. He listened good-naturedly to a fit of rapture, and threw ina few, not too many, discreet words of guidance to the true principlesof taste; and next told her about an island, in a pond at Stylehurst, which had been by turns Ellen's isle and Robinson Crusoe's. It was atthis point in the conversation that Guy came in sight, riding slowly, his reins on his horse's neck, whistling a slow, melancholy tune, hiseyes fixed on the sky, and so lost in musings, that he did not perceivethem till Philip arrested him by calling out, 'That is a very bad plan. No horse is to be trusted in that way, especially such a spirited one. '

Guy started, and gathered up his reins, owning it was foolish. 

'You look only half disenchanted yet, ' said Philip. 'Has Lascelles putyou into what my father's old gardener used to call a stud?'

'Nothing so worthy of a stud, ' said Guy, smiling and colouring a little. 'I was only dreaming over a picture of ruin--

 'The steed is vanish'd from the stall, No serf is seen in Hassan's hall, The lonely spider's thin grey pall Waves, slowly widening o'er the wall. '

'Byron!' exclaimed Philip. 'I hope you are not dwelling on him?'

'Only a volume I found in my room. '

'Oh, the "Giaour"!' said Philip. 'Well, there is no great damage done;but it is bad food for excitable minds. Don't let it get hold of you. '

'Very well;' and there was a cloud, but it cleared in a moment, and, with a few gay words to both, he rode off at a quick pace. 

'Foolish fellow!' muttered Philip, looking after him. 

After some space of silence, Charlotte began in a very grave tone--

'Philip. '

'Well?'

'Philip. '

Another 'Well!' and another long pause. 

'Philip, I don't know whether you'll be angry with me. '

'Certainly not, ' said Philip, marvelling at what was coming. 

'Guy says he does not want to keep up the feud, and I wish you wouldnot. '

'What do you mean?'

'The deadly feud!' said Charlotte. 

'What nonsense is this?' said Philip. 

'Surely--Oh Philip, there always was a deadly feud between ourancestors, and the Redclyffe Morvilles, and it was very wrong, and oughtnot to be kept up now. '

'It is not I that keep it up. '

'Is it not?' said Charlotte. 'But I am sure you don't like Guy. And Ican't think why not, unless it is the deadly feud, for we are all sofond of him. Laura says it is a different house since he came. '

'Hum!' said Philip. 'Charlotte, you did well to make me promise not tobe angry with you, by which, I presume, you mean displeased. I shouldlike to know what put this notion into your head. '

'Charlie told me, ' almost whispered Charlotte, hanging down her head. 'And--and--'

'And what? I can't hear. '

Charlotte was a good deal frightened; but either from firmness, or fromthe female propensity to have the last word, or it might be the spiritof mischief, she got out--'You have made me quite sure of it yourself. '

She was so alarmed at having said this, that had it not beenundignified, she would have run quite away, and never stopped tillshe came to East-hill. Matters were not mended when Philip saidauthoritatively, and as if he was not in the least bit annoyed (whichwas the more vexatious), 'What do you mean, Charlotte?'

She had a great mind to cry, by way of getting out of the scrape; buthaving begun as a counsellor and peacemaker, it would never do to bebabyish; and on his repeating the question, she said, in a tone whichshe could not prevent from being lachrymose, 'You make Guy almost angry, you tease him, and when people praise him, you answer as if it would notlast! And it is very unfair of you, ' concluded she, with almost a sob. 

'Charlotte, ' replied Philip, much more kindly than she thought shedeserved, after the reproach that seemed to her so dreadfully naughty, 'you may dismiss all fear of deadly feud, whatever you may mean by it. Charles has been playing tricks on you. You know, my little cousin, thatI am a Christian, and we live in the nineteenth century. '

Charlotte felt as if annihilated at the aspect of her own folly. Heresumed--'You misunderstood me. I do think Guy very agreeable. He isvery attentive to Charles, very kind to you, and so attractive, that Idon't wonder you like him. But those who are older than you see that hehas faults, and we wish to set him on his guard against them. It may bepainful to ourselves, and irritating to him, but depend upon it, it isthe proof of friendship. Are you satisfied, my little cousin?'

She could only say humbly, 'I beg your pardon. '

'You need not ask pardon. Since you had the notion, it was right tospeak, as it was to me, one of your own family. When you are older, youneed never fear to speak out in the right place. I am glad you haveso much of the right sort of feminine courage, though in this case youmight have ventured to trust to me. '

So ended Charlotte's anxieties respecting the deadly feud, and she hadnow to make up her mind to the loss of her playfellow, who was to go toOxford at Easter, when he would be just eighteen, his birthday being the28th of March. Both her playmates were going, Bustle as well as Guy, andit was at first proposed that Deloraine should go too, but Guy bethoughthimself that Oxford would be a place of temptation for William; and notchoosing to trust the horse to any one else, resolved to leave both atHollywell. 

His grandfather had left an allowance for Guy, until his coming of age, such as might leave no room for extravagance, and which even Philippronounced to be hardly sufficient for a young man in his position. 'Youknow, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, in his hesitating, good-natured way, 'ifever you have occasion sometimes for a little--a little more--you needonly apply to me. Don't be afraid, anything rather than run into debt. You know me, and 'tis your own. '

'This shall do, ' said Guy, in the same tone as he had fixed his hours ofstudy. 

Each of the family made Guy a birthday present, as an outfit for Oxford;Mr. Edmonstone gave him a set of studs, Mrs. Edmonstone a ChristianYear, Amabel copied some of his favourite songs, Laura made a drawingof Sintram, Charlotte worked a kettle-holder, with what was called bycourtesy a likeness of Bustle. Charles gave nothing, professing that hewould do nothing to encourage his departure. 

'You don't know what a bore it is to lose the one bit of quicksilver inthe house!' said he, yawning. 'I shall only drag on my existence tillyou come back. '

'You, Charles, the maker of fun!' said Guy, amazed. 

'It is a case of flint and steel, ' said Charles; 'but be it owing to whoit will, we have been alive since you came here. You have taken careto be remembered. We have been studying you, or laughing at you, orwondering what absurdity was to come next. '

'I am very sorry--that is, if you are serious. I hoped at least Iappeared like other people. '

'I'll tell you what you appear like. Just what I would be if I was afree man. '

'Never say that, Charlie!'

'Nay, wait a bit. I would never be so foolish. I would never give mysunny mornings to Euripides; I would not let the best hunter in thecounty go when I had wherewithal to pay for him. '

'You would not have such an ill-conditioned self to keep in rule. '

'After all, ' continued Charles, yawning, 'it is no great compliment tosay I am sorry you are going. If you were an Ethiopian serenader, youwould be a loss to me. It is something to see anything beyond this olddrawing-room, and the same faces doing the same things every day. Laurapoking over her drawing, and meditating upon the last entry in Philip'smemorandum-book, and Amy at her flowers or some nonsense or other, and Charlotte and the elders all the same, and a lot of stupid peopledropping in and a lot of stupid books to read, all just alike. I cantell what they are like without looking in!' Charles yawned again, sighed, and moved wearily. 'Now, there came some life and freshness withyou. You talk of Redclyffe, and your brute creation there, not likea book, and still less like a commonplace man; you are innocent andunsophisticated, and take new points of view; you are something tointerest oneself about; your coming in is something to look forwardto; you make the singing not such mere milk-and-water, your reading thePraelectiones is an additional landmark to time; besides the mutton ofto-day succeeding the beef of yesterday. Heigh-ho! I'll tell you what, Guy. Though I may carry it off with a high hand, 'tis no joke to bea helpless log all the best years of a man's life, --nay, for my wholelife, --for at the very best of the contingencies the doctors are alwaysflattering me with, I should make but a wretched crippling affair of it. And if that is the best hope they give me, you may guess it is likely tobe a pretty deal worse. Hope? I've been hoping these ten years, and muchgood has it done me. I say, Guy, ' he proceeded, in a tone of extremebitterness, though with a sort of smile, 'the only wonder is that Idon't hate the very sight of you! There are times when I feel as if Icould bite some men, --that Tomfool Maurice de Courcy, for instance, whenI hear him rattling on, and think--'

'I know I have often talked thoughtlessly, I have feared afterwards Imight have given you pain. '

'No, no, you never have; you have carried me along with you. I likenothing better than to hear of your ridings, and shootings, andboatings. It is a sort of life. '

Charles had never till now alluded seriously to his infirmity beforeGuy, and the changing countenance of his auditor showed him to bemuch affected, as he stood leaning over the end of the sofa, with hisspeaking eyes earnestly fixed on Charles, who went on:

'And now you are going to Oxford. You will take your place among the menof your day. You will hear and be heard of. You will be somebody. AndI!--I know I have what they call talent--I could be something. Theythink me an idle dog; but where's the good of doing anything? I onlyknow if I was not--not condemned to--to this--this life, ' (had it notbeen for a sort of involuntary respect to the gentle compassion of thesoftened hazel eyes regarding him so kindly, he would have used theviolent expletive that trembled on his lip;) 'if I was not chained downhere, Master Philip should not stand alone as the paragon of the family. I've as much mother wit as he. '

'That you have, ' said Guy. 'How fast you see the sense of a passage. Youcould excel very much if you only tried. '

'Tried?' And what am I to gain by it?'

'I don't know that one ought to let talents rust, ' said Guy, thoughtfully; 'I suppose it is one's duty not; and surely it is a pityto give up those readings. '

'I shall not get such another fellow dunce as you, ' said Charles, 'as Itold you when we began, and it would be a mere farce to do it alone. Icould not make myself, if I would. '

'Can't you make yourself do what you please?' said Guy, as if it was thesimplest thing in the world. 

'Not a bit, if the other half of me does not like it. I forget it, orput it off, and it comes to nothing. I do declare, though, I would getsomething to break my mind on, merely as a medical precaution, just tofreshen myself up, if I could find any one to do it with. No, nothing inthe shape of a tutor, against that I protest. '

'Your sisters, ' suggested Guy. 

'Hum'! Laura is too intellectual already, and I don't mean to poach onPhilip's manor; and if I made little Amy cease to be silly, I should doaway with all the comfort I have left me in life. I don't know, though, if she swallowed learning after Mary Ross's pattern, that it need do hermuch harm. '

Amy came into the room at the moment. 'Amy, here is Guy advising me totake you to read something awfully wise every day, something that willmake you as dry as a stick, and as blue--'

'As a gentianella, ' said Guy. 

'I should not mind being like a gentianella, ' said Amy. 'But whatdreadful thing were you setting him to do?'

'To make you read all the folios in my uncle's old library, ' saidCharles. 'All that Margaret has in keeping against Philip has a house ofhis own. '

'Sancho somebody, and all you talked of when first you came?' said Amy. 

'We were talking of the hour's reading that Charlie and I have hadtogether lately, ' said Guy. 

'I was thinking how Charlie would miss that hour, ' said Amy; 'and weshall be very sorry not to have you to listen to. '

'Well, then, Amy, suppose you read with me?'

'Oh, Charlie, thank you! Should you really like it?' cried Amy, colouring with delight. 'I have always thought it would be so verydelightful if you would read with me, as James Ross used with Mary, onlyI was afraid of tiring you with my stupidity. Oh, thank you!'

So it was settled, and Charles declared that he put himself on honour togive a good account of their doings to Guy, that being the only way ofmaking himself steady to his resolution; but he was perfectly determinednot to let Philip know anything about the practice he had adopted, since he would by no means allow him to guess that he was following hisadvice. 

Charles had certainly grown very fond of Guy, in spite of his propensityto admire Philip, satisfying himself by maintaining that, after all, Guyonly tried to esteem his cousin because he thought it a point of duty, just as children think it right to admire the good boy in a story book;but that he was secretly fretted and chafed by his perfection. No onecould deny that there were often occasions when little misunderstandingswould arise, and that, but for Philip's coolness and Guy's readiness toapologise they might often have gone further; but at the same time noone could regret these things more than Guy himself, and he was willingand desirous to seek Philip's advice and assistance when needed. Inespecial, he listened earnestly to the counsel which was bestowed on himabout Oxford: and Mrs. Edmonstone was convinced that no one could havemore anxiety to do right and avoid temptation. She had many talkswith him in her dressing-room, promising to write to him, as did alsoCharles; and he left Hollywell with universal regrets, most loudlyexpressed by Charlotte, who would not be comforted without a lock ofBustle's hair, which she would have worn round her neck if she had notbeen afraid that Laura would tell Philip. 

'He goes with excellent intentions, ' said Philip, as they watched himfrom the door. 

'I do hope he will do well, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'I wish he may, ' said Philip; 'the agreeableness of his whole charactermakes one more anxious. It is very dangerous. His name, his wealth, hissociable, gay disposition, that very attractive manner, all are so manyperils, and he has not that natural pleasure in study that would be ofitself a preservative from temptation. However, he is honestly anxiousto do right, and has excellent principles. I only fear his temper andhis want of steadiness. Poor boy, I hope he may do well!'

CHAPTER 7

 --Pray, good shepherd, what Fair swain is this that dances with your daughter? * * * * * He sings several times faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grow to his tunes. --WINTER'S TALE

It was a glorious day in June, the sky of pure deep dazzling blue, thesunshine glowing with brightness, but with cheerful freshness in theair that took away all sultriness, the sun tending westward in hislong day's career, and casting welcome shadows from the tall firs andhorse-chestnuts that shaded the lawn. A long rank of haymakers--menand women--proceeded with their rakes, the white shirt-sleeves, strawbonnets, and ruddy faces, radiant in the bath of sunshine, while in theshady end of the field were idler haymakers among the fragrant piles, Charles half lying on the grass, with his back against a tall haycock;Mrs. Edmonstone sitting on another, book in hand; Laura sketching thebusy scene, the sun glancing through the chequered shade on her glossycurls; Philip stretched out at full length, hat and neck-tie off, luxuriating in the cool repose after a dusty walk from Broadstone; and alittle way off, Amabel and Charlotte pretending to make hay, but reallybuilding nests with it, throwing it at each other, and playing asheartily as the heat would allow. 

They talked and laughed, the rest were too hot, too busy, or too sleepyfor conversation, even Philip being tired into enjoying the "dolce farniente"; and they basked in the fresh breezy heat and perfumy hay withonly now and then a word, till a cold, black, damp nose was suddenlythrust into Charles's face, a red tongue began licking him; and at thesame moment Charlotte, screaming 'There he is!' raced headlong acrossthe swarths of hay, to meet Guy, who had just ridden into the field. He threw Deloraine's rein to one of the haymakers, and came bounding tomeet her, just in time to pick her up as she put her foot into a hiddenhole, and fell prostrate. 

In another moment he was in the midst of the whole party, who crowdedround and welcomed him as if he had been a boy returning from hisfirst half-year's schooling; and never did little school-boy look moreholiday-like than he, with all the sunshine of that June day reflected, as it were, in his glittering eyes and glowing face, while Bustleescaping from Charles's caressing arm, danced round, wagging his tailin ecstasy, and claiming his share of the welcome. Then Guy was onthe ground by Charles, rejoicing to find him out there, and then, somedropping into their former nests on the hay, some standing round, theytalked fast and eagerly in a confusion of sound that did not subside forthe first ten minutes so as to allow anything to be clearly heard. Thefirst distinct sentence was Charlotte's 'Bustle, darling old fellow, youare handsomer than ever!'

'What a delicious day!' next exclaimed Guy, following Philip's example, by throwing off hat and neck-tie. 

'A spontaneous tribute to the beauty of the day, ' said Charles. 

'Really it is so ultra-splendid as to deserve notice!' said Philip, throwing himself completely back, and looking up. 

'One cannot help revelling in that deep blue!' said Laura. 

'Tomorrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad new year, ' hummed Guy. 

'Ah you will teach us all now, ' said Laura, 'after your grand singinglessons. '

'Do you know what is in store for you, Guy?' said Amy. 'Oh! haven't youheard about Lady Kilcoran's ball?'

'You are to go, Guy, ' said Charlotte. 'I am glad I am not. I hatedancing. '

'And I know as much about it as Bustle, ' said Guy, catching the dog byhis forepaws, and causing him to perform an uncouth dance. 

'Never mind, they will soon teach you, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'Must I really go?'

'He begins to think it serious, ' said Charles. 

'Is Philip going?' exclaimed Guy, looking as if he was taken bysurprise. 

'He is going to say something about dancing being a healthful recreationfor young people, ' said Charles. 

'You'll be disappointed, ' said Philip. 'It is much too hot to moralize. '

'Apollo unbends his bow, ' exclaimed Charles. 'The captain yields thefield. '

'Ah! Captain Morville, I ought to have congratulated you, ' said Guy. 'Imust come to Broadstone early enough to see you on parade. '

'Come to Broadstone! You aren't still bound to Mr. Lascelles, ' saidCharles. 

'If he has time for me, ' said Guy. 'I am too far behind the rest of theworld to afford to be idle this vacation. '

'That's right, Guy, ' exclaimed Philip, sitting up, and looking full ofapproval. 'With so much perseverance, you must get on at last. How didyou do in collections?'

'Tolerably, thank you. '

'You must be able to enter into the thing now, ' proceeded Philip. 'Whatare you reading?'

'Thucydides. '

'Have you come to Pericles' oration? I must show you some notes that Ihave on that. Don't you get into the spirit of it now?'

'Up-hill work still, ' answered Guy, disentangling some cinders from thesilky curls of Bustle's ear. 

'Which do you like best--that or the ball?' asked Charles. 

'The hay-field best of all, ' said Guy, releasing Bustle, and blindinghim with a heap of hay. 

'Of course!' said Charlotte, 'who would not like hay-making better thanthat stupid ball?'

'Poor Charlotte!' said Mrs. Edmonstone; commiseration which irritatedCharlotte into standing up and protesting, 'Mamma, you know I don't want to go. '

'No more do I, Charlotte, ' said her brother, in a mock consoling tone. 'You and I know what is good for us, and despise sublunary vanities. '

'But you will go, Guy, ' said Laura; 'Philip is really going. '

'In spite of Lord Kilcoran's folly in going to such an expense as eithertaking Allonby or giving the ball, ' said Charles. 

'I don't think it is my business to bring Lord Kilcoran to a sense ofhis folly, ' said Philip. 'I made all my protests to Maurice when firsthe started the notion, but if his father chose to take the matter up, itis no concern of mine. '

'You will understand, Guy, ' said Charles, 'that this ball is speciallygot up by Maurice for Laura's benefit. '

'Believe as little as you please of that speech, Guy, ' said Laura; 'thetruth is that Lord Kilcoran is very good-natured, and Eveleen was verymuch shocked to hear that Amy had never been to any ball, and I to onlyone, and so it ended in their giving one. '

'When is it to be?'

'On Thursday week, ' said Amy. 'I wonder if you will think Eveleen aspretty as we do!'

'She is Laura's great friend, is not she?'

'I like her very much; I have known her all my life, and she has muchmore depth than those would think who only know her manner. ' And Lauralooked pleadingly at Philip as she spoke. 

'Are there any others of the family at home?' said Guy. 

'The two younger girls, Mabel and Helen, and the little boys, ' said Amy. 'Lord de Courcy is in Ireland, and all the others are away. '

'Lord de Courcy is the wisest man of the family, and sets his faceagainst absenteeism, ' said Philip, 'so he is never visible here. '

'But you aren't going to despise it, I hope, Guy, ' said Amy, earnestly;'it will be so delightful! And what fun we shall have in teaching you todance!'

Guy stretched himself, and gave a quaint grunt. 

'Never mind, Guy, ' said Philip, 'very little is required. You may easilypass in the crowd. I never learnt. '

'Your ear will guide you, ' said Laura. 

'And no one can stay at home, since Mary Ross is going, ' said Amy. 'Eveleen was always so fond of her, that she came and forced a promisefrom her by telling her she should come with mamma, and have notrouble. '

'You have not seen Allonby, ' said Laura. 'There are such Vandykes, andamong them, such a King Charles!'

'Is not that the picture, ' said Charles, 'before which Amy--'

'O don't, Charlie!'

'Was found dissolved in tears?'

'I could not help it, ' murmured Amy, blushing crimson. 

'There is all Charles's fate in his face, ' said Philip, --'earnest, melancholy, beautiful! It would stir the feelings--were it an unknownportrait. No, Amy, you need not be ashamed of your tears. '

But Amy turned away, doubly ashamed. 

'I hope it is not in the ball-room, ' said Guy. 

'No said Laura, 'it is in the library. '

Charlotte, whose absence had become perceptible from the generalquietness, here ran up with two envelopes, which she put into Guy'shands. One contained Lady Kilcoran's genuine card of invitation for SirGuy Morville, the other Charlotte had scribbled in haste for Mr. Bustle. 

This put an end to all rationality. Guy rose with a growl and a roar, and hunted her over half the field, till she was caught, and came backout of breath and screaming, 'We never had such a haymaking!'

'So I think the haymakers will say!' answered her mother, rising to goindoors. 'What ruin of haycocks!'

'Oh, I'll set all that to rights, ' said Guy, seizing a hay-fork. 

'Stop, stop, take care!' cried Charles. 'I don't want to be built up inthe rick, and by and by, when my disconsolate family have had all theponds dragged for me, Deloraine will be heard to complain that they givehim very odd animal food. '

'Who could resist such a piteous appeal!' said Guy, helping him to rise, and conducting him to his wheeled chair. The others followed, and when, shortly after, Laura looked out at her window, she saw Guy, with hiscoat off, toiling like a real haymaker, to build up the cocks in alltheir neat fairness and height, whistling meantime the 'Queen of theMay, ' and now and then singing a line. She watched the old cowman comeup, touching his hat, and looking less cross than usual; she saw Guy'sready greeting, and perceived they were comparing the forks and rakes, the pooks and cocks of their counties; and, finally, she beheld herfather ride into the field, and Guy spring to meet him. 

No one could have so returned to what was in effect a home, unless histime had been properly spent; and, in fact, all that Mr. Edmonstone orPhilip could hear of him, was so satisfactory, that Philip pronouncedthat the first stage of the trial had been passed irreproachably, andLaura felt and looked delighted at this sanction to the high estimationin which she held him. 

His own account of himself to Mrs. Edmonstone would not have beenequally satisfactory if she had not had something else to check it with. It was given by degrees, and at many different times, chiefly as theywalked round the garden in the twilight of the summer evenings, talkingover the many subjects mentioned in the letters which had passedconstantly. It seemed as if there were very few to whom Guy would evergive his confidence; but that once bestowed, it was with hardly anyreserve, and that was his great relief and satisfaction to pour out hiswhole mind, where he was sure of sympathy. 

To her, then, he confided how much provoked he was with himself, his'first term, ' he said, 'having only shown him what an intolerable foolhe had to keep in order. ' By his account, he could do nothing 'withoutturning his own head, except study, and that stupefied it. ' 'Never wasthere a more idle fellow; he could work himself for a given time, buthis sense would not second him; and was it not most absurd in him totake so little pleasure in what was his duty, and enjoy only what wasbad for him?'

He had tried boating, but it had distracted him from his work; so he hadbeen obliged to give it up, and had done so in a hasty vehement manner, which had caused offence, and for which he blamed himself. It hadbeen the same with other things, till he had left himself no regularrecreation but walking and music. 'The last, ' he said, 'might engrosshim in the same way; but he thought (here he hesitated a little) therewere higher ends for music, which made it come under Mrs. Edmonstone'srule, of a thing to be used guardedly, not disused. ' He had resumedlight reading, too, which he had nearly discontinued before he went toOxford. 'One wants something, ' he said, 'by way of refreshment, wherethere is no sea nor rock to look at, and no Laura and Amy to talk to. '

He had made one friend, a scholar of his own college, of the name ofWellwood. This name had been his attraction; Guy was bent on friendshipwith him; if, as he tried to make him out to be, he was the son of thatCaptain Wellwood whose death had weighed so heavily on his grandfather'sconscience, feeling almost as if it were his duty to ask forgiveness inhis grandfather's name, yet scarcely knowing how to venture on advancesto one to whom his name had such associations. However, they hadgradually drawn together, and at length entered on the subject, and Guythen found he was the nephew, not the son of Captain Wellwood; indeed, his former belief was founded on a miscalculation, as the duel hadtaken place twenty-eight years ago. He now heard all his grandfather hadwished to know of the family. There were two unmarried daughters, andtheir cousin spoke in the highest terms of their self-devoted life, promising what Guy much wished, that they should hear what deeprepentance had followed the crime which had made them fatherless. He wasto be a clergyman, and Guy admired him extremely, saying, however, thathe was so shy and retiring, it was hard to know him well. 

From not having been at school, and from other causes, Guy had made fewacquaintance; indeed, he amused Mrs. Edmonstone by fearing he had beenmorose. She was ready to tell him he was an ingenious self-tormentor;but she saw that the struggle to do right was the main spring ofthe happiness that beamed round him, in spite of his self-reproach, heart-felt as it was. She doubted whether persons more contented withthemselves were as truly joyous, and was convinced that, while thuscombating lesser temptations, the very shadow of what are generallyalone considered as real temptations would hardly come near him. 

If it had not been for these talks, and now and then a thoughtful look, she would have believed him one of the most light-hearted and merriestof beings. He was more full of glee and high spirits than she had everseen him; he seemed to fill the whole house with mirth, and keep everyone alive by his fun and frolic, as blithe and untiring as Maurice deCourcy himself, though not so wild. 

Very pleasant were those summer days--reading, walking, music, gardening. Did not they all work like very labourers at the new arbourin the midst of the laurels, where Charles might sit and see the spiresof Broadstone? Work they did, indeed! Charles looking on from hiswheeled chair, laughing to see Guy sawing as if for his living and Amyhammering gallantly, and Laura weaving osiers, and Charlotte flyingabout with messages. 

One day, they were startled by an exclamation from Charles. 'Ah, ha!Paddy, is that you?' and beheld the tall figure of a girl, advancingwith a rapid, springing step, holding up her riding habit with one hand, with the other whisking her coral-handled whip. There was somethingdistinguished in her air, and her features, though less fine thanLaura's, were very pretty, by the help of laughing dark blue eyes, andvery black hair, under her broad hat and little waving feather. Shethreatened Charles with her whip, calling out--'Aunt Edmonstone said Ishould find you here. What is the fun now?'

'Arbour building, ' said Charles; 'don't you see the head carpenter!'

'Sir Guy?' whispered she to Laura, looking up at him, where he wasmounted on the roof, thatching it with reed, the sunshine full on hisglowing face and white shirt sleeves. 

'Here!' said Charles, as Guy swung himself down with a bound, his facemuch redder than sun and work had already made it, 'here's another wildIrisher for you. '

'Sir Guy Morville--Lady Eveleen de Courcy, ' began Laura; but LadyEveleen cut her short, frankly holding out her hand, and saying, 'Youare almost a cousin, you know. Oh, don't leave off. Do give me somethingto do. That hammer, Amy, pray--Laura, don't you remember how dearly Ialways loved hammering?'

'How did you come?' said Laura. 

'With papa--'tis his visit to Sir Guy. 'No, don't go, ' as Guy began tolook for his coat; 'he is only impending. He is gone on to Broadstone, but he dropped me here, and will pick me up on his way back. Can't yougive me something to do on the top of that ladder? I should like itmightily; it looks so cool and airy. '

'How can you, Eva?' whispered Laura, reprovingly; but Lady Eveleen onlyshook her head at her, and declaring she saw a dangerous nail stickingout, began to hammer it in with such good will, that Charles stopped hisears, and told her it was worse than her tongue. 'Go on about the ball, do. '

'Oh, ' said she earnestly, 'do you think there is any hope of CaptainMorville's coming?'

'Oh yes, ' said Laura. 

'I am so glad! That is what papa is gone to Broadstone about. Mauricesaid he had given him such a lecture, that he would not be the one tothink of asking him, and papa must do it himself; for if he sets hisface against it, it will spoil it all. '

'You may make your mind easy, ' said Charles, 'the captain is lenient, and looks on the ball as a mere development of Irish nature. He has beenconsoling Guy on the difficulties of dancing. '

'Can't you dance?' said Lady Eveleen, looking at him with compassion. 

'Such is my melancholy ignorance, ' said Guy. 

'We have been talking of teaching him, ' said Laura. 

'Talk! will that do it?' cried Lady Eveleen, springing up. 'We willbegin this moment. Come out on the lawn. Here, Charles, ' wheeling himalong, 'No, thank you, I like it, ' as Guy was going to help her. 'There, Charles, be fiddler go on, tum-tum, tee! that'll do. Amy, Laura, beladies. I'm the other gentleman, ' and she stuck on her hat in militarystyle, giving it a cock. She actually set them quadrilling in spite ofadverse circumstances, dancing better, in her habit, than most peoplewithout one, till Lord Kilcoran arrived. 

While he was making his visit, she walked a little apart, arm-in-armwith Laura. 'I like him very much, ' she said; 'he looks up to anything. I had heard so much of his steadiness, that it is a great relief to mymind to see him so unlike his cousin. '

'Eveleen!'

'No disparagement to the captain, only I am so dreadfully afraid of him. I am sure he thinks me such an unmitigated goose. Now, doesn't he?'

'If you would but take the right way to make him think otherwise, dearEva, and show the sense you really have. '

'That is just what my fear of him won't let me do. I would not for theworld let him guess it, so there is nothing for it but sauciness tocover one's weakness. I can't be sensible with those that won't giveme credit for it. But you'll mind and teach Sir Guy to dance; he has somuch spring in him, he deserves to be an Irishman. '

In compliance with this injunction, there used to be a clearanceevery evening; Charles turned into the bay window out of the way, Mrs. Edmonstone at the piano, and the rest figuring away, the partnerlessone, called 'puss in the corner', being generally Amabel, whileCharlotte, disdaining them all the time, used to try to make themimitate her dancing-master's graces, causing her father to perform suchcaricatures of them, as to overpower all with laughing. 

Mr. Edmonstone was half Irish. His mother, Lady Mabel Edmonstone, hadnever thoroughly taken root in England, and on his marriage, had gonewith her daughter to live near her old home in Ireland. The present Earlof Kilcoran was her nephew, and a very close intercourse had always beenkept up between the families, Mr. And Mrs. Edmonstone being adopted bytheir younger cousins as uncle and aunt, and always so called. 

The house at Allonby was in such confusion, that the family thereexpected to dine nowhere on the day of the ball, and the Hollywell partythought it prudent to secure their dinner at home, with Philip and MaryRoss, who were to go with them. 

By special desire, Philip wore his uniform; and while the sisters weredressing Charlotte gave him a thorough examination, which led to a talkbetween him and Mary on accoutrements and weapons in general; but whiledeep in some points of chivalrous armour, Mary's waist was pinchedby two mischievous hands, and a little fluttering white figure dancedaround her. 

'O Amy! what do you want with me?'

'Come and be trimmed up, ' said Amy. 

'I thought you told me I was to have no trouble. I am dressed, ' saidMary, looking complacently at her full folds of white muslin. 

'No more you shall; but you promised to do as you were told. ' And Amyfluttered away with her. 

'Do you remember, ' said Philip, 'the comparison of Rose Flammockdragging off her father, to a little carved cherub trying to uplift asolid monumental hero?'

'O, I must tell Mary!' cried Charlotte; but Philip stopped her, withorders not to be a silly child. 

'It is a pity Amy should not have her share, ' said Charles. 

'The comparison to a Dutch cherub?' asked Guy. 

'She is more after the pattern of the little things on little wings, inyour blotting-book, ' said Charles; 'certain lines in the predicament ofthe cherubs of painters--heads "et proeterea nihil". '

'O Guy, do you write verses? cried Charlotte. 

'Some nonsense, ' muttered Guy, out of countenance; 'I thought I had madeaway with that rubbish; where is it?'

'In the blotting-book in my room, ' said Charles. 'I must explain thatthe book is my property, and was put into your room when mamma wasbeautifying it for you, as new and strange company. On its return to me, at your departure, I discovered a great accession of blots and sailingvessels, beside the aforesaid little things. '

'I shall resume my own property, ' said Guy, departing in haste. 

Charlotte ran after him, to beg for a sight of it; and Philip askedCharles what it was like. 

'A romantic incident, ' said Charles, 'just fit for a novel. A Petrarchleaving his poems about in blotting-books. '

Charles used the word Petrarch to stand for a poet, not thinking whatlady's name he suggested; and he was surprised at the severity ofPhilip's tone as he inquired, 'Do you mean anything, or do you not?'

Perceiving with delight that he had perplexed and teased, he rejoiced inkeeping up the mystery:

'Eh? is it a tender subject with you, too?'

Philip rose, and standing over him, said, in a low but impressive tone:

'I cannot tell whether you are trifling or not; but you are no boy now, and can surely see that this is no subject to be played with. If you areconcealing anything you have discovered, you have a great deal to answerfor. I can hardly imagine anything more unfortunate than that he shouldbecome attached to either of your sisters. '

'Et pourquoi?' asked Charles, coolly. 

'I see, ' said Philip, retreating to his chair, and speaking with greatcomposure, 'I did you injustice by speaking seriously. ' Then, as hisuncle came into the room, he asked some indifferent question, withoutbetraying a shade of annoyance. 

Charles meanwhile congratulated himself on his valour in keeping hiscounsel, in spite of so tall a man in scarlet; but he was much nettledat the last speech, for if a real attachment to his sister had beenin question, he would never have trifled about it. Keenly alive to hiscousin's injustice, he rejoiced in having provoked and mystified theimpassable, though he little knew the storm he had raised beneath thatserene exterior of perfect self-command. 

The carriages were announced, and Mr. Edmonstone began to call theladies, adding tenfold to the confusion in the dressing-room. There wasLaura being completed by the lady's maid, Amabel embellishing Mary, Mrs. Edmonstone with her arm loaded with shawls, Charlotte flourishing about. Poor Mary--it was much against her will--but she had no heart to refusethe wreath of geraniums that Amy's own hands had woven for her; andthere she sat, passive as a doll, though in despair at their all waitingfor her. For Laura's toilette was finished, and every one began dressingher at once; while Charlotte, to make it better, screamed over thebalusters that all were ready but Mary. Sir Guy was heard playing the'Harmonious Blacksmith, ' and Captain Morville's step was heard, fast andfirm. At last, when a long chain was put round her neck, she cried out, 'I have submitted to everything so far; I can bear no more!' jumpedup, caught hold of her shawl, and was putting it on, when there was ageneral outcry that they must exhibit themselves to Charles. 

They all ran down, and Amy, flying up to her brother, made a splendidsweeping curtsey, and twirled round in a pirouette. 

'Got up, regardless of expense!' cried Charles; 'display yourselves. '

The young ladies ranged themselves in imitation of the book of fashions. The sisters were in white, with wreaths of starry jessamine. It wasparticularly becoming to Laura's bella-donna lily complexion, rich browncurls, and classical features, and her brother exclaimed:

'Laura is exactly like Apollo playing the lyre, outside mamma's oldmanuscript book of music. '

'Has not Amy made beautiful wreaths?' said Laura. 'She stripped thetree, and Guy had to fetch the ladder, to gather the sprays on the topof the wall. '

'Do you see your bit of myrtle, Guy, ' said Amy, pointing to it, onLaura's head, 'that you tried to persuade me would pass for jessamine?'

'Ah! it should have been all myrtle, ' said Guy. 

Philip leant meantime against the door. Laura only once glanced towardshim, thinking all this too trifling for him, and never imagining theintense interest with which he gave a meaning to each word and look. 

'Well done, Mary!' cried Charles, 'they have furbished you uphandsomely. '

Mary made a face, and said she should wonder who was the fashionableyoung lady she should meet in the pier-glasses at Allonby. Then Mr. Edmonstone hurried them away, and they arrived in due time. 

The saloon at Allonby was a beautiful room, one end opening into aconservatory, full of coloured lamps, fresh green leaves, and hot-houseplants. There they found as yet only the home party, the good-natured, merry Lord Kilcoran, his quiet English wife, who had bad health, andlooked hardly equal to the confusion of the evening; Maurice, and twoyounger boys; Eveleen, and her two little sisters, Mabel and Helen. 

'This makes it hard on Charlotte, ' thought Amy, while the two girlsdragged her off to show her the lamps in the conservatory; and the restattacked Mrs. Edmonstone for not having brought Charlotte, reproachingher with hardness of heart of which they had never believed hercapable--Lady Eveleen, in especial, talking with that exaggeration ofher ordinary manner which her dread of Captain Morville made her assume. Little he recked of her; he was absorbed in observing how far Laura'sconduct coincided with Charles's hints. On the first opportunity, heasked her to dance, and was satisfied with her pleased acquiescence;but the next moment Guy came up, and in an eager manner made the samerequest. 

'I am engaged, ' said she, with a bright, proud glance at Philip; and Guypursued Amabel into the conservatory, where he met with better success. Mr. Edmonstone gallantly asked Mary if he was too old a partner, and wassoon dancing with the step and spring that had once made him the bestdancer in the county. 

Mrs. Edmonstone watched her flock, proud and pleased, thinking how wellthey looked and that, in especial, she had never been sensible how muchLaura's and Philip's good looks excelled the rest of the world. Theywere much alike in the remarkable symmetry both of figure and feature, the colour of the deep blue eye, and fairness of complexion. 

'It is curious, ' thought Mrs. Edmonstone, 'that, so very handsome asPhilip is, it is never the first thing remarked about him, just as hisheight never is observed till he is compared with other people. The factis, that his superior sense carries off a degree of beauty whichwould be a misfortune to most men. It is that sedate expression anddistinguished air that make the impression. How happy Laura looks, howgracefully she moves. No, it is not being foolish to think no one equalto Laura. My other pair!' and she smiled much more; 'you happy youngthings, I would not wish to see anything pleasanter than your merryfaces. Little Amy looks almost as pretty as Laura, now she is lightedup by blush and smile, and her dancing is very nice, it is just like herlaughing, so quiet, and yet so full of glee. I don't think she is lessgraceful than her sister, but the complete enjoyment strikes one more. And as to enjoyment--there are those bright eyes of her partner'sperfectly sparkling with delight; he looks as if it was a world ofenchantment to him. Never had any one a greater capacity for happinessthan Guy. '

Mrs. Edmonstone might well retain her opinion when, after the quadrille, Guy came to tell her that he had never seen anything so delightful; andhe entertained Mary Ross with his fresh, joyous pleasure, through thenext dance. 

'Laura, ' whispered Eveleen, 'I've one ambition. Do you guess it? Don'ttell him; but if he would, I should have a better opinion of myself everafter. I'm afraid he'll depreciate me to his friend; and really with Mr. Thorndale, I was no more foolish than a ball requires. '

Lady Eveleen hoped in vain. Captain Morville danced with little LadyHelen, a child of eleven, who was enchanted at having so tall a partner;then, after standing still for some time, chose his cousin Amabel. 

'You are a good partner and neighbour, ' said he, giving her his arm, 'you don't want young lady talk. '

'Should you not have asked Mary? She has been sitting down this longtime. '

'Do you think she cares for such a sport as dancing?'

Amy made no answer. 

'You have been well off. You were dancing with Thorndale just now. '

'Yes. It was refreshing to have an old acquaintance among so manystrangers. And he is so delighted with Eveleen; but what is more, Philip, that Mr. Vernon, who is dancing with Laura, told Maurice hethought her the prettiest and most elegant person here. '

'Laura might have higher praise, ' said Philip, 'for hers is beauty ofcountenance even more than of feature. If only--'

'If?' said Amy. 

'Look round, Amy, and you will see many a face which speaks of intellectwasted, or, if cultivated, turned aside from its true purpose, like thedouble blossom, which bears leaves alone. '

'Ah! you forget you are talking to silly little Amy. I can't see allthat. I had rather think people as happy and good as they look. '

'Keep your child-like temper as long as you can--all your life, 'perhaps, for this is one of the points where it is folly to be wise. '

'Then you only meant things in general? Nothing about Laura?'

'Things in general, ' repeated Philip; 'bright promises blighted orthrown away--'

But he spoke absently, and his eye was following Laura. Amy thought hewas thinking of his sister, and was sorry for him. He spoke no more, butshe did not regret it, for she could not moralize in such a scene, andthe sight and the dancing were pleasure enough. 

Guy, in the meantime, had met an Oxford acquaintance, who introduced himto his sisters--pretty girls--whose father Mr. Edmonstone knew, butwho was rather out of the Hollywell visiting distance. They fell intoconversation quickly, and the Miss Alstons asked him with some interest, 'Which was the pretty Miss Edmonstone?' Guy looked for the sisters, asif to make up his mind, for the fact was, that when he first knew Lauraand Amy, the idea of criticising beauty had not entered his mind, andto compare them was quite a new notion. 'Nay, ' said he at last, 'if youcannot discover for yourselves when they are both before your eyes, Iwill do nothing so invidious as to say which is _the_ pretty one. I'lltell which is the eldest and which the youngest, but the rest you mustdecide for yourself. '

'I should like to know them, ' said Miss Alston. 'Oh! they are both verynice-looking girls. '

'There, that is Laura--Miss Edmonstone, ' said Guy, 'that tall younglady, with the beautiful hair and jessamine wreath. '

He spoke as if he was proud of her, and had a property in her. The tonedid not escape Philip, who at that moment was close to them, with Amyon his arm; and, knowing the Alstons slightly, stopped and spoke, andintroduced his cousin, Miss Amabel Edmonstone. At the same time Guy tookone of the Miss Alstons away to get some tea. 

'So you knew my cousin at Oxford?' said Philip, to the brother. 

'Yes, slightly. What an amusing fellow he is!'

'There is something very bright, very unlike other people about him, 'said Miss Alston. 

'How does he get on? Is he liked?'

'Why, yes, I should say so, on the whole; but it is rather as my sistersays, he is not like other people. '

'In what respect?'

'Oh I can hardly tell. He is a very pleasant person, but he ought tohave been at school. He is a man of crotchets. '

'Hard-working?'

'Very; he makes everything give way to that. He is a capital companionwhen he is to be had, but he lives very much to himself. He is a man ofone friend, and I don't see much of him. '

Another dance began, Mr. Alston went to look for his partner, Philip andAmy moved on in search of ice. 'Hum!' said Philip to himself, causingAmy to gaze up at him, but he was musing too intently for her to ventureon a remark. She was thinking that she did not wonder that strangersdeemed Guy crotchety, since he was so difficult to understand; and thenshe considered whether to take him to see King Charles, in the library, and concluded that she would wait, for she felt as if the martyr king'sface would look on her too gravely to suit her present tone. 

Philip helped her to ice, and brought her back to her mother'sneighbourhood without many more words. He then stood thoughtful for sometime, entered into conversation with one of the elder gentlemen, and, when that was interrupted, turned to talk to his aunt. 

Lady Eveleen and her two cousins were for a moment together. 'What isthe matter, Eva?' said Amy, seeing a sort of dissatisfaction on herbright face. 

'The roc's egg?' said Laura, smiling. 'The queen of the evening can't becontent--'

'No; you are the queen, if the one thing can make you so--the one thingwanting to me. '

'How absurd you are, Eva--when you say you are so afraid of him, too. '

'That is the very reason. I should get a better opinion of myself!Besides, there is nobody else so handsome. I declare I'll make a boldattempt. '

'Oh! you don't think of such a thing, ' cried Laura, very much shocked. 

'Never fear, ' said Eveleen, 'faint heart, you know. ' And with a nod, aflourish, of her bouquet, and an arch smile at her cousin's horror, she moved on, and presently they heard her exclaiming, gaily, 'CaptainMorville, I really must scold you. You are setting a shocking exampleof laziness! Aunt Edmonstone, how can you encourage such proceedings!Indolence is the parent of vice, you know. '

Philip smiled just as much as the occasion required, and answered, 'Ibeg your pardon, I had forgotten my duty. I'll attend to my businessbetter in future. ' And turning to a small, shy damsel, who seldom metwith a partner, he asked her to dance. Eveleen came back to Laura witha droll disappointed gesture. 'Insult to injury, ' said she, disconsolately. 

'Of course, ' said Amy, 'he could not have thought you wanted to dancewith him, or you would not have gone to stir him up. '

'Well, then, he was very obtuse. '

'Besides, you are engaged. '

'O yes, to Mr. Thorndale! But who would be content with the squire whenthe knight disdains her?'

Mr. Thorndale came to claim Eveleen at that moment. It was the secondtime she had danced with him, and it did not pass unobserved by Philip, nor the long walk up and down after the dance was over. At length hisfriend came up to him and said something warm in admiration of her. 'She is very Irish, ' was Philip's answer, with a cold smile, and Mr. Thorndale stood uncomfortable under the disapprobation, attracted byEveleen's beauty and grace, yet so unused to trust his own judgmentapart from 'Morville's, ' as to be in an instant doubtful whether hereally admired or not. 

'You have not been dancing with her?' he said, presently. 

'No: she attracts too many to need the attention of a nobody likemyself. '

That 'too many, ' seeming to confound him with the vulgar herd, made Mr. Thorndale heartily ashamed of having been pleased with her. 

Philip was easy about him for the present, satisfied that admiration hadbeen checked, which, if it had been allowed to grow into an attachment, would have been very undesirable. 

The suspicions Charles had excited were so full in Philip's mind, however, that he could not as easily set it at rest respecting hiscousin. Guy had three times asked her to dance, but each time she hadbeen engaged. At last, just as the clock struck the hour at which thecarriage had been ordered, he came up, and impetuously claimed her. 'Onequadrille we must have, Laura, if you are not tired?'

'No! Oh, no! I could dance till this time to-morrow. '

'We ought to be going, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'O pray, Mrs. Edmonstone, this one more, ' cried Guy, eagerly. 'Lauraowes me this one. '

'Yes, this one more, mamma, ' said Laura, and they went off together, while Philip remained, in a reverie, till requested by his aunt to seeif the carriage was ready. 

The dance was over, the carriage was waiting, but Guy and Laura did notappear till, after two or three minutes spent in wonder and inquiries, they came quietly walking back from the library, where they had beenlooking at King Charles. 

All the way home the four ladies in the carriage never ceased laughingand talking. The three gentlemen in theirs acted diversely. Mr. Edmonstone went to sleep, Philip sat in silent thought, Guy whistledand hummed the tunes, and moved his foot very much as if he was stilldancing. 

They met for a moment, and parted again in the hall at Hollywell, wherethe daylight was striving to get in through the closed shutters. Philipwent on to Broadstone, Guy said he could not go to bed by daylight, called Bustle, and went to the river to bathe, and the rest creptupstairs to their rooms. And so ended Lord Kilcoran's ball. 

CHAPTER 8

 Like Alexander, I will reign, And I will reign alone, My thoughts shall ever more disdain A rival near my throne. But I must rule and govern still, And always give the law, And have each subject at my will, And all to stand in awe. --MONTROSE. 

One very hot afternoon, shortly after the ball, Captain Morville walkedto Hollywell, accelerating his pace under the influence of anxiousreflections. 

He could not determine whether Charles had spoken in jest; but in spiteof Guy's extreme youth, he feared there was ground for the suspicionexcited by the hint, and was persuaded that such an attachment couldproduce nothing but unhappiness to his cousin, considering how littleconfidence could be placed in Guy. He perceived that there was much toinspire affection--attractive qualities, amiable disposition, the talentfor music, and now this recently discovered power of versifying, allwere in Guy's favour, besides the ancient name and long ancestry, whichconferred a romantic interest, and caused even Philip to look up to himwith a feudal feeling as head of the family. There was also the familiarintercourse to increase the danger; and Philip, as he reflected on thesethings, trembled for Laura, and felt himself her only protector; for hisuncle was nobody, Mrs. Edmonstone was infatuated, and Charles would notlisten to reason. To make everything worse, he had that morningheard that there was to be a grand inspection of the regiment, and apresentation of colours; Colonel Deane was very anxious; and it wasplain that in the interval the officers would be allowed littleleisure. The whole affair was to end with a ball, which would lead to arepetition of what had already disturbed him. 

Thus meditating, Philip, heated and dusty, walked into the smooth greenenclosure of Hollywell. Everything, save the dancing clouds ofinsect youth which whirled in his face, was drooping in the heat. Thehouse--every door and window opened--seemed gasping for breath; thecows sought refuge in the shade; the pony drooped its head drowsily; theleaves hung wearily; the flowers were faint and thirsty; and Bustle wasstretched on the stone steps, mouth open, tongue out, only his tail nowand then moving, till he put back his ears and crested his head to greetthe arrival. Philip heard the sounds that had caused the motion of thesympathizing tail--the rich tones of Guy's voice. Stepping over the dog, he entered, and heard more clearly--

 'Two loving hearts may sever, For sorrow fails them never. '

And then another voice--

 'Who knows not love in sorrow's night, He knows not love in light. '

In the drawing-room, cool and comfortable in the green shade of theVenetian blinds of the bay window, stood Laura, leaning on the piano, close to Guy, who sat on the music-stool, looking thoroughly at home inhis brown shooting-coat, and loosely-tied handkerchief. 

Any one but Philip would have been out of temper, but he shook handsas cordially as usual, and would not even be the first to remark on theheat. 

Laura told him he looked hot and tired, and invited him to come out tothe others, and cool himself on the lawn. She went for her parasol, Guyran for her camp stool, and Philip, going to the piano, read what theyhad been singing. The lines were in Laura's writing, corrected, here andthere, in Guy's hand. 

 BE STEADFAST. 

 Two loving hearts may sever, Yet love shall fail them never. Love brightest beams in sorrow's night, Love is of life the light. 

 Two loving hearts may sever, Yet hope shall fail them never. Hope is a star in sorrow's night, Forget-me-not of light. 

 Two loving hearts may sever, Yet faith may fail them never. Trust on through sorrow's night, Faith is of love and hope the light. 

 Two loving hearts may sever, For sorrow fails them never. Who knows not love in sorrow's night, He knows not love in light. 

Philip was by no means pleased. However, it was in anything but asentimental manner that Guy, looking over him, said, 'For sever, read, be separated, but "a" wouldn't rhyme. '

'I translated it into prose, and Guy made it verse, ' said Laura; 'I hopeyou approve of our performance. '

'It is that thing of Helmine von Chezy, "Beharre", is it not?' saidPhilip, particularly civil, because he was so much annoyed. 'You haverendered the spirit very well', but you have sacrificed a good deal toyour double rhymes. '

'Yes; those last lines are not troubled with any equality of feet, ' saidGuy; 'but the repetition is half the beauty. It put me in mind of thoselines of Burns--

 "Had we never loved so kindly, Had we never loved so blindly, Never met and never parted, We had ne'er been broken hearted;"

but there is a trust in these that is more touching than that despair. '

'Yes; the despair is ready, to wish the love had never been, ' saidLaura. 'It does not see the star of trust. Why did you use that word"trust" only once, Guy?'

'I did not want to lose the three--faith, hope, love, --faith keeping theother two alive. '

'My doubt was whether it was right to have that analogy. '

'Surely, ' said Guy, eagerly, 'that analogy must be the best part ofearthly love. '

Here Charlotte came to see if Guy and Laura meant to sing all theafternoon; and they went out. They found the others in the arbour, and Charlotte's histories of its construction, gave Philip littlesatisfaction. They next proceeded to talk over the ball. 

'Ah!' said Philip, 'balls are the fashion just now. What do you say, Amy, [he was more inclined to patronize her than any one else] to thegaieties we are going to provide for you?'

'You! Are you going to have your new colours? Oh! you are not going togive us a ball?'

'Well! that is fun!' cried Guy. 'What glory Maurice de Courcy must bein!'

'He is gone to Allonby, ' said Philip, 'to announce it; saying, he mustpersuade his father to put off their going to Brighton. Do you think hewill succeed?'

'Hardly, ' said Laura; 'poor Lady Kilcoran was so knocked up by theirball, that she is the more in want of sea air. Oh, mamma, Eva must comeand stay here. '

'That she must, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'that will make it easy. She isthe only one who will care about the ball. '

Philip was obliged to conceal his vexation, and to answer the many eagerquestions about the arrangements. He stayed to dinner, and as the otherswent in-doors to dress, he lingered near Charlotte, assuming, with somedifficulty, an air of indifference, and said--'Well, Charlotte, did youtease Guy into showing you those verses?'

'Oh yes, ' said Charlotte, with what the French call "un air capable". '

'Well, what were they?'

'That I mustn't tell. They were very pretty; but I've promised. '

'Promised what?'

'Never to say anything about them. He made it a condition with me, and Iassure you, I am to be trusted. '

'Right, ' said Philip; 'I'll ask no more. '

'It would be of no use, ' said Charlotte, shaking her head, as if shewished he would prove her further. 

Philip was in hopes of being able to speak to Laura after dinner, but his uncle wanted him to come and look over the plans of an estateadjoining Redclyffe, which there was some idea of purchasing. Such anemployment would in general have been congenial; but on this occasion, it was only by a strong force that he could chain his attention, forGuy was pacing the terrace with Laura and Amabel, and as they passed andrepassed the window, he now and then caught sounds of repeating poetry. 

In this Guy excelled. He did not read aloud well; he was too rapid, andeyes and thoughts were apt to travel still faster than the lips, thusproducing a confusion; but no one could recite better when a passage hadtaken strong hold of his imagination, and he gave it the full effectof the modulations of his fine voice, conveying in its inflections theimpressions which stirred him profoundly. He was just now enchantedwith his first reading of 'Thalaba, ' where he found all manner of deepmeanings, to which the sisters listened with wonder and delight. Herepeated, in a low, awful, thrilling tone, that made Amy shudder, thelines in the seventh book, ending with--

 "Who comes from the bridal chamber! It is Azrael, angel of death. "'

'You have not been so taken up with any book since Sintram. ' said Laura. 

'It is like Sintram, ' he replied. 

'Like it?'

'So it seems to me. A strife with the powers of darkness; the victory, forgiveness, resignation, death. 

 "Thou know'st the secret wishes of my heart, Do with me as thou wilt, thy will is best. "'

'I wish you would not speak as if you were Thalaba yourself, ' said Amy, 'you bring the whole Domdaniel round us. '

'I am afraid he is going to believe himself Thalaba as well as Sintram, 'said Laura. 'But you know Southey did not see all this himself, and didnot understand it when it was pointed out. '

'Don't tell us that, ' said Amy. 

'Nay; I think there is something striking in it, ' said Guy then, with asudden transition, 'but is not this ball famous?'

And their talk was of balls and reviews till nine o'clock, when theywere summoned to tea. 

On the whole, Philip returned to Broadstone by no means comforted. 

Never had he known so much difficulty in attending with patience to hisduties as in the course of the next fortnight. They became a greaterdurance, as he at length looked his feelings full in the face, andbecame aware of their true nature. 

He perceived that the loss of Laura would darken his whole existence;yet he thought that, were he only secure of her happiness, he could haveresigned her in silence. Guy was, however, one of the last men in theworld whom he could bear to see in possession of her; and probablyshe was allowing herself to be entangled, if not in heart, at least inmanner. If so, she should not be unwarned. He had been her guide fromchildhood, and he would not fail her now. 

Three days before the review, he succeeded in finding time for a walk toHollywell, not fully decided on the part he should act, though resolvedon making some remonstrance. He was crossing a stile, about a mile and ahalf from Hollywell, when he saw a lady sitting on the stump of a tree, sketching, and found that fate had been so propitious as to send Laurathither alone. The rest had gone to gather mushrooms on a down, and hadleft her sketching the view of the spires of Broadstone, in the cleftbetween the high green hills. She was very glad to see him, and held upher purple and olive washes to be criticised; but he did not pay muchattention to them. He was almost confused at the sudden manner in whichthe opportunity for speaking had presented itself. 

'It is a long time since I have seen you, ' said he, at last. 

'An unheard-of time. '

'Still longer since we have had any conversation. '

'I was just thinking so. Not since that hot hay-making, when Guy camehome. Indeed, we have had so much amusement lately that I have hardlyhad time for thought. Guy says we are all growing dissipated. '

'Ah! your German, and dancing, and music, do not agree with thought. '

'Poor music!' said Laura, smiling. 'But I am ready for a lecture; I havebeen feeling more like a butterfly than I like. '

'I know you think me unjust about music, and I freely confess that Icannot estimate the pleasure it affords, but I doubt whether it is asafe pleasure. It forms common ground for persons who would otherwisehave little in common, and leads to intimacies which occasion resultsnever looked for. '

'Yes, ' said Laura, receiving it as a general maxim. 

'Laura, you complain of feeling like a butterfly. Is not that a signthat you were made for better things?'

'But what can I do? I try to read early and at night, but I can'tprevent the fun and gaiety; and, indeed, I don't think I would. It isinnocent, and we never had such a pleasant summer. Charlie is so--somuch more equable, and mamma is more easy about him, and I can't helpthinking it does them all good, though I do feel idle. '

'It is innocent, it is right for a little while, ' said Philip; 'but yourdissatisfaction proves that you are superior to such things. Laura, whatI fear is, that this summer holiday may entangle you, and so fix yourfate as to render your life no holiday. O Laura take care; know what youare doing!'

'What am I doing?' asked Laura, with an alarmed look of ingenuoussurprise. 

Never had it been so hard to maintain his composure as now, when hersimplicity forced him to come to plainer terms. 'I must speak, ' hecontinued, 'because no one else will. Have you reflected whither thismay tend? This music, this versifying, this admitting a stranger sounreservedly into your pursuits?'

She understood now, and hung her head. He would have given worlds tojudge of the face hidden by her bonnet; but as she did not reply, he spoke on, his agitation becoming so strong, that the struggle wasperceptible in the forced calmness of his tone. 'I would not say a wordif he were worthy, but Laura--Laura, I have seen Locksley Hall actedonce; do not let me see it again in a way which--which would give meinfinitely more pain. '

The faltering of his voice, so resolutely subdued, touched, herextremely, and a thrill of exquisite pleasure glanced through her, onhearing confirmed what she had long felt, that she had taken Margaret'splace--nay, as she now learnt, that she was even more precious to him. She only thought of reassuring him. 

'No, you need never fear _that_. He has no such thought, I am sure. 'She blushed deeply, but looked in his face. 'He treats us both alike, besides, he is so young. '

'The mischief is not done, ' said Philip, trying to resume his usualtone; 'I only meant to speak in time. You might let your manner go toofar; you might even allow your affections to be involved without knowingit, if you were not on your guard. '

'Never!' said Laura. 'Oh, no; I could never dream of that with Guy. Ilike Guy very much; I think better of him than you do; but oh no; hecould never be my first and best; I could never care for him in _that_way. How could you think so, Philip?'

'Laura, I cannot but look on you with what may seem over-solicitude. Since I lost Fanny, and worse than lost Margaret, you have been myhome; my first, my most precious interest. O Laura!' and he did not evenattempt to conceal the trembling and tenderness of his voice, 'could Ibear to lose you, to see you thrown away or changed--you, dearest, bestof all?'

Laura did not turn away her head this time, but raising her beautifulface, glowing with such a look as had never beamed there before, whiletears rose to her eyes, she said, 'Don't speak of my changing towardsyou. I never could; for if there is anything to care for in me, it isyou that have taught it to me. '

If ever face plainly told another that he was her first and best, Laura's did so now. Away went misgivings, and he looked at her inhappiness too great for speech, at least, he could not speak till hehad mastered his emotion, but his countenance was sufficient reply. Eventhen, in the midst of this flood of ecstasy, came the thought, 'Whathave I done?'

He had gone further than he had ever intended. It was a positive avowalof love; and what would ensue? Cessation of intercourse with her, endless vexations, the displeasure of her family, loss of influence, contempt, and from Mr. Edmonstone, for the pretensions of a pennilesssoldier. His joy was too great to be damped, but it was renderedcautious. 'Laura, my own!' (what delight the words gave her, ) 'you havemade me very happy. We know each other now, and trust each other forever. '

'O yes, yes; nothing can alter what has grown up with us. '

'It is for ever!' repeated Philip. 'But, Laura, let us be content withour own knowledge of what we are to each other. Do not let us call inothers to see our happiness. '

Laura looked surprised, for she always considered any communicationabout his private feelings too sacred to be repeated, and wondered heshould think the injunction necessary. 'I never can bear to talk aboutthe best kinds of happiness, ' said she; 'but oh!' and she sprang up, 'here they come. '

Poor Mrs. Edmonstone, as she walked back from her mushroom-field, shelittle guessed that words had been spoken which would give the colouringto her daughter's whole life--she little guessed that her much-loved andesteemed nephew had betrayed her confidence! As she and the girls cameup, Philip advanced to meet them, that Laura might have a few moments torecover, while with an effort he kept himself from appearing absent inthe conversation that ensued. It was brief, for having answered somequestions with regard to the doings on the important day, he said, thatsince he had met them he would not come on to Hollywell, and bade themfarewell, giving Laura a pressure of the hand which renewed the glow onher face. 

He walked back, trying to look through the dazzling haze of joy so asto see his situation clearly. It was impossible for him not to perceivethat there had been an absolute declaration of affection, and that hehad established a private understanding with his cousin. It was not, however, an engagement, nor did he at present desire to make it so. It was impossible for him as yet to marry, and he was content to waitwithout a promise, since that could not add to his entire reliance onLaura. He could not bear to be rejected by her parents: he knew hispoverty would be the sole ground of objection, and he was not asking herto share it. He believed sincerely that a long, lingering attachment tohimself would be more for her good than a marriage with one who wouldhave been a high prize for worldly aims, and was satisfied that bywinning her heart he had taken the only sure means of securing her frombecoming attached to Guy, while secrecy was the only way of preservinghis intercourse with her on the same footing, and exerting his influenceover the family. 

It was calmly reflected, for Philip's love was tranquil, though deep andsteady, and the rather sought to preserve Laura as she was than tomake her anything more; and this very calmness contributed to hisself-deception on this first occasion that he had ever actually swervedfrom the path of right. 

With an uncomfortable sensation, he met Guy riding home from his tutor, entirely unsuspicious. He stopped and talked of the preparations atBroadstone, where he had been over the ground with Maurice de Courcy, and had heard the band. 

'What did you think of it? said Philip, absently. 

'They _should_ keep better time! Really, Philip, there is one fellowwith a bugle that ought to be flogged every day of his life!' said Guy, making a droll, excruciated face. 

How a few words can change the whole current of ideas. The band wasconnected with Philip, therefore he could not bear to hear it foundfault with, and adduced some one's opinion that the man in question wasone of the best of their musicians. 

Guy could not help shrugging his shoulders, as he laughed, andsaid, --'Then I shall be obliged to take to my heels if I meet the rest. Good-bye. '

'How conceited they have made that boy about his fine ear, ' thoughtPhilip. 'I wonder he is not ashamed to parade his music, consideringwhence it is derived. '

CHAPTER 9

 Ah! county Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark, his lay, who thrilled all day, Sits hushed, his partner nigh, Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, But where is county Guy? --SCOTT

How was it meantime with Laura? The others were laughing and talkinground her, but all seemed lost in the transcendent beam that had shoneout on her. To be told by Philip that she was all to him that he hadalways been to her! This one idea pervaded her--too glorious, too happyfor utterance, almost for distinct thought. The softening of his voice, and the look with which he had regarded her, recurred again and again, startling her with a sudden surprise of joy almost as at the firstmoment. Of the future Laura thought not. Never had a promise of lovebeen made with less knowledge of what it amounted to: it seemed merelyan expression of sentiments that she had never been without; for had shenot always looked up to Philip more than any other living creature, and gloried in being his favourite cousin? Ever since the time whenhe explained to her the plates in the Encyclopaedia, and made her read'Joyce's Scientific Dialogues, ' when Amy took fright at the first page. That this might lead further did not occur to her; she was eighteen, she had no experience, not even in novels, she did not know what shehad done; and above all, she had so leant to surrender her opinionsto Philip, and to believe him always right, that she would never havedreamt of questioning wherever he might choose to lead her. Even thecaution of secrecy did not alarm her, though she wondered that hethought it required, safe as his confidence always was with her. Mrs. Edmonstone had been so much occupied by Charles's illness, as to havebeen unable to attend to her daughters in their girlish days; and inthe governess's time the habit had been disused of flying at once to herwith every joy or grief. Laura's thoughts were not easy of access, andPhilip had long been all in all to her. She was too ignorant of life toperceive that it was her duty to make this conversation known; or, moretruly, she did not awaken her mind to consider that anything could bewrong that Philip desired. 

On coming home, she ran up to her own room, and sitting by the openwindow, gave herself up to that delicious dream of new-found joy. 

There she still sat when Amy came in, opening the door softly, andtreading lightly and airily as she entered, bringing two or three rosesof different tints. 

'Laura! not begun to dress?'

'Is it time?'

'Shall I answer you according to what Philip calls my note of time, andtell you the pimpernels are closed, and the tigridias dropping theirleaves? It would be a proper answer for you; you look as if you were inFairy Land. '

'Is papa come home?'

'Long ago! and Guy too. Why, where could you have been, not to haveheard Guy and Eveleen singing the Irish melodies?'

'In a trance, ' said Laura, starting up, and laughing, with a slightdegree of constraint, which caused Amy, who was helping her to dress, toexclaim, 'Has anything happened, Laura?'

'What should have happened?'

'I can't guess, unless the fairies in the great ring on Ashendown cameto visit you when we were gone. But seriously, dear Laura, are you sureyou are not tired? Is nothing the matter?'

'Nothing at all, thank you. I was only thinking over the talk I had withPhilip. '

'Oh!'

Amy never thought of entering into Philip's talks with Laura, and wasperfectly satisfied. 

By this time Laura was herself again, come back to common life, andresolved to watch over her intercourse with Guy; since, though she wasconvinced that all was safe at present, she had Philip's word for itthat there might be danger in continuing the pleasant freedom of theirbehaviour. 

Nothing could be more reassuring than Guy's demeanour. His head seemedentirely full of the Thursday, and of a plan of his own for enablingCharles to go to the review. It had darted into his head while he wasgoing over the ground with Maurice. It was so long since Charles hadthought it possible to attempt any amusement away from home, and formerexperiments had been so unsuccessful, that it had never even occurredto him to think of it; but he caught at the idea with great delight andeagerness. Mrs. Edmonstone seemed not to know what to say; she had muchrather that it had not been proposed; yet it was very kind of Guy, andCharles was so anxious about it that she knew not how to oppose him. 

She could not bear to have Charles in a crowd, helpless as he was; andshe had an unpleasing remembrance of the last occasion when they hadtaken him to a flower-show, where they had lost, first Mr. Edmonstone, next the carriage, and lastly, Amy and Charlotte--all had beenfrightened, and Charles laid up for three days from the fatigue. 

Answers, however, met each objection. Charles was much stronger; Guy'sarm would be ready for him; Guy would find the carriage. Philip wouldbe there to help, besides Maurice; and whenever Charles was tired, Guywould take him home at once, without spoiling any one's pleasure. 

'Except your own, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'Thank you; but this would be so delightful. '

'Ah!' said Charles, 'it would be as great a triumph as the dog's thatcaught the hare with the clog round his neck--the dog's, I mean. '

'If you will but trust me with him, ' said Guy, turning on her all thepleading eloquence of his eyes, 'you know he can get in and out of thepony-carriage quite easily. '

'As well as walk across the room, ' said Charles. 

'I would drive him in it, and tell William to ride in and be at hand tohold the pony or take it out; and the tent is so near, that you couldget to the breakfast, unless the review had been enough for you. Ipaced the distance to make sure, and it is no further than from thegarden-door to the cherry-tree. '

'That is nothing, ' said Charles. 

'And William shall be in waiting to bring the pony the instant you areready, and we can go home independently of every one else. '

'I thought, ' interposed Mrs. Edmonstone, 'that you were to go to themess-dinner--what is to become of that?'

'O, ' said Charles, 'that will be simply a bore, and he may rejoice to beexcused from going the whole hog. '

'To be sure, I had rather dine in peace at home. '

Mrs. Edmonstone was not happy, but she had great confidence in Guy; andher only real scruple was, that she did not think it fair to occupy himentirely with attendance on her son. She referred it to papa, which, asevery one knew, was the same as yielding the point, and consoled herselfby the certainty that to prevent it would be a great disappointment toboth the youths. Laura was convinced that to achieve the adventure ofCharles at the review, was at present at least a matter of far moreprominence with Guy than anything relating to herself. 

All but Laura and her mother were wild about the weather, especiallyon Wednesday, when there was an attempt at a thunder storm. Nothing wasstudied but the sky; and the conversation consisted of prognostications, reports of rises and falls of the glass, of the way weather-cocks wereturning, or about to turn, of swallows flying high or low, red sunsets, and halos round the moon, until at last Guy, bursting into a merrylaugh, begged Mrs. Edmonstone's pardon for being such a nuisance, andmade a vow, and kept it, that be the weather what it might, he would saynot another word about it that evening; it deserved to be neglected, forhe had not been able to settle to anything all day. 

He might have said for many days before; for since the last ball, andstill more since Lady Eveleen had been at Hollywell, it had been oneround of merriment and amusement. Scrambling walks, tea-drinkings outof doors, dances among themselves, or with the addition of the Harpers, were the order of the day. Amy, Eveleen, and Guy, could hardly come intothe room without dancing, and the piano was said to acknowledge nothingbut waltzes, polkas, and now and then an Irish jig, for the specialbenefit of Mr. Edmonstone's ears. The morning was almost as much spentin mirth as the afternoon, for the dawdlings after breakfast, and beforeluncheon, had a great tendency to spread out and meet, there was newmusic and singing to be practised, or preparations made for evening'sdiversion, or councils to be held, which Laura's absence could not breakup, though it often made Amy feel how much less idle and frivolous Laurawas than herself. Eveleen said the same, but she was visiting, andit was a time to be idle; and Mr. Lascelles seemed to be of the sameopinion with regard to his pupil; for, when Guy was vexed at not havingdone as much work as usual, he only laughed at him for expecting to beable to go to balls, and spend a summer of gaiety, while he studied asmuch as at Oxford. 

Thursday morning was all that heart could wish, the air cooled by thethunder, and the clouds looking as if raining was foreign to theirnature. Mr. And Mrs. Edmonstone, their daughters, and Lady Eveleen, were packed inside and outside the great carriage, while Guy, carefullysettling Charles in the low phaeton, putting in all that any onerecommended, from an air-cushion to an umbrella, flourished his whip, and drove off with an air of exultation and delight. 

Everything went off to admiration. No one was more amused than Charles. The scene was so perfectly new and delightful to one accustomed to sucha monotonous life, that the very sight of people was a novelty. Nowherewas there so much laughing and talking as in that little carriage, andwhenever Mrs. Edmonstone's anxious eye fell upon it, she always sawCharles sitting upright, with a face so full of eager interest as tobanish all thought of fatigue. Happy, indeed, he was. He enjoyed thesurprise of his acquaintance at meeting him; he enjoyed Dr. Mayerne'slaugh and congratulation; he enjoyed seeing how foolish Philip thoughthim, nodding to his mother and sisters, laughing at the dreadful facesGuy could not help making at any particularly discordant note of theoffensive bugle; and his capabilities rising with his spirits, he didall that the others did, walked further than he had done for years, waslifted up steps without knowing how, sat out the whole breakfast, talkedto all the world, and well earned the being thoroughly tired, as hecertainly was when Guy put him into the carriage and drove him home, andstill more so when Guy all but carried him up stairs, and laid him onthe sofa in the dressing-room. 

However, his mother announced that it would have been so unnatural ifhe had not been fatigued, that she should have been more anxious, andleaving him to repose, they all, except Mr. Edmonstone, who had stayedto dine at the mess, sat down to dinner. 

Amy came down dressed just as the carriage had been announced, and foundLaura and Eveleen standing by the table, arranging their bouquets, whileGuy, in the dark, behind the piano, was playing--not, as usual, in suchcases, the Harmonious Blacksmith, but a chant. 

'Is mamma ready?' asked Laura. 

'Nearly, ' said Amy, 'but I wish she was not obliged to go! I am sure shecannot bear to leave Charlie. '

'I hope she is not going on my account, ' said Eveleen. 

'No, said Laura, 'we must go; it would so frighten papa if we did notcome. Besides, there is nothing to be uneasy about with Charles. '

'O no, ' said Amy; 'she says so, only she is always anxious, and she isafraid he is too restless to go to sleep. '

'We must get home as fast as we can; if you don't mind, Eva, ' saidLaura, remembering how her last dance with Guy had delayed them. 

'Can I do any good to Charlie?' said Guy, ceasing his music. I don'tmean to go. '

'Not go!' cried the girls in consternation. 

'He is joking!' said Eveleen. 'But, I declare!' added she, advancingtowards him, 'he is not dressed! Come, nonsense, this is carrying it toofar; you'll make us all too late, and then I'll set Maurice at you. '

'I am afraid it is no joke, ' said Guy, smiling. 

'You must go. It will never do for you to stay away, ' said Laura, decidedly. 

'Are you tired? Aren't you well?' asked Amy. 

'Quite well, thank you, but I am sure I had better not. '

Laura thought she had better not seem anxious to take him, so she leftthe task of persuasion, to the others, and Amy went on. 

'Neither Mamma nor Charlie could bear to think you stayed because ofhim. '

'I don't, I assure you, Amy. I meant it before. I have been graduallyfinding out that it must come to this. '

'Oh, you think it a matter of right and wrong! But you don't think ballswrong?'

'Oh no; only they won't do for such an absurd person as I am. The lastturned my head for a week, and I am much too unsteady for this. '

'Well, if you think it a matter of duty, it can't be helped, ' said Amysorrowfully; 'but I am very sorry. '

'Thank you, ' said Guy, thinking it compassion, not regret; 'but I shalldo very well. I shall be all the happier to-morrow for a quiet hour atmy Greek, and you'll tell me all the fun. '

'You liked it so much!' said Amy; 'but you have made up your mind and Iought not to tease you. '

'That's right Amy; he does it on purpose to be teased, ' said Eveleen, 'and I never knew anybody so provoking. Mind, Sir Guy, if you make usall too late, you shan't have the ghost of a quadrille with me. '

'I shall console myself by quadrilling with Andromache, ' said Guy. 

'Come, no nonsense--off to dress directly! How can you have theconscience to stand there when the carriage is at the door?'

'I shall have great pleasure in handing you in when you are ready. '

'Laura--Amy! Does he really mean it?'

'I am afraid he does, ' said Amy. 

Eveleen let herself fall on the sofa as if fainting. 'Oh, ' she said, 'take him away! Let me never see the face of him again! I'm perfectlyovercome! All my teaching thrown away!'

'I am sorry for you, ' said Guy, laughing. 

'And how do you mean to face Maurice?'

'Tell him his first bugle has so distracted me that I can't answer forthe consequences if I come to-night. 

'Mrs. Edmonstone came in, saying, --

'Come, I have kept you waiting shamefully, but I have been consolingmyself by thinking you must be well entertained, as I heard noHarmonious Blacksmith. Papa will be wondering where we are. '

'Oh, mamma! Guy won't go. '

'Guy! is anything the matter?'

'Nothing, thank you, only idleness. '

'This will never do. You really must go, Guy. '

'Indeed! I think not. Pray don't order me, Mrs. Edmonstone. '

'What o'clock is it, Amy? Past ten! Papa will be in despair! What is tobe done? How long do you take to dress, Guy?'

'Not under an hour, ' said Guy, smiling. 

'Nonsense! But if there was time I should certainly send you. Self-discipline may be carried too far, Guy. But now it can't behelped--I don't know how to keep papa waiting any longer. Laura, whatshall I do?'

'Let me go to Charles, ' answered Guy. 'Perhaps I can read him to sleep. '

'Thank you; but don't talk, or he will be too excited. Reading would bethe very thing! It will be a pretty story to tell every one who asks foryou that I have left you to nurse my son!'

'No, for no such good reason, ' said Guy; 'only because I am a greatfool. '

'Well, Sir Guy, I am glad you can say one sensible word, ' said LadyEveleen. 

'Too true, I assure you, ' he answered, as he handed her in. 'Good night!You will keep the quadrille for me till I am rational. '

He handed the others in, and shut the door. Mrs. Edmonstone, ruffled outof her composure, exclaimed, --

'Well, this is provoking!'

'Every one will be vexed, ' said Laura. 

'It will be so stupid, ' said Amy. 

'I give him up, ' said Eveleen. 'I once had hopes of him. '

'If it was not for papa, I really would turn back this moment and fetchhim, ' cried Mrs. Edmonstone, starting forward. 'I'm sure it will giveoffence. I wish I had not consented. '

'He can't be made to see that his presence is of importance to anyliving creature, ' said Laura. 

'What is the reason of this whim?' said Eveleen. 

'No, Eveleen, it is not whim, ' said Laura; 'it is because he thinksdissipation makes him idle. '

'Then if he is idle I wonder what the rest of the world is!' saidEveleen. 'I am sure we all ought to stay at home too. '

'I think so, ' said Amy. 'I know I shall feel all night as if I was wrongto be there. '

'I am angry, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'and yet I believe it is a greatsacrifice. '

'Yes, mamma; after all our looking forward to it, ' said Amy. 'Oh! yes, 'and her voice lost its piteous tone, 'it is a real sacrifice. '

'If he was not a mere boy, I should say a lover's quarrel was at thebottom of it, ' said Eveleen. 'Depend upon it, Laura, it is all yourfault. You only danced once with him at our ball, and all this week youhave played for us, as if it was on purpose to cut him. '

Laura was glad of the darkness, and her mother, who had a particulardislike to jokes of this sort, went on, --'If it were only ourselves Ishould not care, but there are so many who will fancy it caprice, orworse. '

'The only comfort is, ' said Amy, 'that it is Charlie's gain. '

'I hope they will not talk, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'But Charlie willnever hold his tongue. He will grow excited, and not sleep all night. '

Poor Mrs. Edmonstone! her trials did not end here, for when she repliedto her husband's inquiry for Guy, Mr. Edmonstone said offence hadalready been taken at his absence from the dinner; he would not have hadthis happen for fifty pounds; she ought not to have suffered it; but itwas all her nonsense about Charles, and as to not being late, she shouldhave waited till midnight rather than not have brought him. In short, he said as much more than he meant, as a man in a pet is apt to say, andnevertheless Mrs. Edmonstone had to look as amiable and smiling as ifnothing was the matter. 

The least untruthful answer she could frame to the inquiries for Sir GuyMorville was, that young men were apt to be lazy about balls, andthis sufficed for good-natured Mrs. Deane, but Maurice poured out manyexclamations about his ill-behaviour, and Philip contented himself withthe mere fact of his not being there, and made no remark. 

Laura turned her eyes anxiously on Philip. They had not met since theimportant conversation on Ashen-down, and she found herself looking withmore pride than ever at his tall, noble figure, as if he was more herown; but the calmness of feeling was gone. She could not meet his eye, nor see him turn towards her without a start and tremor for which shecould not render herself a reason, and her heart beat so much that itwas at once a relief and a disappointment that she was obliged to accepther other cousin as her first partner. Philip had already asked LadyEveleen, for he neither wished to appear too eager in claiming Laura, nor to let his friend think he had any dislike to the Irish girl. 

Eveleen was much pleased to have him for her partner, and told herselfshe would be on her good behaviour. It was a polka, and there was notmuch talk, which, perhaps, was all the better for her. She admired thereview, and the luncheon, and spoke of Charles without any sauciness, and Philip was condescending and agreeable. 

'I must indulge myself in abusing that stupid cousin of yours!' saidshe. Did you ever know a man of such wonderful crotchets?'

'This is a very unexpected one, ' said Philip. 

'It came like a thunder clap. I thought till the last moment he wasjoking, for he likes dancing so much; he was the life of our ball, andhow could any one suppose he would fly off at the last moment?'

'He seems rather to enjoy doing things suddenly. '

'I tell Laura she has affronted him, ' said Eveleen, laughing. 'She hasbeen always busy of late when we have wanted her; and I assure her hispride has been piqued. Don't you think that is an explanation, CaptainMorville?'

It was Captain Morvilles belief, but he would not say so. 

'Isn't Laura looking lovely?' Eveleen went on. 'I am sure she isthe beauty of the night!' She was pleased to see Captain Morville'sattention gained. 'She is even better dressed than at our ball--thoseVenetian pins suit the form of her head so well. Her beauty is betterthan almost any one's, because she has so much countenance. '

'True, ' said Philip. 

'How proud Maurice looks of having her on his arm. Does not he? PoorMaurice! he is desperately in love with her!'

'As is shown by his pining melancholy. '

Eveleen laughed with her clear hearty laugh. 'I see you know what wemean by being desperately in love! No, ' she added more gravely, 'I amvery glad it is only _that_ kind of desperation. One could not think ofMaurice and Laura together. He does not know the best part of Laura. '

Eveleen was highly flattered by Captain Morville conducting her a secondtime round the room, instead of at once restoring her to her aunt. 

He secured Laura next, and leading her away from her own party, said, 'Laura, have you been overdoing it?'

'It is not that, ' said Laura, wishing she could keep from blushing. 

'It is the only motive that could excuse his extraordinary behaviour. '

'Surely you know he says that he is growing unsettled. It is part of hisrule of self discipline. '

'Absurd!--exaggerated!--incredible! This is the same story as there wasabout the horse. It is either caprice or temper, and I am convincedthat some change in your manner--nay, I say unconscious, and am far fromblaming you--is the cause. Why else did he devote himself to Charles, and leave you all on my uncle's hands in the crowd?'

'We could shift for ourselves much better than Charlie. '

'This confirms my belief that my warning was not mistimed. I wish itcould have been done without decidedly mortifying him and rousing histemper, because I am sorry others should be slighted; but if he takesyour drawing back so much to heart, it shows that it was time you shoulddo so. '

'If I thought I had!'

'It was visible to others--to another, I should say. '

'O, that is only Eveleen's nonsense! The only difference I am consciousof having made, was keeping more up-stairs, and not trying to persuadehim to come here to-night. '

'I have no doubt it was this that turned the scale, He only waited forpersuasion, and you acted very wisely in not flattering his self-love. '

'Did I?--I did not know it. '

'A woman's instinct is often better than reasoning, Laura; to do theright thing without knowing why. But come, I suppose we must play ourpart in the pageant of the night. '

For that evening Laura, contrary to the evidence of her senses, waspersuaded by her own lover that Guy was falling in love with her; andafter musing all through the dance, she said, 'What do you think of thescheme that has been started for my going to Ireland with papa?'

'Your going to Ireland?'

'Yes; you know none of us, except papa, have seen grandmamma sinceCharles began to be ill, and there is some talk of his taking me withhim when he goes this summer. '

'I knew he was going, but I thought it was not to be till later in theyear--not till after the long vacation. '

'So he intended, but he finds he must be at home before the end ofOctober, and it would suit him best to go in August. '

'Then what becomes of Guy?'

'He stays at Hollywell. It will be much better for Charles to have himthere while papa is away. I thought when the plan was first mentioned Ishould be sorry, except that it is quite right to go to grandmamma; butif it is so, about Guy, this absence would be a good thing--it wouldmake a break, and I could begin again on different terms. '

'Wisely judged, Laura. Yes, on that account it would be very desirable, though it will be a great loss to me, and I can hardly hope to be sonear you on your return. '

'Ah! yes, so I feared!' sighed Laura. 

'But we must give up something; and for Guy's own sake, poor fellow, itwill be better to make a break, as you say. It will save him pain by andby. '

'I dare say papa will consult you about when his journey is to be. Hisonly doubt was whether it would do to leave Guy so long alone, and ifyou say it would be safe, it would decide him at once. '

'I see little chance of mischief. Guy has few temptations here, and astrong sense of honour; besides, I shall be at hand. Taking all thingsinto consideration, Laura, I think that, whatever the sacrifice toourselves, it is expedient to recommend his going at once, and youraccompanying him. '

All the remainder of the evening Philip was occupied with attentionsto the rest of the world, but Laura's eyes followed him everywhere, andthough she neither expected nor desired him to bestow more time on her, she underwent a strange restlessness and impatience of feeling. Hernumerous partners teased her by hindering her from watching him movingabout the room, catching his tones, and guessing what he was talkingof;--not that she wanted to meet his eye, for she did not like to blush, nor did she think it pleased him to see her do so, for he either lookedaway immediately or conveyed a glance which she understood as monitory. She kept better note of his countenance than of her own partner's. 

Mr. Thorndale, meanwhile, kept aloof from Lady Eveleen de Courcy, butCaptain Morville perceived that his eyes were often turned towards her, and well knew it was principle, and not inclination, that held him at adistance. He did indeed once ask her to dance, but she was engaged, and he did not ask her to reserve a future dance for him, but contentedhimself with little Amy. 

Amy was doing her best to enjoy herself, because she thought itungrateful not to receive pleasure from those who wished to give it, but to her it wanted the zest and animation of Lady Kilcoran's ball. Besides, she knew she had been as idle as Guy, or still more so, and shethought it wrong she should have pleasure while he was doing penance. It was on her mind, and damped her spirits, and though she smiled, andtalked, and admired, and danced lightly and gaily, there was a sensationof weariness throughout, and no one but Eveleen was sorry when Mrs. Edmonstone sent Maurice to see for the carriage. 

Philip was one of the gentlemen who came to shawl them. As he putLaura's cloak round her shoulders he was able to whisper, 'Take care;you must be cautious--self-command. '

Laura, though blushing and shrinking the moment before was braced by hiswords and tone to attempt all he wished. She looked up in what she meantto be an indifferent manner, and made some observation in a carelesstone--anything rather than let Philip think her silly. After what he hadsaid, was she not bound more than ever to exert herself to the utmost, that he might not be disappointed in her? She loved him only the betterfor what others might have deemed a stern coldness of manner, for itmade the contrast of his real warmth of affection more precious. Shemused over it, as much as her companions' conversation would allow, onthe road home. They arrived, Mrs. Edmonstone peeped into Charles's room, announced that he was quietly asleep, and they all bade each other goodnight, or good morning, and parted. 

CHAPTER 10

 Leonora. Yet often with respect he speaks of thee. Tasso. Thou meanest with forbearance, prudent, subtle, 'Tis that annoys me, for he knows to use Language so smooth and so conditional, That seeming praise from him is actual blame. --GOETHE'S Tasso

When the Hollywell party met at breakfast, Charles showed himself by nomeans the worse for his yesterday's experiment. He said he had gone tosleep in reasonable time, lulled by some poetry, he knew not what, ofwhich Guy's voice had made very pretty music, and he was now full oftalk about the amusement he had enjoyed yesterday, which seemed likelyto afford food for conversation for many a week to come. After all thecare Guy had taken of him, Mrs. Edmonstone could not find it in herheart to scold, and her husband, having spent his vexation upon her, hadnone left to bestow on the real culprit. So when Guy, with his brightmorning face, and his hair hanging shining and wet round it, openedthe dining-room door, on his return from bathing in the river, Mr. Edmonstone's salutation only conveyed that humorous anger that no onecares for. 

'Good morning to you, Sir Guy Morville! I wonder what you have to sayfor yourself. '

'Nothing, ' said Guy, smiling; then, as he took his place by Mrs. Edmonstone, 'I hope you are not tired after your hard day's work?'

'Not at all, thank you. '

'Amy, can you tell me the name of this flower?'

'Oh! have you really found the arrow-head? How beautiful! Where did youget it? I didn't know it grew in our river. '

'There is plenty of it in that reedy place beyond the turn. I thought itlooked like something out of the common way. '

'Yes! What a purple eye it has! I must draw it. O, thank you. '

'And, Charlotte, Bustle has found you a moorhen's nest. '

'How delightful! Is it where I can go and see the dear little things?'

'It is rather a swamp; but I have been putting down stepping-stones foryou, and I dare say I can jump you across. It was that which made meso late, for which I ought to have asked pardon, ' said he to Mrs. Edmonstone, with his look of courtesy. 

Never did man look less like an offended lover, or like a moroseself-tormentor. 

'There are others later, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking at LadyEveleen's empty chair. 

'So you think that is all you have to ask pardon for, ' said Mr. Edmonstone. 'I advise you to study your apologies, for you are in prettytolerable disgrace. '

'Indeed, I am very sorry, ' said Guy, with such a change of countenancethat Mr. Edmonstone's good nature could not bear to see it. 

'Oh, 'tis no concern of mine! It would be going rather the wrong way, indeed, for you to be begging my pardon for all the care you've beentaking of Charlie; but you had better consider what you have to say foryourself before you show your face at Broadstone. '

'No?' said Guy, puzzled for a moment, but quickly looking relieved, andlaughing, 'What! Broadstone in despair for want of me?'

'And we perfectly exhausted with answering questions as to what wasbecome of Sir Guy. '

'Dreadful, ' said Guy, now laughing heartily, in the persuasion that itwas all a joke. 

'O, Lady Eveleen, good morning; you are come in good time to give me thestory of the ball, for no one else tells me one word about it. '

'Because you don't deserve it, ' said she. 'I hope you have repented bythis time. '

'If you want to make me repent, you should give me a very alluringdescription. '

'I shan't say one word about it; I shall send you to Coventry, asMaurice and all the regiment mean to do, ' said Eveleen, turning awayfrom him with a very droll arch manner of offended dignity. 

'Hear, hear! Eveleen send any one to Coventry!' cried Charles. 'See whatthe regiment say to you. '

'Ay, when I am sent to Coventry?'

'O, Paddy, Paddy!' cried Charles, and there was a general laugh. 

'Laura seems to be doing it in good earnest without announcing it, 'added Charles, when the laugh was over, 'which is the worst sign ofall. '

'Nonsense, Charles, ' said Laura, hastily; then afraid she had owned toannoyance, she blushed and was angry with herself for blushing. 

'Well, Laura, _do_ tell me who your partners were?'

Very provoking, thought Laura, that I cannot say what is so perfectlynatural and ordinary, without my foolish cheeks tingling. He may thinkit is because he is speaking to me. So she hurried on: 'Maurice first, then Philip, ' and then showed, what Amy and Eveleen thought, strangeoblivion of the rest of her partners. 

They proceeded into the history of the ball; and Guy thought no more ofhis offences till the following day, when he went to Broadstone. Comingback, he found the drawing-room full of visitors, and was obliged tosit down and join in the conversation; but Mrs. Edmonstone saw he wasinwardly chafing, as he betrayed by his inability to remain still, thetwitchings of his forehead and lip, and a tripping and stumbling of thewords on his tongue. She was sure he wanted to talk to her, and longedto get rid of Mrs. Brownlow; but the door was no sooner shut on thevisitors, than Mr. Edmonstone came in, with a long letter for herto read and comment upon. Guy took himself out of the way of theconsultation, and began to hurry up and down the terrace, until, seeingAmabel crossing the field towards the little gate into the garden, hewent to open it for her. 

She looked up at him, and exclaimed--'Is anything the matter?'

'Nothing to signify, ' he said; 'I was only waiting for your mother. Ihave got into a mess, that is all. '

'I am sorry, ' began Amy, there resting in the doubt whether she mightinquire further, and intending not to burthen him with her company, anylonger than till she reached the house door; but Guy went on, --

'No, you have no occasion to be sorry; it is all my own fault; at least, if I was clear how it is my fault, I should not mind it so much. Itis that ball. I am sure I had not the least notion any one would carewhether I was there or not. '

'I am sure we missed you very much. '

'You are all so kind; beside, I belong in a manner you; but what couldit signify to any one else? And here I find that I have vexed everyone. '

'Ah!' said Amy, 'mamma said she was afraid it would give offence. '

'I ought to have attended to her. It was a fit of self-will in managingmyself, ' said Guy, murmuring low, as if trying to find the realindictment; 'yet I thought it a positive duty; wrong every way. '

'What has happened?' said Amy, turning back with him, though she hadreached the door. 

'Why, the first person I met was Mr. Gordon; and he spoke like yourfather, half in joke, and I thought entirely so; he said something aboutall the world being in such a rage, that I was a bold man to ventureinto Broadstone. Then, while I was at Mr. Lascelles', in came Dr. Mayerne. 'We missed you at the dinner, ' he said; 'and I hear you shirkedthe ball, too. ' I told him how it was, and he said he was glad thatwas all, and advised me to go and call on Colonel Deane and explain. Ithought that the best way--indeed, I meant it before, and was walkingto his lodgings when Maurice de Courcy met me. 'Ha!' he cries out, 'Morville! I thought at least you would have been laid up for a monthwith the typhus fever! As a friend, I advise you to go home and catchsomething, for it is the only excuse that will serve you. I am not quitesure that it will not be high treason for me to be seen speaking toyou. ' I tried to get at the rights of it, but he is such a harum-scarumfellow there was no succeeding. Next I met Thorndale, who only bowedand passed on the other side of the street--sign enough how it was withPhilip; so I thought it best to go at once to the Captain, and get arational account of what was the matter. '

'Did you?' said Amy, who, though concerned and rather alarmed, had beensmiling at the humorous and expressive tones with which he could nothelp giving effect to his narration. 

'Yes. Philip was at home, and very--very--'

'Gracious?' suggested Amy, as he hesitated for a word. 

'Just so. Only the vexatious thing was, that we never could succeed incoming to an understanding. He was ready to forgive; but I could notdisabuse him of an idea--where he picked it up I cannot guess--that Ihad stayed away out of pique. He would not even tell me what he thoughthad affronted me, though I asked him over and over again to be onlystraightforward; he declared I knew. '

'How excessively provoking!' cried Amy. 'You cannot guess what hemeant?'

'Not the least in the world. I have not the most distant suspicion. Itwas of no use to declare I was not offended with any one; he only lookedin that way of his, as if he knew much better than I did myself, andtold me he could make allowances. '

'Worse than all! How horrid of him. '

'No, don't spoil me. No doubt he thinks he has grounds, and myirritation was unjustifiable. Yes, I got into my old way. He cautionedme, and nearly made me mad! I never was nearer coming to a regularoutbreak. Always the same! Fool that I am. '

'Now, Guy, that is always your way; when other people are provoking, you abuse yourself. I am sure Philip was so, with his calm assertion ofbeing right. '

'The more provoking, the more trial for me. '

'But you endured it. You say it was only _nearly_ an outbreak. Youparted friends? I am sure of that. '

'Yes, it would have been rather too bad not to do that. '

'Then why do you scold yourself, when you really had the victory?'

'The victory will be if the inward feeling as well as the outward tokenis ever subdued. '

'O, that must be in time, of course. Only let me hear how you got onwith Colonel Deane. '

'He was very good-natured, and would have laughed it off, but Philipwent with me, and looked grand, and begged in a solemn way that no moremight be said. I could have got on better alone; but Philip was verykind, or, as you say, gracious. '

'And provoking, ' added Amy, 'only I believe you do not like me to sayso. '

'It is more agreeable to hear you call him so at this moment than isgood for me. I have no right to complain, since I gave the offence. '

'The offence?'

'The absenting myself. '

'Oh! that you did because you thought it right. '

'I want to be clear that it was right. '

'What do you mean?' cried she, astonished. 'It was a great piece ofself-denial, and I only felt it wrong not to be doing the same. '

'Nay, how should such creatures as you need the same discipline as I?'

She exclaimed to herself how far from his equal she was--how weak, idle, and self-pleasing she felt herself to be; but she could not say so--thewords would not come; and she only drooped her little head, humbled byhis treating her as better than himself. 

He proceeded:--

'Something wrong I have done, and I want the clue. Was it self-will inchoosing discipline contrary to your mother's judgment? Yet she couldnot know all. I thought it her kindness in not liking me to lose thepleasure. Besides, one must act for oneself, and this was only my ownpersonal amusement. '

'Yes, ' said Amy, timidly hesitating. 

'Well?' said he, with the gentle, deferential tone that contrasted withhis hasty, vehement self-accusations. 'Well?' and he waited, though notso as to hurry or frighten her, but to encourage, by showing her wordshad weight. 

'I was thinking of one thing, ' said Amy; 'is it not sometimes rightto consider whether we ought to disappoint people who want us to bepleased?'

'There it is, I believe, ' said Guy, stopping and considering, then goingon with a better satisfied air, 'that is a real rule. Not to be so benton myself as to sacrifice other people's feelings to what seems best forme. But I don't see whose pleasure I interfered with. '

Amy could have answered, 'Mine;' but the maidenly feeling checked heragain, and she said, 'We all thought you would like it. '

'And I had no right to sacrifice your pleasure! I see, I see. Thepleasure of giving pleasure to others is so much the best there is onearth, that one ought to be passive rather than interfere with it. '

'Yes, ' said Amy, 'just as I have seen Mary Ross let herself be swungtill she was giddy, rather than disappoint Charlotte and Helen, whothought she liked it. '

'If one could get to look at everything with as much indifference asthe swinging! But it is all selfishness. It is as easy to be selfish forone's own good as for one's own pleasure; and I dare say, the first isas bad as the other. '

'I was thinking of something else, ' said Amy. 'I should think it morelike the holly tree in Southey. Don't you know it? The young leaves aresharp and prickly, because they have so much to defend themselves from, but as the tree grows older, it leaves off the spears, after it has wonthe victory. '

'Very kind of you, and very pretty, Amy, ' said he, smiling; 'but, in themeantime, it is surely wrong to be more prickly than is unavoidable, andthere is the perplexity. Selfish! selfish! selfish! Oneself the firstobject. That is the root. '

'Guy, if it is not impertinent to ask, I do wish you would tell meone thing. Why did you think it wrong to go to that ball?' said Amy, timidly. 

'I don't know that I thought it wrong to go to that individual ball, 'said Guy; 'but my notion was, that altogether I was getting into arattling idle way, never doing my proper quantity of work, or doingit properly, and talking a lot of nonsense sometimes. I thought, lastSunday, it was time to make a short turn somewhere and bring myself up. I could not, or did not get out of the pleasant talks as Laura does, soI thought giving up this ball would punish me at once, and set me on anew tack of behaving like a reasonable creature. '

'Don't call yourself too many names, or you won't be civil to us. Weall, except Laura, have been quite as bad. '

'Yes; but you had not so much to do. '

'We ought, ' said Amy; 'but I meant to be reasonable when Eveleen isgone. '

Perhaps I ought to have waited till then, but I don't know. Lady Eveleenis so amusing that it leads to farther dawdling, and it would not do towait to resist the temptation till it is out of the way. '

As he spoke, they saw Mrs. Edmonstone coming out, and went to meet her. Guy told her his trouble, detailing it more calmly than before hehad found out his mistake. She agreed with him that this had been inforgetting that his attending the ball did not concern only himself, buthe then returned to say that he could not see what difference it made, except to their own immediate circle. 

'If it was not you, Guy, who made that speech, I should call it fishingfor a compliment. You forget that rank and station make people soughtafter. '

'I suppose there is something in that, ' said Guy, thoughtfully; 'at anyrate, it is no bad thing to think so, it is so humiliating. '

'That is not the way most people would take it. '

'No? Does not it prevent one from taking any attention as paid to one'sreal self? The real flattering thing would be to be made as much of asPhilip is, for one's own merits, and not for the handle to one's name. '

'Yes, I think so, ' said Amy. 

'Well, then, ' as if he wished to gather the whole conversation intoone resolve, the point is to consider whether abstaining from innocentthings that may be dangerous to oneself mortifies other people. If so, the vexing them is a certain wrong, whereas the mischief of taking thepleasure is only a possible contingency. But then one must take it outof oneself some other way, or it becomes an excuse for self-indulgence. '

'Hardly with you, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling. 

'Because I had rather go at it at once, and forget all about otherpeople. You must teach me consideration, Mrs. Edmonstone, and in themeantime will you tell me what you think I had better do about thisscrape?'

'Let it alone, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'You have begged every one'spardon, and it had better be forgotten as fast as possible. They havemade more fuss already than it is worth. Don't torment yourself about itany more; for, if you have made a mistake, it is on the right side; andon the first opportunity, I'll go and call on Mrs. Deane, and see if sheis very implacable. '

The dressing-bell rang, and Amy ran up-stairs, stopping at Laura's door, to ask how she prospered in the drive she had been taking with Charlesand Eveleen. 

Amy told her of Guy's trouble, and oh! awkward question, inquired ifshe could guess what it could be that Philip imagined that Guy had beenoffended at. 

'Can't he guess?' said poor Laura, to gain time, and brushing her hairover her face. 

'No, he has no idea, though Philip protested that he knew, and would nottell him. Philip must have been most tiresome. '

'What? Has Guy been complaining?'

'No, only angry with himself for being vexed. I can't think how Philipcan go on so!'

'Hush! hush, Amy, you know nothing about it. He has reasons--'

'I know, ' said Amy, indignantly; 'but what right has he to go onmistrusting? If people are to be judged by their deeds, no one isso good as Guy, and it is too bad to reckon up against him all hisancestors have done. It is wolf and lamb, indeed. '

'He does not!' cried Laura. 'He never is unjust! How can you say so, Amy?'

'Then why does he impute motives, and not straightforwardly tell what hemeans?'

'It is impossible in this case, ' said Laura. 

'Do you know what it is?'

'Yes, ' said Laura, perfectly truthful, and feeling herself in a dreadfulpredicament. 

'And you can't tell me?'

'I don't think I can. '

'Nor Guy?'

'Not for worlds, ' cried Laura, in horror. 

'Can't you get Philip to tell him?'

'Oh no, no! I can't explain it, Amy; and all that can be done is to letit die away as fast as possible. It is only the rout about it that is ofconsequence. '

'It is very odd, ' said Amy, 'but I must dress, ' and away she ran, muchpuzzled, but with no desire to look into Philip's secrets. 

Laura rested her head on her hand, sighed, and wondered why it was sohard to answer. She almost wished she had said Philip had been advisingher to discourage any attachment on Guy's part; but then Amy might havelaughed, and asked why. No! no! Philip's confidence was in her keeping, and cost her what it might, she would be faithful to the trust. 

There was now a change. The evenings were merry, but the mornings wereoccupied. Guy went off to his room, as he used to do last winter; Lauracommenced some complicated perspective, or read a German book with agreat deal of dictionary; Amy had a book of history, and practised hermusic diligently; even Charles read more to himself, and resumed thestudy with Guy and Amy; Lady Eveleen joined in every one's pursuits, enjoyed them, and lamented to Laura that it was impossible to berational at her own home. 

Laura tried to persuade her that there was no need that she should be onthe level of the society round her, and it ended in her spending an hourin diligent study every morning, promising to continue it when she wenthome, while Laura made such sensible comments that Eveleen admired hermore than ever; and she, knowing that some were second-hand from Philip, others arising from his suggestions, gave him all the homage paid toherself, as a tribute to him who reigned over her whole being. 

Yet she was far from happy. Her reserve towards Guy made her feel stiffand guarded; she had a craving for Philip's presence, with a dread ofshowing it, which made her uncomfortable. She wondered he had not beenat Hollywell since the bail, for he must know that she was going toIreland in a fortnight, and was not likely to return till his regimenthad left Broadstone. 

An interval passed long enough for her not to be alone in her surpriseat his absenting himself before he at length made his appearance, justbefore luncheon, so as to miss the unconstrained morning hours he usedso much to enjoy. He found Guy, Charles, and Amy, deep in Butler'sAnalogy. 

'Are you making poor little Amy read that?' said he. 

'Bravo!' cried Charles; 'he is so disappointed that it is not Pickwickthat he does not know what else to say. '

'I don't suppose I take much in, ' said Amy; 'but I like to be told whatit means. '

'Don't imagine I can do that, ' said Guy. 

'I never spent much time over it, ' said Philip; 'but I should think youwere out of your depth. '

'Very well, ' said Charles; 'we will return to Dickens to oblige you. '

'It is your pleasure to wrest my words, ' replied Philip, in his own calmmanner, though he actually felt hurt, which he had never done before. His complacency was less secure, so that there was more need forself-assertion. 

'Where are the rest?' he asked. 

'Laura and Eveleen are making a dictation lesson agreeable toCharlotte, ' said Amy; 'I found Eva making mistakes on purpose. '

'How much longer does she stay?'

'Till Tuesday. Lord Kilcoran is coming to fetch her. '

Charlotte entered, and immediately ran up-stairs to announce hercousin's arrival. Laura was glad of this previous notice, and hoped herblush and tremor were not observed. It was a struggle, through luncheontime, to keep her colour and confusion within bounds; but she succeededbetter than she fancied she did, and Philip gave her as much help as hecould, by not looking at her. Seeing that he dreaded nothing so much asher exciting suspicion, she was at once braced and alarmed. 

Her father was very glad to see him, and reproached him for makinghimself a stranger, while her sisters counted up the days of hisabsence. 

'There was the time, to be sure, when we met you on Ashen-down, but thatwas a regular cheat. Laura had you all to herself. '

Laura bent down to feed Bustle, and Philip felt _his_ colour deepening. 

Mr. Edmonstone went on to ask him to come and stay at Hollywell for aweek, vowing he would take no refusal. 'A week was out of the question, said Philip; 'but he could come for two nights. ' Amabel hinted thatthere was to be a dinner-party on Thursday, thinking it fair to givehim warning of what he disliked, but he immediately chose that very day. Again he disconcerted all expectations, when it was time to go out. Mrs. Edmonstone and Charles were going to drive, the young ladies and Guy towalk, but Philip disposed himself to accompany his uncle in a survey ofthe wheat. 

Laura perceived that he would not risk taking another walk with her whenthey might be observed. It showed implicit trust to leave her to hisrival; but she was sorry to find that caution must put an end to thefreedom of their intercourse, and would have stayed at home, but thatEveleen was so wild and unguarded that Mrs. Edmonstone did not like herto be without Laura as a check on her, especially when Guy was of theparty. There was some comfort in that warm pressure of her hand when shebade Philip good-bye, and on that she lived for a long time. He stood atthe window watching them till they were out of sight, then movedtowards his aunt, who with her bonnet on, was writing an invitation forThursday, to Mr. Thorndale. 

'I was thinking, ' said he, in a low voice, 'if it would not be as well, if you liked, to ask Thorndale here for those two days. '

'If _you_ think so, ' returned Mrs. Edmonstone, looking at him moreinquiringly than he could well bear. 

'You know how he enjoys being here, and I owe them all so muchkindness. '

'Certainly; I will speak to your uncle, ' said she, going in search ofhim. She presently returned, saying they should be very glad to see Mr. Thorndale, asking him at the same time, in her kind tones of interest, after an old servant for whom he had been spending much thought andpains. The kindness cut him to the heart, for it evidently arose froma perception that he was ill at ease, and his conscience smote him. Heanswered shortly, and was glad when the carriage came; he lifted Charlesinto it, and stood with folded arms as they drove away. 

'The air is stormy, ' said Charles, looking back at him. '

'You thought so, too?' said Mrs. Edmonstone, eagerly. 

'You did!'

'I have wondered for some time past. '

'It was very decided to-day--that long absence--and there was noprovoking him to be sententious. His bringing his young man might beonly to keep him in due subjection; but his choosing the day of theparty, and above all, not walking with the young ladies. '

'It not like himself, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, in a leading tone. 

'Either the sweet youth is in love, or in the course of some strangetransformation. '

'In love!' she exclaimed. 'Have you any reason for thinking so?'

'Only as a solution of phenomena; but you look as if I had hit on thetruth. '

'I hope it is no such thing; yet--'

'Yet?' repeated Charles, seriously. 'I think he has discovered thedanger. '

'The danger of falling in love with Laura? Well, it would be odd if hewas not satisfied with his own work. But he must know how preposterousthat would be. '

'And you think that would prevent it?' said his mother, smiling. 'Heis just the man to plume himself on making his judgment conquer hisinclination, setting novels at defiance. How magnanimously he wouldresolve to stifle a hopeless attachment!'

'That is exactly what I think he is doing. I think he has found out thestate of his feelings, and is doing all in his power to check them byavoiding her, especially in tete-a-tetes, and an unconstrained familyparty. I am nearly convinced that is his reason for bringing Mr. Thorndale, and fixing on the day of the dinner. Poor fellow, it mustcost him a great deal, and I long to tell him how I thank him. '

'Hm! I don't think it unlikely, ' said Charles. 'It agrees with whathappened the evening of the Kilcoran ball, when he was ready to eat meup for saying something he fancied was a hint of a liking of Guy'sfor Laura. It was a wild mistake, for something I said about Petrarch, forgetting that Petrarch suggested Laura; but it put him out to adegree, and he made all manner of denunciations on the horror of Guy'sfalling in love with her. Now, as far as I see, Guy is much more inlove with you, or with Deloraine, and the idea argues far more that theCaptain himself is touched. '

'Depend upon it, Charlie, it was this that led to his detecting the truestate of the case. Ever since that he has kept away. It is noble!'

'And what do you think about Laura?'

'Poor child! I doubt if it was well to allow so much intimacy; yet Idon't see how it could have been helped. '

'So you think she is in for it? I hope not; but she has not been herselfof late. '

'I think she misses what she has been used to from him, and thinks himestranged, but I trust it goes no further. I see she is out of spirits;I wish I could help her, dear girl, but the worst of all would be to lether guess the real name and meaning of all this, so I can't venture tosay a word. '

'She is very innocent of novels, ' said Charles, 'and that is well. Itwould be an unlucky business to have our poor beauty either sitting'like Patience on a monument', or 'cockit up on a baggage-waggon. ' Butthat will never be. Philip is not the man to have a wife in barracks. Hewould have her like his books, in morocco, or not at all. '

'He would never involve her in discomforts. He may be entirely trusted, and as long as he goes on as he has begun, there is no harm done; Laurawill cheer up, will only consider him as her cousin and friend, andnever know he has felt more for her. '

'Her going to Ireland is very fortunate. '

'It has made me still more glad that the plan should take place atonce. '

'And you say "nothing to nobody"?'

'Of course not. We must not let him guess we have observed anything;there is no need to make your father uncomfortable, and such things neednot dawn on Amy's imagination. '

It may be wondered at that Mrs. Edmonstone should confide such a subjectto her son, but she knew that in a case really affecting his sister, and thus introduced, his silence was secure. In fact, confidence was theonly way to prevent the shrewd, unscrupulous raillery which would havecaused great distress, and perhaps led to the very disclosure to bedeprecated. Of late, too, there had been such a decrease of petulancein Charles, as justified her in trusting him, and lastly, it must beobserved that she was one of those open-hearted people who cannot make adiscovery nor endure an anxiety without imparting it. Her tact, indeed, led her to make a prudent choice of confidants, and in this case her sonwas by far the best, though she had spoken without premeditation. Hernature would never have allowed her to act as her daughter was doing;she would have been without the strength to conceal her feelings, especially when deprived of the safety-valve of free intercourse withtheir object. 

The visit took place as arranged, and very uncomfortable it was to allwho looked deeper than the surface. In the first place, Philip foundthere the last person he wished his friend to meet--Lady Eveleen, whohad been persuaded to stay for the dinner-party; but Mr. Thorndale was, as Charles would have said, on his good behaviour, and, ashamed of thefascination her manners exercised over him, was resolved to resist it, answered her gay remarks with brief sentences and stiff smiles, andconsorted chiefly with the gentlemen. 

Laura was grave and silent, trying to appear unconscious, and onlysucceeding in being visibly constrained. Philip was anxious and stern inhis attempts to appear unconcerned, and even Guy was not quite as brightand free as usual, being puzzled as to how far he was forgiven about theball. 

Amabel could not think what had come to every one, and tried in vain tomake them sociable. In the evening they had recourse to a game, saidto be for Charlotte's amusement, but in reality to obviate some of thestiffness and constraint; yet even this led to awkward situations. Eachperson was to set down his or her favourite character in history andfiction, flower, virtue, and time at which to have lived, and these wereall to be appropriated to the writers. The first read was--

'Lily of the valley--truth--Joan of Arc--Padre Cristoforo--the presenttime. '

'Amy!' exclaimed Guy. 

'I see you are right, ' said Charles; 'but tell me your grounds!'

'Padre Cristoforo, ' was the answer. 

'Fancy little Amy choosing Joan of Arc, ' said Eveleen, 'she who isafraid of a tolerable sized grasshopper. '

'I should like to have been Joan's sister, and heard her tell about hervisions, ' said Amy. 

'You would have taught her to believe them, ' said Philip. 

'Taught her!' cried Guy. 'Surely you take the high view of her. '

'I think, ' said Philip, 'that she is a much injured person, as muchby her friends as her enemies; but I don't pretend to enter eitherenthusiastically or philosophically into her character. '

What was it that made Guy's brow contract, as he began to strip thefeather of a pen, till, recollecting himself, he threw it from him witha dash, betraying some irritation, and folded his hands. 

'Lavender, ' read Charlotte. 

'What should make any one choose that?' cried Eveleen. 

'I know!' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking up. 'I shall never forget thetufts of lavender round the kitchen garden at Stylehurst. '

Philip smiled. Charlotte proceeded, and Charles saw Laura's colourdeepening as she bent over her work. 

'"Lavender--steadfastness--Strafford--Cordelia in 'King Lear'--thelate war. " How funny!' cried Charlotte. 'For hear the next:"Honeysuckle--steadfastness--Lord Strafford--Cordelia--the presenttime. " Why, Laura, you must have copied it from Philip's. '

Laura neither looked nor spoke. Philip could hardly command hiscountenance as Eveleen laughed, and told him he was much flattered bythose becoming blushes. But here Charles broke in, --'Come, make haste, Charlotte, don't be all night about it;' and as Charlotte paused, as ifto make some dangerous remark, he caught the paper, and read the nexthimself. Nothing so startled Philip as this desire to cover theirconfusion. Laura was only sensible of the relief of having attentiondrawn from her by the laugh that followed. 

'A shamrock--Captain Rock--the tailor that was "blue moulded for want ofa bating"--Pat Riotism--the time of Malachy with the collar of gold. '

'Eva!' cried Charlotte. 

'Nonsense, ' said Eveleen; 'I am glad I know your tastes, Charles. Theydo you honour. '

'More than yours do, if these are yours, ' said Charles, reading themcontemptuously; 'Rose--generosity--Charles Edward--Catherine Seyton--thecivil wars. '

'You had better not have disowned Charlie's, Lady Eveleen, ' said Guy. 

'Nay do you think I would put up with such a set as these?' retortedCharles; 'I am not fallen so low as the essence of young ladyism. '

'What can you find to say against them?' said Eveleen. 

'Nothing, ' said Charles, 'No one ever can find anything to say for oragainst young ladies' tastes. '

'You seem to be rather in the case of the tailor yourself, ' said Guy, 'ready to do battle, if you could but get any opposition. '

'Only tell me, ' said Amy, 'how you could wish to live in the civilwars?'

'O, because they would be so entertaining. '

'There's Paddy, genuine Paddy at last!' exclaimed Charles. 'Depend uponit, the conventional young lady won't do, Eva. '

After much more discussion, and one or two more papers, came Guy's--thelast. 'Heather--Truth--King Charles--Sir Galahad--the present time. '

'Sir how much? exclaimed Charles. 

'Don't you know him?' said Guy. 'Sir Galahad--the Knight of the SiegePerilous--who won the Saint Greal. '

'What language is that?' said Charles. 

'What! Don't you know the Morte d'Arthur! I thought every one did! Don'tyou, Philip!'

'I once looked into it. It is very curious, in classical English; but itis a book no one could read through. '

'Oh!' cried Guy, indignantly; then, 'but you only looked into it. If youhad lived with its two fat volumes, you could not help delighting in it. It was my boating-book for at least three summers. '

'That accounts for it, ' said Philip; 'a book so studied in boyhoodacquires a charm apart from its actual merits. '

'But it has actual merits. The depth, the mystery, the allegory--thebeautiful characters of some of the knights. '

'You look through the medium of your imagination, ' said Philip; butyou must pardon others for seeing a great sameness of character andadventure, and for disapproving of the strange mixture of religion andromance. '

'You've never read it, ' said Guy, striving to speak patiently. 

'A cursory view is sufficient to show whether a book will repay the timespent in reading it. '

'A cursory view enable one to judge better than making it your study?Eh, Philip?' said Charles. 

'It is no paradox. The actual merits are better seen by an unprejudicedstranger than by an old friend who lends them graces of his owndevising. '

Charles laughed: Guy pushed back his chair, and went to look out at thewindow. Perhaps Philip enjoyed thus chafing his temper; for after all hehad said to Laura, it was satisfactory to see his opinion justified, sothat he might not feel himself unfair. It relieved his uneasiness lesthis understanding with Laura should be observed. It had been in greatperil that evening, for as the girls went up to bed, Eveleen gaily said, 'Why, Laura, have you quarrelled with Captain Morville?'

'How can you say such things, Eva? Good night. ' And Laura escaped intoher own room. 

'What's the meaning of it, Amy?' pursued Eveleen. 

'Only a stranger makes us more formal, ' said Amy. 

'What an innocent you are! It is of no use to talk to you!' saidEveleen, running away. 

'No; but Eva, ' said Amy, pursuing her, 'don't go off with a wrong fancy. Charles has teased Laura so much about Philip, that of course it makesher shy of him before strangers; and it would never have done to laughabout their choosing the same things when Mr. Thorndale was there. '

'I must be satisfied, I suppose. I know that is what you think, for youcould not say any other. '

'But what do you think?' said Amy, puzzled. 

'I won't tell you, little innocence--it would only shock you. '

'Nothing you _really_ _thought_ about Laura could shock me, ' said Amy;'I don't mean what you might say in play. '

'Well, then, shall you think me in play or earnest when I say that Ithink Laura likes Philip very much?'

'In play' said Amy; 'for you know that if we had not got our own Charlieto show us what a brother is, we should think of Philip as just the sameas a brother. '

'A brother! You are pretending to be more simple than you really are, Amy! Don't you know what I mean?'

'O, ' said Amy, her cheeks lighting up, 'that must be only play, for hehas never asked her. '

'Ah, but suppose she was in the state just ready to be asked?'

'No, that could never be, for he could never ask her, '

'Why not, little Amy?'

'Because we are cousins, and everything, ' said Amy, confused. 'Don'ttalk any more about it, Eva; for though I know it is all play, I don'tlike it, and mamma, would not wish me to talk of such things. Anddon't you laugh about it, dear Eva, pray; for it only makes every oneuncomfortable. Pray!'

Amy had a very persuasive way of saying 'pray, ' and Eveleen thought shemust yield to it. Besides, she respected Laura and Captain Morville toomuch to resolve to laugh at them, whatever she might do when her fear ofthe Captain made her saucy. 

Mrs. Edmonstone thought it best on all accounts to sit in thedrawing-room the next morning; but she need not have taken so much painsto chaperon her young ladies, for the gentlemen did not come near them. 

Laura was more at ease in manner, though very far from happy, for shewas restlessly eager for a talk with Philip; while he was resolved notto seek a private interview, sure that it would excite suspicion, andwilling to lose the consciousness of his underhand proceedings. 

This was the day of the dinner-party, and Laura's heart leaped as shecalculated that it must fall to Philip's lot to hand her in to dinner. She was not mistaken, he did give her his arm; and they found themselvesmost favourably placed, for Philip's other neighbour was Mrs. Brownlow, talking at a great rate to Mr. De Courcy, and on Laura's side was therather deaf Mr. Hayley, who had quite enough to do to talk to MissBrownlow. Charles was not at table, and not one suspicious eye couldrest on them, yet it was not till the second course was in progress thathe said anything which the whole world might not have heard. Somethinghad passed about Canterbury, and its distance from Hollywell. 

'I can be here often, ' said Philip. 

'I am glad. '

'If you can only be guarded, --and I think you are becoming so. '

'Is this a time to speak of--? Oh, don't!'

'It is the only time. No one is attending, and I have something to sayto you. '

Overpowering her dire confusion, in obedience to him, she looked at theepergne, and listened. 

'You have acted prudently. You have checked--' and he indicatedGuy--'without producing more than moderate annoyance. You have only toguard your self-possession. '

'It is very foolish, ' she murmured. 

'Ordinary women say so, and rest contented with the folly. You can dobetter things. '

There was a thrill of joy at finding him conversing with her as his'own;' it overcame her embarrassment and alarm, and wishes he would notchoose such a time for speaking. '

'How shall I?' said she. 

'Employ yourself. Employ and strengthen your mind!'

'How shall I, and without you?'

'Find something to prevent you from dwelling on the future. That drawingis dreamy work, employing the fingers and leaving the mind free. '

'I have been trying to read, but I cannot fix my mind. '

'Suppose you take what will demand attention. Mathematics, algebra. Iwill send you my first book of algebra, and it will help you to workdown many useless dreams and anxieties. '

'Thank you; pray do; I shall be very glad of it. '

'You will find it give a power and stability to your mind, and no longerhave to complain of frivolous occupation. '

'I don't feel frivolous now, ' said Laura, sadly; 'I don't know why it isthat everything is so altered, I am really happier, but my light heartis gone. '

'You have but now learnt the full powers of your soul, Laura, you haveleft the world of childhood, with the gay feelings which have no depth. '

'I have what is better, ' she whispered. 

'You have, indeed. But those feelings must be regulated, andstrengthening the intellect strengthens the governing power. '

Philip, with all his sense, was mystifying himself, because he wasdeparting from right, the only true 'good sense. ' His right judgmentin all things was becoming obscured, so he talked metaphysical jargon, instead of plain practical truth, and thought he was teaching Laura tostrengthen her powers of mind, instead of giving way to dreams, whenhe was only leading her to stifle meditation, and thus securing hercomplete submission to himself. 

She was happier after this conversation, and better able to payattention to the guests, nor did she feel guilty when obliged to playand sing in the evening--for she knew he must own that she could do nootherwise. 

Lady Eveleen gave, however, its brilliancy to the party. She hadsomething wonderfully winning and fascinating about her, and Philipowned to himself that it took no small resolution on the part of Mr. Thorndale to keep so steadily aloof from the party in the bay window, where she was reigning like a queen, and inspiring gaiety like a fairy. She made Guy sing with her; it was the first time he had ever sung, except among themselves, as Mrs. Edmonstone had never known whether hewould like to be asked; but Eveleen refused to sing some of the Irishmelodies unless he would join her, and without making any difficulty hedid so. Mrs. Brownlow professed to be electrified, and Eveleen declaringthat she knew she sung like a peacock, told Mrs. Brownlow that the thingto hear was Sir Guy singing glees with Laura and Amy. Of course, theywere obliged to sing. Mrs. Brownlow was delighted; and as she hadconsiderable knowledge of music, they all grew eager and Philip thoughtit very foolish of Guy to allow so much of his talent and enthusiasm todisplay themselves. 

When all the people were gone, and the home party had wished each othergood-night, Philip lingered in the drawing-room to finish a letter. Guy, after helping Charles up-stairs, came down a few moments after, to fetchsomething which he had forgotten. Philip looked up, --'You contributedgreatly to the entertainment this evening, ' he said. 

Guy coloured, not quite sure that this was not said sarcastically, andprovoked with himself for being vexed. 

'You think one devoid of the sixth sense has no right to speak, ' saidPhilip. 

'I can't expect all to think it, as I do, one of the best things in thisworld or out of it, ' said Guy, speaking quickly. 

'I know it is so felt by those who understand its secrets, ' said Philip. 'I would not depreciate it; so you may hear me patiently, Guy. I onlymeant to warn you, that it is often the means of bringing persons intoundesirable intimacies, from which they cannot disentangle themselves aseasily as they enter them. '

A flush crossed Guy's cheek, but it passed, and he simply said--'Isuppose it may. Good-night. '

Philip looked after him, and pondered on what it was that had annoyedhim--manner, words, or advice. He ascribed it to Guy's unwillingness tobe advised, since he had observed that his counsel was apt to irritatehim, though his good sense often led him to follow it. In the presentcase, Philip thought Mrs. Brownlow and her society by no means desirablefor a youth like Guy; and he was quite right. 

Philip and his friend went the next morning; and in the afternoon Laurareceived the book of algebra--a very original first gift from a lover. It came openly, with a full understanding that she was to use it by hisrecommendation; her mother and brother both thought they understood themotive, which one thought very wise, and the other very characteristic. 

Lord Kilcoran and Lady Eveleen also departed. Eveleen very sorry to go, though a little comforted by the prospect of seeing Laura so soonin Ireland, where she would set her going in all kinds of'rationalities--reading, and school teaching, and everything else. '

'Ay, ' said Charles, when all were out of hearing but his mother; 'andI shrewdly suspect the comfort would be still greater if it was Sir GuyMorville who was coming. '

'It would be no bad thing, ' said his mother: 'Eveleen is a nice creaturewith great capabilities. '

'Capabilities! but will they ever come to anything?'

'In a few years, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'and he is a mere boy atpresent, so there is plenty of time for both to develop themselves. '

'Most true, madame mere; but it remains to be proved whether the likingfor Sir Guy, which has taken hold of my lady Eveleen, is strong enoughto withstand all the coquetting with young Irishmen, and all the idlingat Kilcoran. '

'I hope she has something better to be relied on than the liking for SirGuy. '

'You may well do so, for I think he has no notion of throwing off hisallegiance to you--his first and only love. He liked very well to makefun with Eva; but he regarded her rather as a siren, who drew him offfrom his Latin and Greek. '

'Yes; I am ashamed of myself for such a fit of match-making! Forget it, Charlie, as fast as you can. '

CHAPTER 11

 This warld's wealth, when I think o't, Its pride, and a' the lave o't, Fie, fie on silly coward man, That he should be the slave o't. --BURNS

In another week Mr. Edmonstone and his eldest daughter were to departon their Irish journey. Laura, besides the natural pain in leaving home, was sorry to be no longer near Philip, especially as it was not likelythat he would be still at Broadstone on their return; yet she was sorestless and dissatisfied, that any change was welcome, and the fear ofbetraying herself almost took away the pleasure of his presence. 

He met them at the railway station at Broadstone, where Mr. Edmonstone, finding himself much too early, recollected something he had forgottenin the town, and left his daughter to walk up and down the platformunder Philip's charge. They felt it a precious interval, but both wereout of spirits, and could hardly profit by it. 

'You will be gone long before we come back, ' said Laura. 

'In a fortnight or three weeks, probably. '

'But you will still be able to come to Hollywell now and then?'

'I hope so. It is all the pleasure I can look for. We shall never seesuch a summer again. '

'Oh, it has been a memorable one!'

'Memorable! Yes. It has given me an assurance that compensates for allI have lost; yet it has made me feel, more than ever before, how povertywithers a man's hopes. '

'O Philip, I always thought your poverty a great, noble thing!'

'You thought like a generous-tempered girl who has known nothing of itseffects. '

'And do you know that Guy says the thing to be proud of is of holdingthe place you do, without the aid of rank or riches. '

'I would not have it otherwise--I would not for worlds that my fatherhad acted otherwise, ' said Philip. 'You understand that, Laura. '

'Of course I do. '

'But when you speak--when Guy speaks of my holding the place I do, youlittle know what it is to feel that powers of usefulness are wasted--toknow I have the means of working my way to honour and distinction, suchas you would rejoice in Laura, to have it all within, yet feel it thrownaway. Locksley Hall, again--"every door is barred with gold, and opensbut to golden keys. '"

'I wish there was anything to be done, ' said Laura. 

'It is my profession that is the bar to everything. I have sold the bestyears of my life, and for what? To see my sister degrade herself by thatmarriage. '

'That is the real grief, ' said Laura. 

'But for that, I should never have cast a look back on what Irelinquished. However, why do I talk of these things, these vainregrets? They only occurred because my welfare does not concern myselfalone--and here's your father. '

Mr. Edmonstone returned, out of breath, in too much bustle remark hisdaughter's blushes. Even when the train was moving off, he still hadhis head out at the window, calling to Philip that they should expecta visit from him as soon as ever they returned. Such cordiality gavePhilip a pang; and in bitterness of spirit he walked back to thebarracks. On the way he met Mrs. Deane who wanted to consult him aboutinviting his cousin, Sir Guy to a dinner-party she intended to give nextweek. 'Such an agreeable, sensible youth, and we feel we owe him someattention, he took so much pains to make apologies about the ball. '

'I dare say he will be very happy to come. '

'We will write at once. He is a very fine young man, without a shade ofvanity or nonsense. '

'Yes; he has very pleasant, unaffected manners. '

'I am sure he will do credit to his estate. It is a very handsomefortune, is it not?'

'It is a very large property. '

'I am glad of it; I have no doubt we shall see him one of the first menof his time. '

These words brought into contrast in Philip's mind the differencebetween Guy's position and his own. The mere possession of wealth waswinning for Guy, at an age when his merits could only be negative, thatestimation which his own tried character had scarcely achieved, placinghim not merely on a level with himself, but in a situation wherehappiness and influence came unbidden. His own talents, attainments, andequal, if not superior claims, to gentle blood, could not procure himwhat seemed to lie at Guy's feet. His own ability and Laura's heartalone were what wealth could not affect; yet when he thought how thewant of it wasted the one, and injured the hopes of the other, herecurred to certain visions of his sister Margaret's, in days goneby, of what he was to do as Sir Philip, lord of Redclyffe. He wasspeculating on what would have happened had Guy died in his sicklyinfancy, when, suddenly recollecting himself, he turned his mind toother objects. 

Guy was not much charmed with Mrs. Deane's invitation. He said he knewhe must go to make up for his rudeness about the ball; but he grumbledenough to make Mrs. Edmonstone laugh at him for being so stupid asto want to stay hum-drum in the chimney corner. No doubt it was verypleasant there. There was that peculiar snugness which belongs to aremnant of a large party, when each member of it feels bound to preventthe rest from being dull. Guy devoted himself to Charles more thanever, and in the fear that he might miss the late variety of amusement, exerted even more of his powers of entertainment than Lady Eveleen hadcalled forth. 

There were grave readings in the mornings, and long walks in theafternoons, when he dragged Charles, in his chair, into many a place hehad never expected to see again, and enabled him to accompany his motherand sisters in many a delightful expedition. In the evening there wasmusic, or light reading, especially poetry, as this was encouraged byMrs. Edmonstone, in the idea that it was better that so excitable andenthusiastic a person as Guy should have his objects of admirationtested by Charles's love of ridicule. 

Mr. Edmonstone had left to Guy the office of keeping the 1st ofSeptember, one which he greatly relished. Indeed, when he thought of hisown deserted manors, he was heard to exclaim, in commiseration for theneglect, 'Poor partridges!' The Hollywell shooting was certainly notlike that at Redclyffe, where he could hardly walk out of his owngrounds, whereas here he had to bear in mind so many boundaries, thatPhilip was expecting to have to help him out of some direful scrape. Hehad generally walked over the whole extent, and assured himself that thebirds were very wild, and Bustle the best of dogs, before breakfast, soas to be ready for all the occupations of the day. He could scarcely begrateful when the neighbours, thinking it must be very dull for him tobe left alone with Mrs. Edmonstone and her crippled son, used to askhim to shoot or dine. He always lamented at first, and ended by enjoyinghimself. 

One night, he came home, in such a state of eagerness, that he mustneeds tell his good news; and, finding no one in the drawing-room, heran up-stairs, opened Charles's door, and exclaimed--'There's to be aconcert at Broadstone!' Then perceiving that Charles was fast asleep, he retreated noiselessly, reserving his rejoicings till morning, when itappeared that Charles had heard, but had woven the announcement into adream. 

This concert filled Guy's head. His only grief was that it was to be inthe evening, so that Charles could not go to it; and his wonder wasnot repressed at finding that Philip did not mean to favour it with hispresence, since Guy would suffice for squire to Mrs. Edmonstone and herdaughters. 

In fact, Philip was somewhat annoyed by the perpetual conversation aboutthe concert, and on the day on which it was to take place resolved onmaking a long expedition to visit the ruins of an old abbey, far out ofall reports of it. As he was setting out, he was greeted, in a very loudvoice, by Mr. Gordon. 

'Hollo, Morville! how are you? So you have great doings to-night, Ihear!' and he had only just forced himself from him, when he was againaccosted, this time in a hasty, embarrassed manner, --

'I beg your pardon, sir, but the ties of relationship--'

He drew himself up as if he was on parade, faced round, and repliedwith an emphatic 'Sir!' as he behold a thin, foreign-looking man, ina somewhat flashy style of dress, who, bowing low, repeatedbreathlessly, --

'I beg your pardon--Sir Guy Morville, I believe!'

'Captain Morville, sir!'

'I beg your pardon--I mistook. A thousand pardons, ' and he retreated;while Philip, after a moment's wonder, pursued his walk. 

The Hollywell party entered Broadstone in a very different temper, andgreatly did they enjoy the concert, both for themselves and for eachother. In the midst of it, while Amy was intent on the Italian words ofa song, Guy touched her hand, and pointed to a line in the programme--

 Solo on the violin. . . . MR. S. B. DIXON. 

She looked up in his face with an expression full of inquiry; but itwas no time for speaking, and she only saw how the colour mantled on hischeek when the violinist appeared, and how he looked down the whole timeof the performance, only now and then venturing a furtive though earnestglance. 

He did not say anything till they were seated in the carriage, and thenastonished Mrs. Edmonstone by exclaiming--

'It must be my uncle!--I am sure it must. I'll ride to Broadstone thefirst thing to-morrow, and find him out. '

'Your uncle!' exclaimed Mrs. Edmonstone. 'I never thought of that. '

S. B. Dixon, ' said Guy. 'I know his name is Sebastian. It cannot beany one else. You know he went to America. How curious it is! I supposethere is no fear of his being gone before I can come in to-morrow. '

'I should think not. Those musical people keep late hours. '

'I would go before breakfast. Perhaps it would be best to go to oldRedford, he will know all about him; or to the music-shop. I am so glad!It is the very thing I always wished. '

'Did you?' said Mrs. Edmonstone to herself. 'I can't say every one wouldbe of your mind; but I can't help liking you the better for it. I wishthe man had kept further off. I wish Mr. Edmonstone was at home. I hopeno harm will come of it. I wonder what I ought to do. Shall I cautionhim? No; I don't think I can spoil his happiness--and perhaps the manmay be improved. He is his nearest relation, and I have no rightto interfere. His own good sense will protect him--but I wish Mr. Edmonstone was at home. '

She therefore did not check his expressions of delight, nor object tohis going to Broadstone early the next morning. He had just dismountedbefore the inn-yard, when a boy put a note into his hand, and he was soabsorbed in its contents, that he did not perceive Philip till aftertwo greetings had passed unheard. When at length he was recalled, he started, and exclaimed, rapturously, as he put the note into hiscousin's hand, 'See here--it is himself!'

'Who?'

'My uncle. My poor mother's own brother. '

'Sebastian Bach Dixon, ' read Philip. 'Ha! it was he who took me for youyesterday. '

'I saw him at the concert--I was sure it could be no other. I came inon purpose to find him, and here he is waiting for me. Is not it a happychance?'

'Happy!' echoed Philip, in a far different tone. 

'How I have longed for this--for any one who could remember and tell meof her--of my mother--my poor, dear young mother! And her own brother!I have been thinking of it all night, and he knows I am here, and is aseager as myself. He is waiting for me, ' ended Guy, hurrying off. 

'Stop!' said Philip, gravely. 'Think before acting. I seriously adviseyou to have nothing to do with this man, at least personally. Let me seehim, and learn what he wants. '

'He wants me, ' impatiently answered Guy. 'You are not his nephew. '

'Thank heaven!' thought Philip. 'Do you imagine your relationship is thesole cause of his seeking you?'

'I don't know--I don't care!' cried Guy, with vehemence. 'I will notlisten to suspicions of my mother's brother. '

'It is more than suspicion. Hear me calmly. I speak for your good. Iknow this man's influence was fatal to your father. I know he did all inhis power to widen the breach with your grandfather. '

'That was eighteen years ago, ' said Guy, walking on, biting his lip in afiery fit of impatience. 

'You will not hear. Remember, that his position and associates renderhim no fit companion for you. Nay, listen patiently. You cannot help therelationship. I would not have you do otherwise than assist him. Let himnot complain of neglect, but be on your guard. He will either seriouslyinjure you, or be a burden for life. '

'I have heard you so far--I can hear no more, ' said Guy, no longerrestraining his impetuosity. 'He is my uncle, that I know, I care fornothing else. Position--nonsense! what has that to do with it? I willnot be set against him. '

He strode off; but in a few moments turned back, overtook Philip, said--'Thank you for your advice. I beg your pardon for my hastiness. You meankindly, but I must see my uncle. ' And, without waiting for an answer, hewas gone. 

In short space he was in the little parlour of the music-shop, shakinghands with his uncle, and exclaiming, --

'I am so glad! I hoped it was you!'

'It is very noble-hearted! I might have known it would be so with theson of my dearest sister and of my generous friend!' cried Mr. Dixon, with eagerness that had a theatrical air, though it was genuine feelingthat filled his eyes with tears. 

'I saw your name last night' continued Guy. 'I would have tried to speakto you at once, but I was obliged to stay with Mrs. Edmonstone, as I wasthe only gentleman with her. '

'Ah! I thought it possible you might not be able to follow the dictateof your own heart; but this is a fortunate conjuncture, in the absenceof your guardian. '

Guy recollected Philip's remonstrance, and it crossed him whether hisguardian might be of the same mind; but he felt confident in having toldall to Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'How did you know I was here?' he asked. 

'I learnt it in a most gratifying way. Mr. Redford, without knowingour connection--for on that I will always be silent--mentioned that thefinest tenor he had ever known, in an amateur, belonged to his pupil, Sir Guy Morville. You can imagine my feelings at finding you so near, and learning that you had inherited your dear mother's talent andtaste. '

The conversation was long, for there was much to hear. Mr. Dixon hadkept up a correspondence at long intervals with Markham, from whom heheard that his sister's child survived, and was kindly treated by hisgrandfather; and inquiring again on the death of old Sir Guy, learntthat he was gone to live with his guardian, whose name, and residenceMarkham had not thought fit to divulge. He had been much rejoiced tohear his name from the music-master, and he went on to tell how he hadbeen misled by the name of Morville into addressing the captain, who hada good deal of general resemblance to Guy's father, a fine tall youngman, of the same upright, proud deportment. He supposed he was the sonof the Archdeacon, and remembering how strongly his own proceedingshad been discountenanced at Stylehurst, had been much disconcerted, anddeeming the encounter a bad omen, had used more caution in his advancesto his nephew. It was from sincere affection that he sought hisacquaintance, though very doubtful as to the reception he might meet, and was both delighted and surprised at such unembarrassed, open-heartedaffection. 

The uncle and nephew were not made to understand each other. SebastianDixon was a man of little education, and when, in early youth, histalents had placed him high in his own line, he had led a careless, extravagant life. Though an evil friend, and fatal counsellor, he hadbeen truly attached to Guy's father, and the secret engagement, andrunaway marriage with his beautiful sister, had been the romance of hislife, promoted by him with no selfish end. He was a proud and passionateman, and resenting Sir Guy's refusal to receive his sister as adaughter, almost as much as Sir Guy was incensed at the marriage, hadled his brother-in-law to act in a manner which cut off the hope ofreconciliation, and obliged Archdeacon Morville to give up his cause. Hehad gloried in supporting his sister and her husband, and enabling themto set the old baronet at defiance. But young Morville's territorialpride could not brook that he should be maintained, and especially thathis child, the heir of Redclyffe, should be born while he was living atthe expense of a musician. This feeling, aided by a yearning for home, and a secret love for his father, mastered his resentment; he took hisresolution, quarrelled with Dixon, and carried off his wife, bent withdesperation on forcing his father into receiving her. 

Sebastian had not surmounted his anger at this step when he learnt itsfatal consequences. Ever since that time, nothing had prospered withhim: he had married and sunk himself lower, and though he had anexcellent engagement, the days were past when he was the fashion, andhis gains and his triumphs were not what they had been. He had a longlist of disappointments and jealousies with which to entertain Guy, who, on his side, though resolved to like him, and dreading to be too refinedto be friends with his relations, could not feel as thoroughly pleasedas he intended to have been. 

Music was, however, a subject on which they could meet with equalenthusiasm, and by means of this, together with the aid of his ownimagination, Guy contrived to be very happy. He stayed with his uncle aslong as he could, and promised to spend a day with him in London, on hisway to Oxford, in October. 

The next morning, when Philip knew that Guy would be with his tutor, hewalked to Hollywell, came straight up to his aunt's dressing-room, askedher to send Charlotte down to practise, and, seating himself opposite toher, began--

'What do you mean to do about this unfortunate rencontre?'

'Do you mean Guy and his uncle? He is very much pleased, poor boy! Ilike his entire freedom from false shame. '

'A little true shame would be hardly misplaced about such a connection. '

'It is not his fault, and I hope it will not be his misfortune, ' saidMrs. Edmonstone. 

'That it will certainly be, ' replied Philip, 'if we are not on ourguard; and, indeed, if we are, there is little to be done with one sowilful. I might as well have interfered with the course of a whirlwind. '

'No, no, Philip; he is too candid to be wilful. '

'I cannot be of your opinion, when I have seen him rushing into thisacquaintance in spite of the warnings he must have had here--to saynothing of myself. '

'Nay, there I must defend him, though you will think me very unwise; Icould not feel that I ought to withhold him from taking some notice ofso near a relation. '

Philip did think her so unwise, that he could only reply, gravely--

'We must hope it may produce no evil effects. '

'How?' she exclaimed, much alarmed. 'Have you heard anything againsthim?'

'You remember, of course, that Guy's father was regularly the victim ofthis Dixon. '

'Yes, yes; but he has had enough to sober him. Do you know nothingmore?' said Mrs. Edmonstone, growing nervously anxious lest she had beendoing wrong in her husband's absence. 

'I have been inquiring about him from old Redford, and I should judgehim to be a most dangerous companion; as, indeed, I could have told fromhis whole air, which is completely that of a roué. '

'You have seen him, then?'

'Yes. He paid me the compliment of taking me for Sir Guy, and of coursemade off in dismay when he discovered on whom he had fallen. I haveseldom seen a less creditable-looking individual. '

'But what did Mr. Redford say? Did he know of the connection?'

'No; I am happy to say he did not. The fellow has decency enough notto boast of that. Well, Redford did not know much of him personally: hesaid he had once been much thought of, and had considerable talent andexecution, but taste changes, or he has lost something, so that, thoughhe stands tolerably high in his profession, he is not a leader. So muchfor his musical reputation. As to his character, he is one of thosepeople who are called no one's enemy but their own, exactly theintroduction Guy has hitherto happily wanted to every sort of mischief. '

'I think, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, trying to console herself, 'that Guy istoo much afraid of small faults to be invited by larger evils. Whilehe punishes himself for an idle word, he is not likely to go wrong ingreater matters. '

'Not at present. '

'Is the man in debt or difficulties? Guy heard nothing of that, and Ithought it a good sign. '

'I don't suppose he is. He ought not, for he has a fixed salary, besideswhat he gets by playing at concerts when it is not the London season. The wasting money on a spendthrift relation would be a far less evilthan what I apprehend. '

'I wish I knew what to do! It is very unlucky that your uncle is fromhome. '

'Very. '

Mrs. Edmonstone was frightened by the sense of responsibility, and wasonly anxious to catch hold of something to direct her. 

'What would you have me do?' she asked, hopelessly. 

'Speak seriously to Guy. He must attend to you: he cannot fly out with awoman as he does with me. Show him the evils that must result from suchan intimacy. If Dixon was in distress, I would not say a word, for hewould be bound to assist him but as it is, the acquaintance can serve nopurpose but degrading Guy, and showing him the way to evil. Above all, make a point of his giving up visiting him in London. That is the sureroad to evil. A youth of his age, under the conduct of a worn-outroué, connected with the theatres! I can hardly imagine anything moremischievous. '

'Yes, yes; I will speak to him, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, perfectlyappalled. 

She promised, but she found the fulfilment difficult, in her dislike ofvexing Guy, her fear of saying what was wrong, and a doubt whether theappearance of persecuting Mr. Dixon was not the very way to preventGuy's own good sense from finding out his true character, so she waited, hoping Mr. Edmonstone might return before Guy went to Oxford, or that hemight write decisively. 

Mrs. Edmonstone might have known her husband better than to expect himto write decisively when he had neither herself nor Philip at his elbow. The same post had brought him a letter from Guy, mentioning his meetingwith his uncle, and frankly explaining his plans for London; anotherfrom Philip, calling on him to use all his authority to prevent thisintercourse, and a third from his wife. Bewildered between them, he tookthem to his sister, who, being as puzzle-headed as himself, and onlyhearing his involved history of the affair, confused him still more; sohe wrote to Philip, saying he was sorry the fellow had turned up, but hewould guard against him. He told Guy he was sorry to say that his uncleused to be a sad scamp, and he must take care, or it would be his poorfather's story over again; and to Mrs. Edmonstone he wrote that it wasvery odd that everything always did go wrong when he was away. 

He thought these letters a great achievement, but his wife's perplexitywas not materially relieved. 

After considering a good while, she at length spoke to Guy; but it wasnot at a happy time, for Philip, despairing of her, had just taken onhimself to remonstrate, and had angered him to the verge of an outbreak. 

Mrs. Edmonstone, as mildly as she could, urged on him that suchintercourse could bring him little satisfaction, and might be veryinconvenient; that his uncle was in no distress, and did not requireassistance; and that it was too probable that in seeking him out hemight meet with persons who might unsettle his principles, --in short, that he had much better give up the visit to London. 

'This is Philip's advice, ' said Guy. 

'It is; but--'

Guy looked impatient, and she paused. 

'You must forgive me, ' he said, 'if I follow my own judgment. If Mr. Edmonstone chose to lay his commands on me, I suppose I must submit; butI cannot see that I am bound to obey Philip. '

'Not to obey, certainly; but his advice--'

'He is prejudiced and unjust, ' said Guy. 

'I don't believe that my uncle would attempt to lead me into badcompany; and surely you would not have me neglect or look coldly on onewho was so much attached to my parents. If he is not a gentleman, and islooked down on by the world, it is not for his sister's son to make himconscious of it. '

'I like your feelings, Guy; I can say nothing against it, but that I ammuch afraid your uncle is not highly principled. '

'You have only Philip's account of him. '

'You are resolved?'

'Yes. I do not like not to take your advice, but I do believe this is myduty. I do not think my determination is made in self-will, ' said Guy, thoughtfully; 'I cannot think that I ought to neglect my uncle, becauseI happen to have been born in a different station, which is all I haveheard proved against him, ' he added, smiling. 'You will forgive me, willyou not, for not following your advice? for really and truly, if youwill let me say so, I think you would not have given it if Philip hadnot been talking to you. '

Mrs. Edmonstone confessed, with a smile, that perhaps it was so; butsaid she trusted much to Philip's knowledge of the world. Guy agreed tothis; though still declaring Philip had no right to set him against hisuncle, and there the discussion ended. 

Guy went to London. Philip thought him very wilful, and his aunt veryweak; and Mr. Edmonstone, on coming home, said it could not be helped, and he wished to hear no more about the matter. 

CHAPTER 12

 Her playful smile, her buoyance wild, Bespeak the gentle, mirthful child; But in her forehead's broad expanse, Her chastened tones, her thoughtful glance, Is mingled, with the child's light glee, The modest maiden's dignity. 

One summer's day, two years after the ball and review, Mary Ross and herfather were finishing their early dinner, when she said, --

'If you don't want me this afternoon, papa, I think I shall walk toHollywell. You know Eveleen de Courcy is there. '

'No, I did not. What has brought her?'

'As Charles expresses it, she has over-polked herself in London, and issent here for quiet and country air. I want to call on her, and toask Sir Guy to give me some idea as to the singing the children shouldpractise for the school-feast?'

'Then you think Sir Guy will come to the feast?'

'I reckon on him to conceal all the deficiencies in the children'ssinging. '

'He won't desert you, as he did Mrs. Brownlow?'

'O papa! you surely did not think him to blame in that affair?'

'Honestly, Mary, if I thought about the matter at all, I thought it apity he should go so much to the Brownlows. '

'I believe I could tell you the history, if you thought it worth while;and though it may be gossip, I should like you to do justice to SirGuy. '

'Very well; though I don't think there is much danger of my doingotherwise. I only wondered he should become intimate there at all. '

'I believe Mrs. Edmonstone thinks it right he should see as much of theworld as possible, and not be always at home in their own set. '

'Fair and proper. '

'You know she has shown him all the people she could, --had Eveleenstaying there, and the Miss Nortons, and hunted him out to parties, whenhe had rather have been at home. '

'I thought he was fond of society. I remember your telling me how amusedyou were with his enjoyment of his first ball. '

'Ah! he was two years younger then, and all was new. He seems to me toodeep and sensitive not to find more pain than pleasure in commonplacesociety. I have sometimes seen that he cannot speak either lightly orharshly of what he disapproves, and people don't understand him. I wasonce sitting next him, when there was some talking going on about anelopement; he did not laugh, looked almost distressed, and at last saidin a very low voice, to me, "I wish people would not laugh about suchthings. "'

'He is an extraordinary mixture of gaiety of heart, and seriousness. '

'Well, when Mrs. Brownlow had her nieces with her, and was giving thosemusical parties, his voice made him valuable; and Mrs. Edmonstone toldhim he ought to go to them. I believe he liked it at first, but he foundthere was no end to it; it took up a great deal of time, and was a styleof thing altogether that was not desirable. Mrs Edmonstone thought atfirst his reluctance was only shyness and stay-at-home nonsense, thatought to be overcome; but when she had been there, and saw how Mrs. Brownlow beset him, and the unpleasant fuss they made about his singing, she quite came round to his mind, and was very sorry she had exposed himto so much that was disagreeable. '

'Well, Mary, I am glad to hear your account. My impression arose fromsomething Philip Morville said. '

'Captain Morville never can approve of anything Sir Guy does! It is notlike Charles. '

'How improved Charles Edmonstone is. He has lost that spirit of repiningand sarcasm, and lives as if he had an object. '

'Yes; he employs himself now, and teaches Amy to do the same. You know, after the governess went, we were afraid little Amy would never doanything but wait on Charles, and idle in her pretty gentle way; butwhen he turned to better things so did she, and her mind has beengrowing all this time. Perhaps you don't see it, for she has not losther likeness to a kitten, and looks all demure silence with the elders, but she takes in what the wise say. '

'She is a very good little thing; and I dare say will not be the worsefor growing up slowly. '

'Those two sisters are specimens of fast and slow growth. Laurahas always seemed to be so much more than one year older than Amy, especially of late. She is more like five-and-twenty than twenty. Iwonder if she overworks herself. But how we have lingered over ourdinner!'

By half-past three, Mary was entering a copse which led into Mr. Edmonstone's field, when she heard gay tones, and a snatch of one of thesweetest of old songs, --

 Weep no more, lady; lady, weep no more, Thy sorrow is in vain; For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers Will ne'er make grow again. 

A merry, clear laugh followed, and a turn in the path showed her Guy, Amy, and Charlotte, busy over a sturdy stock of eglantine. Guy, littlechanged in these two years, --not much taller, and more agile thanrobust, --was lopping vigorously with his great pruning-knife, Amabelnursing a bundle of drooping rose branches, Charlotte, her bonnet in agarland of wild sweet-brier, holding the matting and continually gettingentangled in the long thorny wreaths. 

'And here comes the "friar of orders gray, " to tell you so, ' exclaimedGuy, as Mary, in her gray dress, came on them. 

'Oh, that is right, dear good friar, ' cried Amy. 

'We are so busy, ' said Charlotte; 'Guy has made Mr. Markham send allthese choice buds from Redclyffe. '

'Not from the park, ' said Guy, 'we don't deal much in gardening; butMarkham is a great florist, and these are his bounties. '

'And are you cutting that beautiful wild rose to pieces?'

'Is it not a pity?' said Amy. 'We have used up all the stocks in thegarden, and this is to be transplanted in the autumn. '

'She has been consoling it all the time by telling it it is for itsgood, ' said Guy; 'cutting off wild shoots, and putting in betterthings. '

'I never said anything so pretty; and, after all, I don't know that thegrand roses will be equal to these purple shoots and blushing buds withlong whiskers. '

'So Sir Guy was singing about the violets plucked to comfort you. Butyou must not leave off, I want to see how you do it. I am gardenerenough to like to look on. '

'We have only two more to put in. '

Knife and fingers were busy, and Mary admired the dexterity with whichthe slit was made in the green bark, well armed with firm red thorns, and the tiny scarlet gem inserted, and bound with cotton and matting. At the least critical parts of the work, she asked after the rest ofthe party, and was answered that papa had driven Charles out in the ponycarriage, and that Laura and Eveleen were sitting on the lawn, readingand working with mamma. Eveleen was better, but not strong, or equal tomuch exertion in the heat. Mary went on to speak of her school feast andask her questions. 

'O Guy, you must not go before that!' cried Charlotte. 

'Are you going away?'

'He is very naughty, indeed, ' said Charlotte. 'He is going, I don't knowwhere all, to be stupid, and read mathematics. '

'A true bill, I am sorry to say, ' said Guy; 'I am to join areading-party for the latter part of the vacation. '

'I hope not before Thursday week, though we are not asking you toanything worth staying for. '

'Oh, surely you need not go before that!' said Amy, 'need you?'

'No; I believe I may stay till Friday, and I should delight in thefeast, thank you, Miss Ross, --I want to study such things. A bit morematting, Amy, if you please. There, I think that will do. '

'Excellently. Here is its name. See how neatly Charlie has printed it, Mary. Is it not odd, that he prints so well when he writes so badly?'

'"The Seven Sisters. " There, fair sisterhood, grow and thrive, till Icome to transplant you in the autumn. Are there any more?'

'No, that is the last. Now, Mary, let us come to mamma. '

Guy waited to clear the path of the numerous trailing briery branches, and the others walked on, Amy telling how sorry they were to lose Guy'svacation, but that he thought he could not give time enough tohis studies here, and had settled, at Oxford, to make one of areading-party, under the tutorship of his friend, Mr. Wellwood. 

'Where do they go?'

'It is not settled. Guy wished it to be the sea-side; but Philip hasbeen recommending a farmhouse in Stylehurst parish, rather nearer St. Mildred's Wells than Stylehurst, but quite out in the moor, and animmense way from both. '

'Do you think it will be the place?'

'Yes; Guy thinks it would suit Mr. Wellwood, because he has friends atSt. Mildred's, so he gave his vote for it. He expects to hear how it issettled to-day or to-morrow. '

Coming out on the lawn, they found the three ladies sitting under theacacia, with their books and work. Laura did, indeed, look older thanher real age, as much above twenty as Amy looked under nineteen. Shewas prettier than ever; her complexion exquisite in delicacy, her finefigure and the perfect outline of her features more developed; but thechange from girl to woman had passed over her, and set its stamp on theanxious blue eye, and almost oppressed brow. Mary thought it would behard to define where was that difference. It was not want of bloom, for of that Laura had more than any of the others, fresh, healthy, and bright, while Amy was always rather pale, and Lady Eveleen waspositively wan and faded by London and late hours; nor was it loss ofanimation, for Laura talked and laughed with interest and eagerness; norwas it thought, for little Amy, when at rest, wore a meditative, pensivecountenance; but there was something either added or taken away, whichmade it appear that the serenity and carelessness of early youth hadfled from her, and the air of the cares of life had come over her. 

Mary told her plans, --Church service at four, followed by a tea-drinkingin the fields; tea in the garden for the company, and play for theschool children and all who liked to join them. Every one likes suchfestivals, which have the recommendation of permitting all to do as theyplease, bringing friends together in perfect ease and freedom, withan object that raises them above the rank of mere gatherings for thepleasure of rich neighbours. 

Mrs. Edmonstone gladly made the engagement and Lady Eveleen promised tobe quite well, and to teach the children all manner of new games, thoughshe greatly despised the dullness of English children, and had manydroll stories of the stupidity of Laura's pupils, communicated toher, with perhaps a little exaggeration, by Charles, and still furtherembellished by herself, for the purpose of exciting Charlotte'sindignation. 

Mary proceeded to her consultation about the singing, and wasconducted by Guy and Amy to the piano, and when her ears could not beindoctrinated by their best efforts, they more than half engaged to walkto East-hill, and have a conversation with the new school-master, whomMary pitied for having fallen on people so unable to appreciate hismusical training as herself and her father. The whole party walked backwith her as far as the shade lasted; and at the end of the next fieldshe turned, saw them standing round the stile, thought what happy peoplethey were, and then resumed her wonder whither Laura's youthfulness hadflown. 

The situation of Philip and Laura had not changed. His regiment hadnever been at any great distance from Hollywell, and he often came, venturing more as Laura learnt to see him with less trepidation. Heseldom or never was alone with her; but his influence was as strong asever, and look, word, and gesture, which she alone could understand, told her what she was to him, and revealed his thoughts. To him she wasdevoted, all her doings were with a view to please him, and deserve hisaffection; he was her world, and sole object. Indeed, she was sometimesstartled by perceiving that tenderly as she loved her own family, allwere subordinate to him. She had long since known the true name of herfeelings for him; she could not tell when or how the certainty had come, but she was conscious that it was love that they had acknowledged forone another and that she only lived in the light of his love. Still shedid not realize the evil of concealment; it was so deep a sensation ofher innermost heart, that she never could imagine revealing it to anyliving creature, and she had besides so surrendered her judgment to heridol, that no thought could ever cross her that he had enjoined what waswrong. Her heart and soul were his alone, and she left the future to himwithout an independent desire or reflection. All the embarrassments anddiscomforts which her secret occasioned her were met willingly forhis sake, and these were not a few, though time had given her moreself-command, or, perhaps, more properly speaking, had hardened her. 

She always had a dread of tete-a-tetes and conversations over novels, and these were apt to be unavoidable when Eveleen was at Hollywell. The twilight wanderings on the terrace were a daily habit, and Eveleenalmost always paired with her. On this evening in particular, Laura wasmade very uncomfortable by Eveleen's declaring that it was positivelyimpossible and unnatural that the good heroine of some novel should haveconcealed her engagement from her parents. Laura could not help sayingthat there might be many excuses; then afraid that she was excitingsuspicion, changed the subject in great haste, and tried to make Eveleencome indoors, telling her she would tire herself to death, and vexedby her cousin's protestations that the fresh cool air did her good. Besides, Eveleen was looking with attentive eyes at another pairwho were slowly walking up and down the shady walk that bordered thegrass-plot, and now and then standing still to enjoy the subdued silenceof the summer evening, and the few distant sounds that marked theperfect lull. 

'How calm--how beautiful!' murmured Amabel. 

'It only wants the low solemn surge and ripple of the tide, and its dashon the rocks, ' said Guy. 'If ever there was music, it is there; but itmakes one think what the ear must be that can take in the whole of thoseharmonics. '

'How I should like to hear it!'

'And see it. O Amy! to show you the sunny sea, --the sense of breadthand vastness in that pale clear horizon line, and the infinite number offields of light between you and it, --and the free feelings as you standon some high crag, the wind blowing in your face across half the globe, and the waves dashing far below! I am growing quite thirsty for thesea. '

'You know, papa said something about your taking your reading-party toRedclyffe. '

'True, but I don't think Markham would like it, and it would put oldMrs. Drew into no end of a fuss. '

'Not like to have you?'

'O yes, I should be all very well; but if they heard I was bringingthree or four men with me, they would think them regular wild beasts. They would be in an awful fright. Besides, it is so long since I havebeen at home, that I don't altogether fancy going there till I settlethere for good. '

'Ah! it will be sad going there at first. '

'And it has not been my duty yet. '

'But you will be glad when you get there?'

'Sha'n't I? I wonder if any one has been to shoot the rabbits on theshag rock. They must have quite overrun it by this time. But I don'tlike the notion of the first day. There is not only the great change, but a stranger at the vicarage. '

'Do you know anything about the new clergyman? I believe Mrs. Ashford isa connection of Lady Thorndale's?'

'Yes; Thorndale calls them pattern people, and I have no doubt they willdo great good in the parish. I am sure we want some enlightenment, forwe are a most primitive race, and something beyond Jenny Robinson's dameschool would do us no harm. '

Here Mr. Edmonstone called from the window that they must come in. 

Mrs. Edmonstone thought deeply that night. She had not forgotten hernotion that Eveleen was attracted by Guy's manners, and had been curiousto see what would happen when Eveleen was sent to Hollywell for countryair. 

She had a very good opinion of Lady Eveleen. Since the former visit, she had shown more spirit of improvement, and laid aside many littlefollies; she had put herself under Laura's guidance, and tamed down intowhat gave the promise of a sensible woman, more than anything that hadhitherto been observed in her; and little addicted to match-making asMrs. Edmonstone was, she could not help thinking that Eva was almostworthy of her dear Guy (she never could expect to find anyone she shouldthink quite worthy of him, he was too like one of her own children forthat), and on the other hand, how delighted Lord and Lady Kilcoran wouldbe. It was a very pretty castle in the air; but in the midst of it, thenotion suddenly darted into Mrs. Edmonstone's head, that while she wasthinking of it, it was Amy, not Eveleen, who was constantly with Guy. Reading and music, roses, botany, and walks on the terrace! She lookedback, and it was still the same. Last Easter vacation, how they usedto study the stars in the evening, to linger in the greenhouse inthe morning nursing the geraniums, and to practise singing over theschool-room piano; how, in a long walk, they always paired together; andhow they seemed to share every pursuit or pleasure. 

Now Mrs. Edmonstone was extremely fond of Guy, and trusted him entirely;but she thought she ought to consider how far this should be allowed. Feeling that he ought to see more of the world, she had sent him asmuch as she could into society, but it had only made him cling closer tohome. Still he was but twenty, it was only a country neighbourhood, andthere was much more for him to see before he could fairly be supposedto know his own mind. She knew he would act honourably; but she had ahorror of letting him entangle himself with her daughter before he wasfairly able to judge of his own feelings. Or, if this was only behavingwith a brother's freedom and confidence, Mrs. Edmonstone felt it was notsafe for her poor little Amy, who might learn so to depend on him asto miss him grievously when this intimacy ceased, as it must when hesettled at his own home. It would be right, while it was still time, tomake her remember that they were not brother and sister, and by checkingtheir present happy, careless, confidential intercourse, to save herfrom the chill which seemed to have been cast on Laura. Mrs. Edmonstonewas the more anxious, because she deeply regretted not having beensufficiently watchful in Laura's case, and perhaps she felt anunacknowledged conviction that if there was real love on Guy's part, itwould not be hurt by a little reserve on Amy's. Yet to have to speakto her little innocent daughter on such a matter disturbed her so much, that she could hardly have set about it, if Amy had not, at that verymoment, knocked at her door. 

'My dear, what has kept you up so late?'

'We have been sitting in Eveleen's room, mamma, hearing about her Londonlife; and then we began to settle our plans for to-morrow, and I came toask what you think of them. You know Guy has promised to go and hearthe East-hill singing, and we were proposing, if you did not mind it, to take the pony-carriage and the donkey, and go in the morning toEast-hill, have luncheon, and get Mary to go with us to the top of thegreat down, where we have never been. Guy has been wanting us, for along time past, to go and see the view, and saying there is a trackquite smooth enough to drive Charlie to the top. '

Amy wondered at her mother's look of hesitation. In fact, the scheme wasso accordant with their usual habits that it was impossible to find anyobjection; yet it all hinged on Guy, and the appointment at East-hillmight lead to a great many more. 

'Do you wish us to do anything else, mamma? We don't care about it. '

'No, my dear, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'I see no reason against it. But--' and she felt as if she was making a desperate plunge, 'there issomething I want to say to you. '

Amy stood ready to hear, but Mrs. Edmonstone paused. Another effort, andshe spoke:--

'Amy, my dear, I don't wish to find fault, but I thought of advising youto take care. About Guy--'

The very brilliant pink which instantly overspread Amy's face made hermother think her warning more expedient. 

'You have been spending a great deal of time with him of late, verysensibly and pleasantly, I know; I don't blame you at all, my dear, soyou need not look distressed. I only want you to be careful. You know, though we call him cousin, he is scarcely a relation at all. '

'O mamma, don't go on, ' said poor little Amy, hurriedly; 'indeed I amvery sorry!'

For Amy understood that it was imputed to her that she had been forwardand unmaidenly. Mrs. Edmonstone saw her extreme distress, and, grievedat the pain she had inflicted, tried to reassure her as much as might besafe. 

'Indeed, my dear, you have done nothing amiss. I only intended to tellyou to be cautious for fear you should get into a way of going on whichmight not look well. Don't make any great difference, I only meant thatthere should not be quite so much singing and gardening alone with him, or walking in the garden in the evening. You can manage to draw back alittle, so as to keep more with me or with Laura, and I think that willbe the best way. '

Every word, no matter what, increased the burning of poor Amy's cheeks. A broad accusation of flirting would have been less distressing to manygirls than this mild and delicate warning was to one of such shrinkingmodesty and maidenly feeling. She had a sort of consciousness that sheenjoyed partaking in his pursuits, and this made her sense of confusionand shame overwhelming. What had she been thoughtlessly doing? She couldnot speak, she could not look. Her mother put her arm round her, and Amyhid her head on her shoulder, and held her fast. Mrs. Edmonstone kissedand caressed the little fluttering bird, then saying, 'Good night, myown dear child, ' unloosed her embrace. 

'Good night, dear mamma, ' whispered Amy. 'I am very sorry. '

'You need not be sorry, my dear, only be careful. Good night. ' And itwould be hard to say whether the mother or the daughter had the hottestcheeks. 

Poor little Amy! what was her dismay as she asked herself, again andagain, what she had been doing and what she was to do? The last wasplain, --she knew what was right, and do it she must. There would be anend of much that was pleasant, and a fresh glow came over her as sheowned how very, very pleasant; but if it was not quite the thing, --ifmamma did not approve, so it must be. True, all her doings receivedtheir zest from Guy, --her heart bounded at the very sound of hiswhistle, she always heard his words through all the din of a wholeparty, --nothing was complete without him, nothing good without hiswithout his approval, --but so much the more shame for her. It was akind of seeking him which was of all things the most shocking. So thereshould be an end of it, --never mind the rest! Amy knelt down, and prayedthat she might keep her resolution. 

She did not know how much of her severity towards herself was learnedfrom the example that had been two years before her. Nor did she thinkwhether the seeking had been mutual; she imagined it all her own doing, and did not guess that she would give pain to Guy by withdrawing herselffrom him. 

The morning gave vigour to her resolution, and when Laura came to askwhat mamma thought of their project, Amy looked confused--said shedid not know--she believed it would not do. But just then in came hermother, to say she had been considering of the expedition, and meant tojoin it herself. Amy understood, blushed, and was silently grateful. 

When Laura wanted to alter her demeanour towards Guy, being perfectlycool, and not in the least conscious, she had acted with great judgment, seen exactly what to do, and what to leave undone, so as to keep upappearances. But it was not so with Amy. She was afraid of herself, and was in extremes. She would not come down till the last moment, that there might be no talking in the window. She hardly spoke atbreakfast-time, and adhered closely to Laura and Eveleen whenthey wandered in the garden. Presently Charles looked out from thedressing-room window, calling, --

'Amy, Guy is ready to read. '

'I can't come. Read without me, ' she answered, hoping Charlie would notbe vexed, and feeling her face light up again. 

The hour for the expedition came, and Amy set off walking with Laura, because Guy was with Mrs. Edmonstone; but presently, after holding opena gate for Charlotte, who was on the donkey, he came up to the sisters, and joined in the conversation. Amy saw something in the hedge--afoxglove, she believed--it would have done as well if it had been anettle--she stopped to gather it, hoping to fall behind them, but theywaited for her. She grew silent, but Guy appealed to her. She ran on toCharlotte and her donkey, but at the next gate Guy had joined companyagain. At last she put herself under her mother's wing, and by keepingwith her did pretty well all the time she was at East-hill. But whenthey went on, she was riding the donkey, and it, as donkeys always are, was resolved on keeping a-head of the walkers, so that as Guy kept byher side, it was a more absolute tete-a-tete than ever. 

At the top of the hill they found a fine view, rich and extensive, broadwoods, fields waving with silvery barley, trim meadows, fair hazy bluedistance, and a dim line of sea beyond. This, as Amy knew, was Guy'sdelight, and further, what she would not tell herself, was that hechiefly cared for showing it to her. It was so natural to call him toadmire everything beautiful, and ask if it was equal to Redclyffe, thatshe found herself already turning to him to participate in his pleasure, as he pointed out all that was to be seen; but she recollected, blushed, and left her mother to speak. He had much to show. There was a hangingwood on one side of the hill, whence he had brought her more than onebotanical prize, and she must now visit their native haunts. It was toogreat a scramble for Mrs. Edmonstone, with all her good will; Eveleenwas to be kept still, and not to tire herself; Laura did not care forbotany, nor love brambles, and Amy was obliged to stand and look intothe wood, saying, 'No, thank you, I don't think I can, ' and then runback to Mary and Charles; while Charlotte was loudly calling out that itwas delightful fun, and that she was very stupid. In another minute Guyhad overtaken her, and in his gentle, persuasive voice, was telling herit was very easy, and she must come and see the bird's-nest orchises. She would have liked it above all things, but she thought it very kindof Guy not to seem angry when she said, 'No, thank you. '

Mary, after what she had seen yesterday, could not guess at the realreason, or she would have come with her; but she thought Amy was tired, and would rather not. Poor Amy was tired, very tired, before the walkwas over, but her weary looks made it worse, for Guy offered her hisarm. 'No thank you, ' she said, 'I am getting on very well;' and shetrudged on resolutely, for her mother was in the carriage, and to lagbehind the others would surely make him keep with her. 

Mrs. Edmonstone was very sorry for her fatigue, but Amy found it a goodexcuse for not wandering in the garden, or joining in the music. Ithad been a very uncomfortable day; she hoped she had done right; at anyrate, she had the peaceful conviction of having tried to do so. 

The next day, Amy was steady to her resolution. No reading with the twoyouths, though Charles scolded her; sitting in her room till Guy wasgone out, going indoors as soon as she heard him return, and in theevening staying with Charles when her sisters and cousins went out; butthis did not answer, for Guy came and sat by them. She moved away assoon as possible, but the more inclined she was to linger, the more shethought she ought to go; so murmuring something about looking for Laura, she threw on her scarf, and sprung to the window. Her muslin caught onthe bolt, she turned, Guy was already disentangling it, and she methis eye. It was full of anxious, pleading inquiry, which to her seemedupbraiding, and, not knowing what to do, she exclaimed, hurriedly, 'Thank you; no harm done!' and darted into the garden, frightenedto feel her face glowing and her heart throbbing. She could not helplooking back to see if he was following. No, he was not attempting it;he was leaning against the window, and on she hastened, the perceptiondawning on her that she was hurting him; he might think her rude, unkind, capricious, he who had always been so kind to her, and when hewas going away so soon. 'But it is right; it must be done, ' said littleAmy to herself, standing still, now that she was out of sight. 'If Iwas wrong before, I must bear it now, and he will see the rights of itsooner or later. The worst of all would be my not doing the very _most__right_ to please any body. Besides he can't really care for missingsilly little Amy when he has mamma and Charlie. And he is going away, soit will be easier to begin right when he comes back. Be that as it may, it must be done. I'll get Charlie to tell me what he was saying aboutthe painted glass. '

CHAPTER 13

 Oh, thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands--life hath snares-- Care and age come unawares. 

 Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides onward into June. --Longfellow

'What is the matter with Amy? What makes her so odd?' asked Charles, ashis mother came to wish him good night. 

'Poor little dear! don't take any notice, ' was all the answer hereceived; and seeing that he was to be told no more, he held his peace. 

Laura understood without being told. She, too, had thought Guy and Amywere a great deal together, and combining various observations, sheperceived that her mother must have given Amy a caution. She thereforeset herself, like a good sister, to shelter Amy as much as she could, save her from awkward situations, and, above all, to prevent her alteredmanner from being remarked. This was the less difficult, as Eveleen wassubdued and languid, and more inclined to lie on the sofa and read thanto look out for mirth. 

As to poor little Amy, her task was in one way become less hard, for Guyhad ceased to haunt her, and seemed to make it his business to avoid allthat could cause her embarrassment; but in another way it hurt hermuch more, for she now saw the pain she was causing. If obliged to doanything for her, he would give a look as if to ask pardon, and thenher rebellious heart would so throb with joy as to cause her dismay athaving let herself fall into so hateful a habit as wishing to attractattention. What a struggle it was not to obey the impulse of turningto him for the smile with which he would greet anything in conversationthat interested them both, and how wrong she thought it not to be moreconsoled when she saw him talking to Eveleen, or to any of the others, as if he was doing very well without her. This did not often happen; hewas evidently out of spirits, and thoughtful, and Amy was afraid somestorm might be gathering respecting Mr. Sebastian Dixon, about whomthere always seemed to be some uncomfortable mystery. 

Mrs. Edmonstone saw everything, and said nothing. She was very sorry forthem both, but she could not interfere, and could only hope she had doneright, and protected Amy as far as she was able. She was vexed now andthen to see Eveleen give knowing smiles and significant glances, fearedthat she guessed what was going on, and wondered whether to give her ahint not to add to Amy's confusion; but her great dislike to enter onsuch a subject prevailed, and she left things to take their course, thinking that, for once, Guy's departure would be a relief. 

The approach of anything in the shape of a party of pleasure was oneof the best cures for Eveleen's ailments, and the evening before Mary'stea-drinking, she was in high spirits, laughing and talking a greatdeal, and addressing herself chiefly to Guy. He exerted himself toanswer, but it did not come with life and spirit, his countenance didnot light up, and at last Eveleen said, 'Ah! I see I am a dreadful bore. I'll go away, and leave you to repose. '

'Lady Eveleen!' he exclaimed, in consternation; 'what have I beendoing--what have I been thinking of?'

'Nay, that is best known to yourself, though I think perhaps I coulddivine, ' said she, with that archness and grace that always seemedto remove the unfavourable impression that her proceedings might havegiven. 'Shall I?'

'No, no, ' he answered, colouring crimson, and then trying to laugh offhis confusion, and find some answer, but without success; and Eveleen, perceiving her aunt's eyes were upon her, suddenly recollected that shehad gone quite as far as decorum allowed, and made as masterly a retreatas the circumstances permitted. 

'Well, I have always thought a "penny for your thoughts" the boldestoffer in the world, and now it is proved. '

This scene made Mrs. Edmonstone doubly annoyed, the next morning, atwaking with a disabling headache, which made it quite impossible forher to attempt going to Mary Ross's fete. With great sincerity, Amyentreated to be allowed to remain at home, but she thought it wouldonly be making the change more remarkable; she did not wish Mary to bedisappointed; among so many ladies, Amy could easily avoid getting intodifficulties; while Laura would, she trusted, be able to keep Eveleen inorder. 

The day was sunny, and all went off to admiration. The gentlemenpresided over the cricket, and the ladies over 'blind man's buff' and'thread my needle;' but perhaps Mary was a little disappointed that, though she had Sir Guy's bodily presence, the peculiar blitheness andanimation which he usually shed around him were missing. He sung atchurch, he filled tiny cups from huge pitchers of tea, he picked upand pacified a screaming child that had tumbled off a gate--he wasas good-natured and useful as possible, but he was not his joyous andbrilliant self. 

Amy devoted herself to the smallest fry, played assiduously for threequarters of an hour with a fat, grave boy of three, who stood about ayard-and-a-half from her, solemnly throwing a ball into her lap, andnever catching it again, took charge of many caps and bonnets, andwalked about with Louisa Harper, a companion whom no one envied her. 

In conclusion, the sky clouded over, it became chilly, and a showerbegan to fall. Laura pursued Eveleen, and Amy hunted up Charlotte fromthe utmost parts of the field, where she was the very centre of 'windingup the clock, ' and sorely against her will, dragged her off the wetgrass. About sixty yards from the house, Guy met them with an umbrella, which, without speaking, he gave to Charlotte. Amy said, 'Thank you, 'and again came that look. Charlotte rattled on, and hung back to talk toGuy, so that Amy could not hasten on without leaving her shelterless. It may be believed that she had the conversation to herself. At thedoor they met Mary and her father, going to dismiss their flock, who hadtaken refuge in a cart-shed at the other end of the field. Guy askedif he could be of any use; Mr. Ross said no, and Mary begged Amy andCharlotte to go up to her room, and change their wet shoes. 

There, Amy would fain have stayed, flushed and agitated as those looksmade her; but Charlotte was in wild spirits, delighted at having beencaught in the rain, and obliged to wear shoes a mile too large, andeager to go and share the fun in the drawing-room. There, in thetwilight, they found a mass of young ladies herded together, making aconfused sound of laughter, and giggling, while at the other end of theroom, Amy could just see Guy sitting alone in a dark corner. 

Charlotte's tongue was soon the loudest in the medley, to which Amy didnot at first attend, till she heard Charlotte saying--

'Ah! you should hear Guy sing that. '

'What?' she whispered to Eveleen. 

'"The Land of the Leal, "' was the answer. 

'I wish he would sing it now, ' said Ellen Harper. 

'This darkness would be just the time for music, ' said Eveleen; 'it isquite a witching time. '

'Why don't you ask him?' said Ellen. 'Come, Charlotte, there's a goodgirl, go and ask him. '

'Shall I?' said Charlotte, whispering and giggling with an affectationof shyness. 

'No, no, Charlotte, ' said Laura. 

'No! why not?' said Eveleen. 'Don't be afraid, Charlotte. '

'He is so grave, ' said Charlotte. 

Eveleen had been growing wilder and less guarded all day, and now, partly liking to tease and surprise the others, and partly emboldened bythe darkness, she answered, --

'It will do him all manner of good. Here, Charlotte, I'll tell you howto make him. Tell him Amy wants him to do it. '

'Ay! tell him so, ' cried Ellen, and they laughed in a manner thatoverpowered Amy with horror and shyness. She sprung to seize Charlotte, and stop her; she could not speak, but Louisa Harper caught her arm, andLaura's grave orders were drowned in a universal titter, and suppressedexclamation, --'Go, Charlotte, go; we will never forgive you if youdon't!'

'Stop!' Amy struggled to cry, breaking from Louisa, and springing up ina sort of agony. Guy, who had such a horror of singing anything deep inpathos or religious feeling to mixed or unfit auditors, asked to doso in her name! 'Stop! oh, Charlotte!' It was too late; Charlotte, thoughtless with merriment, amused at vexing Laura, set up withapplause, and confident in Guy's good nature, had come to him, and wassaying, --'Oh, Guy! Amy wants you to come and sing us the "Land of theLeal. "'

Amy saw him start up. What, did he think of her? Oh, what! He steppedtowards them. The silly girls cowered as if they had roused a lion. Hisvoice was not loud--it was almost as gentle as usual; but it quivered, as if it was hard to keep it so, and, as well as she could see, hisface was rigid and stern as iron. 'Did you wish it?' he said, addressinghimself to her, as if she was the only person present. 

Her breath was almost gone. 'Oh! I beg your pardon, ' she faltered. Shecould not exculpate herself, she saw it looked like an idle, almost likean indecorous trick, unkind, everything abhorrent to her and to him, especially in the present state of things. His eyes were on her, hishead bent towards her; he waited for an answer. 'I beg your pardon, ' wasall she could say. 

There was--yes, there was--one of those fearful flashes of his kindlingeye. She felt as if she was shrinking to nothing; she heard him say, ina low, hoarse tone, 'I am afraid I cannot;' then Mr. Ross, Mary, lightscame in; there was a bustle and confusion, and when next she was clearlyconscious, Laura was ordering the carriage. 

When it came, there was an inquiry for Sir Guy. 

'He is gone home, ' said Mr. Ross. 'I met him in the passage, and wishedhim good night. '

Mr. Ross did not add what he afterwards told his daughter, that Guyseemed not to know whether it was raining or not; that he had put anumbrella into his hand, and seen him march off at full speed, throughthe pouring rain, with it under his arm. 

The ladies entered the carriage. Amy leant back in her corner, Lauraforbore to scold either Eveleen or Charlotte till she could have themseparately; Eveleen was silent, because she was dismayed at the effectshe had produced, and Charlotte, because she knew there was a scoldingimpending over her. 

They found no one in the drawing-room but Mr. Edmonstone and Charles, who said they had heard the door open, and Guy run up-stairs, but theysupposed he was wet through, as he had not made his appearance. It wasvery inhospitable in the girls not to have made room for him in thecarriage. 

Amy went to see how her mother was, longing to tell her whole trouble, but found her asleep, and was obliged to leave it till the morrow. Poorchild, she slept very little, but she would not go to her mother beforebreakfast, lest she should provoke the headache into staying anotherday. Guy was going by the train at twelve o'clock, and she was resolvedthat something should be done; so, as soon as her father had wished Guygoodbye, and ridden off to his justice meeting, she entreated her motherto come into the dressing-room, and hear what she had to say. 

'Oh, mamma! the most dreadful thing has happened!' and, hiding her face, she told her story, ending with a burst of weeping as she said how Guywas displeased. 'And well he might be! That after all that has vexed himthis week, I should tease him with such a trick. Oh, mamma, what must hethink?'

'My dear, there was a good deal of silliness; but you need not treat itas if it was so very shocking. '

'Oh, but it hurt him! He was angry, and now I know how it is, he isangry with himself for being angry. Oh, how foolish I have been! Whatshall I do?'

'Perhaps we can let him know it was not your fault, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, thinking it might be very salutary for Charlotte to send herto confess. 

'Do you think so?' cried Amy, eagerly. 'Oh! that would make it allcomfortable. Only it was partly mine, for not keeping Charlotte inbetter order, and we must not throw it all on her and Eveleen. You thinkwe may tell him?'

'I think he ought not to be allowed to fancy you let your name be soused. '

A message came for Mrs. Edmonstone, and while she was attending to it, Amy hastened away, fully believing that her mother had authorized herto go and explain it to Guy, and ask his pardon. It was what she thoughtthe natural thing to do, and she was soon by his side, as she saw himpacing, with folded arms, under the wall. 

Much had lately been passing in Guy's mind. He had gone on floating onthe sunny stream of life at Hollywell, too happy to observe its especialcharm till the change in Amy's manner cast a sudden gloom over all. Nottill then did he understand his own feelings, and recognize in her thebeing he had dreamt of. Amy was what made Hollywell precious to him. Sternly as he was wont to treat his impulses, he did not look on hisaffection as an earthborn fancy, liable to draw him from higher things, and, therefore, to be combated; he deemed her rather a guide and guardwhose love might arm him, soothe him, and encourage him. Yet he hadlittle hope, for he did not do justice to his powers of inspiringaffection; no one could distrust his temper and his character as much ashe did himself, and with his ancestry and the doom he believed attachedto his race, with his own youth and untried principles, with hisundesirable connections, and the reserve he was obliged to exerciseregarding them, he considered himself as objectionable a person as couldwell be found, as yet untouched by any positive crime, and he respectedthe Edmonstones too much to suppose that these disadvantages could becounterbalanced for a moment by his position; indeed, he interpretedAmy's coolness by supposing that there was a desire to discourage hisattentions. No poor tutor or penniless cousin ever felt he was doinga more desperate thing in confessing an attachment, than did Sir GuyMorville when he determined that all should be told, at the risk oflosing her for ever, and closing against himself the doors of his happyhome. It was not right and fair by her parents, he thought, so to regardtheir daughter, and live in the same house with his sentiments unavowed, and as to Amy herself, if his feelings had reached such a pitch ofsensitiveness that he must needs behave like an angry lion, because hername had been dragged into an idle joke, it was high time it shouldbe explained, unpropitious as the moment might be for declaring hisattachment, when he had manifested such a temper as any woman mightdread. Thus he made up his mind that, come of it what might, he wouldnot leave Hollywell that day till the truth was told. Just as he wasturning to find Mrs. Edmonstone and 'put his fate to the touch, ' alittle figure stood beside him, and Amy's own sweet, low tones weresaying, imploringly, --

'Guy, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am you were so teased lastnight. '

'Don't think of it!' said he, taken extremely by surprise

'It was our fault, I could not stop it; I should have kept Charlotte inbetter order, but they would not let her hear me. I knew it was what youdislike particularly, and I was very sorry. '

'You--I was--I was. But no matter now. Amy, ' he added earnestly, 'may Iask you to walk on with me a little way? I must say something to you. '

Was this what 'mamma' objected to? Oh no! Amy felt she must stay now, and, in truth, she was glad it was right, though her heart beat fast, fast, faster, as Guy, pulling down a long, trailing branch of Noisetterose, and twisting it in his hand, paused for a few moments, then spokecollectedly, and without hesitation, though with the tremulousness ofsubdued agitation, looking the while not at her, but straight beforehim. 

'You ought to be told why your words and looks have such effect on me asto make me behave as I did last night. Shame on me for such conduct!I know its evil, and how preposterous it must make what I have to tellyou. I don't know now long it has been, but almost ever since I camehere, a feeling has been growing up in me towards you, such as I cannever have for any one else. '

The flame rushed into Amy's cheeks, and no one could have told what shefelt, as he paused again, and then went on speaking more quickly, as ifhis emotion was less under control. 

'If ever there is to be happiness for me on earth, it must be throughyou; as you, for the last three years, have been all my brightness here. What I feel for you is beyond all power of telling you, Amy! But I knowfull well all there is against me--I know I am untried, and how can Idare to ask one born to brightness and happiness to share the doom of myfamily?'

Amy's impulse was that anything shared with him would be welcome; butthe strength of the feeling stifled the power of expression, and shecould not utter a word. 

'It seems selfish even to dream of it, ' he proceeded, 'yet I must, --Icannot help it. To feel that I had your love to keep me safe, to knowthat you watched for me, prayed for me, were my own, my Verena, --oh Amy!it would be more joy than I have ever dared to hope for. But mind, ' headded, after another brief pause, 'I would not even ask you to answer menow, far less to bind yourself, even if--if it were possible. I knowmy trial is not come; and were I to render myself, by positive act, unworthy even to think of you, it would be too dreadful to haveentangled you, and made you unhappy. No. I speak now, because I oughtnot to remain here with such feelings unknown to your father andmother. '

At that moment, close on the other side of the box-tree clump, wereheard the wheels of Charles's garden-chair, and Charlotte's voicetalking to him, as he made his morning tour round the garden. Amy flewoff, like a little bird to its nest, and never stopped till, breathlessand crimson, she darted into the dressing room, threw herself on herknees, and with her face hidden in her mother's lap, exclaimed inpanting, half-smothered, whispers, which needed all Mrs. Edmonstone'sintuition to make them intelligible, --

'O mamma, mamma, he says--he says he loves me!'

Perhaps Mrs. Edmonstone was not so very much surprised; but she hadno time to do more than raise and kiss the burning face, and see, ata moment's glance, how bright was the gleam of frightened joy, in thedowncast eye and troubled smile; when two knocks, given rapidly, wereheard, and almost at the same moment the door opened, and Guy stoodbefore her, his face no less glowing than that which Amy buried again onher mother's knee. 

'Come in, Guy, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, as he stood doubtful for a momentat the door, and there was a sweet smile of proud, joyful affection onher face, conveying even more encouragement than her tone. Amy raisedher head, and moved as if to leave the room. 

'Don't go, ' he said, earnestly, 'unless you wish it. '

Amy did not wish it, especially now that she had her mother to saveher confusion, and she sat on a footstool, holding her mother's hand, looking up to Guy, whenever she felt bold enough, and hanging down herhead when he said what showed how much more highly he prized her thansilly little Amy could deserve. 

'You know what I am come to say, ' he began, standing by themantel-shelf, as was his wont in his conferences with Mrs. Edmonstone;and he repeated the same in substance as he had said to Amy in thegarden, though with less calmness and coherence, and far more warmth ofexpression, as if, now that she was protected by her mother's presence, he exercised less force in self-restraint. 

Never was anyone happier than was Mrs. Edmonstone; loving Guy soheartily, seeing the beauty of his character in each word, rejoicingthat such affection should be bestowed on her little Amy, exultingin her having won such a heart, and touched and gratified by the freeconfidence with which both had at once hastened to pour out all to her, not merely as a duty, but in the full ebullition of their warm younglove. The only difficulty was to bring herself to speak with prudencebecoming her position, whilst she was sympathizing with them as ardentlyas if she was not older than both of them put together. When Guy spokeof himself as unproved, and undeserving of trust, it was all she coulddo to keep from declaring there was no one whom she thought so safe. 

'While you go on as you have begun, Guy?'

'If you tell me to hope! Oh, Mrs. Edmonstone, is it wrong that anearthly incentive to persevere should have power which sometimes seemsgreater than the true one?'

'There is the best and strongest ground of all for trusting you, ' saidshe. 'If you spoke keeping right only for Amy's sake, then I might fear;but when she is second, there is confidence indeed. '

'If speaking were all!' said Guy. 

'There is one thing I ought to say, ' she proceeded; 'you know you arevery young, and though--though I don't know that I can say so in my ownperson, a prudent woman would say, that you have seen so little of theworld, that you may easily meet a person you would like better than sucha quiet little dull thing as your guardian's daughter. '

The look that he cast on Amy was worth seeing, and then, with a smile, he answered--

'I am glad you don't say it in your own person. '

'It is very bold and presumptuous in me to say anything at all in papa'sabsence' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling; 'but I am sure he will think inthe same way, that things ought to remain as they are, and that it isour duty not to allow you to be, or to feel otherwise than entirely atliberty. '

'I dare say it may be right in you, ' said Guy, grudgingly. 'However, I must not complain. It is too much that you should not reject mealtogether. '

To all three that space was as bright a gleam of sunshine as everembellished life, so short as to be free from a single care, a perfectlyserenely happy present, the more joyous from having been preceded byvexations, each of the two young things learning that there was lovewhere it was most precious. Guy especially, isolated and lonely as hestood in life, with his fear and mistrust of himself, was now not onlyallowed to love, and assured beyond his hopes that Amy returned hisaffection, but found himself thus welcomed by the mother, and gatheredinto the family where his warm feelings had taken up their abode, whilehe believed himself regarded only as a guest and a stranger. 

They talked on, with happy silences between, Guy standing all the timewith his branch of roses in his hand, and Amy looking up to him, andtrying to realize it, and to understand why she was so very, very happy. 

No one thought of time till Charlotte rushed in like a whirlwind, crying--

'Oh, here you are! We could not think what had become of you. There hasDeloraine been at the door these ten minutes, and Charlie sent me tofind you, for he says if you are too late for Mrs. Henley's dinner, shewill write such an account of you to Philip as you will never get over. '

Very little of this was heard, there was only the instinctiveconsternation of being too late. They started up, Guy threw down hisroses, caught Amy's hand and pressed it, while she bent down her head, hiding the renewed blush; he dashed out of the room, and up to his own, while Mrs. Edmonstone and Charlotte hurried down. In another second, he was back again, and once more Amy felt the pressure of his hand onhers--

'Good-bye!' he said; and she whispered another 'Good-bye!' the onlywords she had spoken. 

One moment more he lingered, --

'My Verena!' said he; but the hurrying sounds in the hall warnedhim--he sprang down to the drawing-room. Even Charles was on the alert, standing, leaning against the table, and looking eager; but Guy had nottime to let him speak, he only shook hands, and wished good-bye, with asort of vehement agitated cordiality, concealed by his haste. 

'Where's Amy?' cried Charlotte. 'Amy! Is not she coming to wish himgood-bye?'

He said something, of which 'up-stairs' was the only audible word; heldMrs. Edmonstone's hand fast, while she said, in a low voice--'You shallhear from papa to-morrow, ' then sprung on his horse, and looked up. Amywas at the window, he saw her head bending forward, under its veil ofcurls, in the midst of the roses round the lattice; their eyes met oncemore, he gave one beamy smile, then rode off at full speed, with Bustleracing after him, while Amy threw herself on her knees by her bed, andwith hands clasped over her face, prayed that she might be thankfulenough, and never be unworthy of him. 

Every one wanted to get rid of every one else except Mrs. Edmonstone;for all but Charlotte guessed at the state of the case, and even sheperceived that something was going on. Lady Eveleen was in a state ofgreat curiosity; but she had mercy, she knew that they must tell eachother before it came to her turn, and very good-naturedly she invitedCharlotte to come into the garden with her, and kept her out of the wayby a full account of her last fancy ball, given with so much spirit andhumour that Charlotte could not help attending. 

Charles and Laura gained little by this kind manoeuvre, for their motherwas gone up again to Amy, and they could only make a few conjectures. Charles nursed his right hand, and asked Laura how hers felt? She lookedup from her work, to which she had begun to apply herself diligently, and gazed at him inquiringly, as if to see whether he intended anything. 

'For my part, ' he added, 'I certainly thought he meant to carry off thehands of some of the family. '

'I suppose we shall soon hear it explained, ' said Laura, quietly. 

'Soon! If I had an many available legs as you, would I wait for otherpeople's soon?'

'I should think she had rather be left to mamma, ' said Laura, going onwith her work. 

'Then you do think there is something in it?' said Charles, peering upin her face; but he saw he was teasing her, recollected that shehad long seemed out of spirits, and forbore to say any more. He was, however, too impatient to remain longer quiet, and presently Laura sawhim adjusting his crutches. 

'O Charlie! I am sure it will only be troublesome. '

'I am going to my own room, ' said Charles, hopping off. 'I presume youdon't wish to forbid that. '

His room had a door into the dressing-room, so that it was an excellentplace for discovering all from which they did not wish to exclude him, and he did not believe he should be unwelcome; for though he mightpretend it was all fun and curiosity, he heartily loved his little Amy. 

The tap of his crutches, and the slow motion with which he raisedhimself from step to step, was heard, and Amy, who was leaning againsther mother, started up, exclaiming--

'O mamma, here comes Charlie! May I tell him? I am sure I can't meet himwithout. '

'I suspect he has guessed it already, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, goingto open the door, just as he reached the head of the stairs, and thenleaving them. 

'Well, Amy, ' said he, looking full at her carnation cheeks, 'are youprepared to see me turn lead-coloured, and fall into convulsions, likethe sister with the spine complaint?'

'O Charlie! You know it. But how?'

Amy was helping him to the sofa, laid him down, and sat by him on theold footstool; he put his arm round her neck, and she rested her head onhis shoulder. 

'Well, Amy, ' I give you joy, my small woman, ' said he, talking the morenonsense because of the fullness in his throat; 'and I hope you give mecredit for amazing self-denial in so doing. '

'O Charlie--dear Charlie!' and she kissed him, she could not blush more, poor little thing, for she had already reached her utmost capability ofredness--'it is no such thing. '

'No such thing? What has turned you into a turkey-cock all at once orwhat made him nearly squeeze off my unfortunate fingers? No such thing, indeed!'

'I mean--I mean, it is not _that_. We are so very young, and I am sosilly. '

'Is that his reason?'

'You must make me so much better and wiser. Oh, if I could but be goodenough!'

For that matter, I don't think any one else would be good enough to takecare of such a silly little thing. But what is the that, that it is, oris not?'

'Nothing now, only when we are older. At least, you know papa has notheard it. '

'Provided my father gives his consent, as the Irish young lady added toall her responses through the marriage service. But tell me all--all youlike, I mean--for you will have lovers' secrets now, Amy. '

Mrs. Edmonstone had, meantime, gone down to Laura. Poor Laura, as soonas her brother had left the room, she allowed the fixed composure of herface to relax into a restless, harassed, almost miserable expression, and walked up and down with agitated steps. 

'O wealth, wealth!'--her lips formed the words, without utteringthem--'what cruel differences it makes! All smooth here! Young, notto be trusted, with strange reserves, discreditable connections, --thatfamily, --that fearful temper, showing itself even to her! All will beoverlooked! Papa will be delighted, I know he will! And how is it withus? Proved, noble, superior, owned as such by all, as Philip is, yet, for that want of hateful money, he would be spurned. And, for this--forthis--the love that has grown up with our lives must be crushed down andhidden--our life is wearing out in wearying self-watching!'

The lock of the door turned, and Laura had resumed her ordinaryexpression before it opened, and her mother came in: but there wasanything but calmness beneath, for the pang of self-reproach hadcome--'Was it thus that she prepared to hear these tidings of hersister?'

'Well, Laura, ' began Mrs. Edmonstone, with the eager smile of onebringing delightful news, and sure of sympathy. 

'It is so, then?' said Laura. 'Dear, dear, little Amy! I hope--' andher eyes filled with tears; but she had learnt to dread any outbreak offeeling, conquered it in a minute, and said--

'What has happened? How does it stand?'

'It stands, at least as far as I can say without papa, as the dearGuy very rightly and wisely wished it to stand. There is no positiveengagement, they are both too young; but he thought it was not right toremain here without letting us know his sentiments towards her. '

A pang shot through Laura; but it was but for a moment. Guy might doubtwhere Philip need never do so. Her mother went on, --

'Their frankness and confidence are most beautiful. We know dear littleAmy could not help it; but there was something very sweet, very noble, in his way of telling all. '

Another pang for Laura. But no! it was only poverty that was to blame. Philip would speak as plainly if his prospects were as fair. 

'Oh, I hope it will do well, ' said she. 

'It must, --it will!' cried Mrs. Edmonstone, giving way to her joyfulenthusiasm of affection. 'It is nonsense to doubt, knowing him as we do. There is not a man in the world with whom I could be so happy to trusther. '

Laura could not hear Guy set above all men in the world, and sheremembered Philip's warning to her, two years ago. 

'There is much that is very good and very delightful about him, ' shesaid, hesitatingly. 

'You are thinking of the Morville temper, ' said her mother; 'but I amnot afraid of it. A naturally hot temper, controlled like his by strongreligious principle, is far safer than a cool easy one, without theprinciple. '

Laura thought this going too far, but she felt some compensation dueto Guy, and acknowledged how strongly he was actuated by principle. However--and it was well for her--they could not talk long, for Eveleenand Charlotte were approaching, and she hastily asked what was to bedone about telling Eva, who could not fail to guess something. 

'We must tell her, and make her promise absolute secrecy, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'I will speak to her myself; but I must wait till I haveseen papa. There is no doubt of what he will say, but we have beentaking quite liberties enough in his absence. '

Laura did not see her sister till luncheon, when Amy came down, witha glow on her cheeks that made her so much prettier than usual, thatCharles wished Guy could have seen her. She said little, and ran upagain as soon as she could. Laura followed her; and the two sistersthrew their arms fondly round each other, and kissed repeatedly. 

'Mamma has told you? said Amy. 'Oh, it has made me so very happy; andevery one is so kind. '

'Dear, dear Amy!'

'I'm only afraid--'

'He has begun so well--'

'Oh, nonsense! You cannot think I could be so foolish as to be afraidfor him! Oh no! But if he should take me for more than I am worth. OLaura, Laura! What shall I do to be as good and sensible as you! I mustnot be silly little Amy any more. '

'Perhaps he likes you best as you are?'

'I don't mean cleverness: I can't help that, --and he knows how stupidI am, --but I am afraid he thinks there is more worth in me. Don't youknow, he has a sort of sunshine in his eyes and mind, that makes allhe cares about seem to him brighter and better than it really is. I amafraid he is only dressing me up with that sunshine. '

'It must be strange sunshine that you want to make you better andbrighter than you are, ' said Laura, kissing her. 

'I'll tell you what it is, ' said Amy folding her hands, and standingwith her face raised, 'it won't do now, as you told me once, to have nobones in my character. I must learn to be steady and strong, if I can;for if this is to be, he will depend on me, I don't mean, to advise him, for he knows better than anybody, but to be--you know what--if vexation, or trouble was to come! And Laura, think if he was to depend on me, andI was to fail! Oh, do help me to have firmness and self-command, likeyou!'

'It was a long time ago that we talked of your wanting bones. '

'Yes, before he came; but I never forget it. '

Laura was obliged to go out with Eveleen. All went their different ways;and Amy had the garden to herself to cool her cheeks in. But this was avain operation, for a fresh access of burning was brought on whileLaura was helping her to dress for dinner, when her father's quick stepsounded in the passage. He knocked at her door, and as she opened it, hekissed her on each cheek; and throwing his arm round her, exclaimed, --

'Well, Miss Amy, you have made a fine morning's work of it! A prettything, for young ladies to be accepting offers while papa is out of theway. Eh, Laura?'

Amy knew this was a manifestation of extreme delight; but it was notvery pleasant to Laura. 

'So you have made a conquest!' proceeded Mr. Edmonstone; 'and I heartilywish you joy of it, my dear. He is as amiable and good-natured a youthas I would wish to see; and I should say the same if he had not ashilling in the world. '

Laura's heart bounded; but she knew, whatever her father might fancy, the reality would be very different if Guy were as poor as Philip. 

'I shall write to him this very evening, ' he continued, 'and tell him, if he has the bad taste to like such a silly little white thing, I amnot the man to stand in his way. Eh, Amy? Shall I tell him so?'

'Tell him what you please, dear papa. '

'Eh? What I please? Suppose I say we can't spare our little one, and hemay go about his business?'

'I'm not afraid of you, papa. '

'Come, she's a good little thing--sha'n't be teased. Eh, Laura? whatdo you think of it, our beauty, to see your younger sister impertinentenough to set up a lover, while your pink cheeks are left in the lurch?'

Laura not being wont to make playful repartees, her silence passedunnoticed. Her feelings were mixed; but perhaps the predominant one wassatisfaction that it was not for her pink cheeks that she was valued. 

It had occurred to Mrs. Edmonstone that it was a curious thing, afterher attempt at scheming for Eveleen, to have to announce to her that Guywas attached to her own daughter; nay, after the willingness Eveleen hadmanifested to be gratified with any attention Guy showed her, it seemeddoubtful for a moment whether the intelligence would be pleasing to her. However, Eveleen was just the girl to like men better than women, andnever to be so happy as when on the verge of flirting; it would probablyhave been the same with any other youth that came in her, way, and Guymight fully be acquitted of doing more than paying her the civilitieswhich were requisite from him to any young lady visitor. He had, twoyears ago, when a mere boy, idled, laughed, and made fun with her, buthis fear of trifling away his time had made him draw back, before he hadinvolved himself in what might have led to anything further; and duringthe present visit, no one could doubt that he was preoccupied withAmy. At any rate, it was right that Eveleen should know the truth, inconfidence, if only to prevent her from talking of any surmises shemight have. 

Mrs. Edmonstone was set at ease in a moment. Eveleen was enchanted, danced round and round the room, declared they would be the mostcharming couple in the world; she had seen it all along; she was sodelighted they had come to an understanding at last, poor things, theywere so miserable all last week; and she must take credit to herself forhaving done it all. Was not her aunt very much obliged to her?

'My dear Eva, ' exclaimed Mrs. Edmonstone, into whose mind the notionnever entered that any one could boast of such a proceeding as hers lastnight; but the truth was that Eveleen, feeling slightly culpable, wasdelighted that all had turned out so well, and resolved to carry it offwith a high hand. 

'To be sure! Poor little Amy! when she looked ready to sink into theearth, she little knew her obligations to me! Was not it the cleverestthing in the world? It was just the touch they wanted--the very thing!'

'My dear, I am glad I know that you are sometimes given to talkingnonsense, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, laughing. 

'And you won't believe me serious? You won't be grateful to me for mylucky hit' said Eveleen, looking comically injured. 'Oh auntie, that isvery hard, when I shall believe to my dying day that I did it!'

'Why, Eva, if I thought it had been done by design, I should find itvery hard to forgive you for it at all, rather hard even to accept Guy, so you had better not try to disturb my belief that it was only thatspirit of mischief that makes you now and then a little mad. '

'Oh dear! what a desperate scolding you must have given poor littleCharlotte!' exclaimed Eveleen, quaintly. 

Mrs. Edmonstone could not help laughing as she confessed that she hadaltogether forgotten Charlotte. 

'Then you will. You'll go on forgetting her, ' cried Eveleen. 'She onlydid what she was told, and did not know the malice of it. There, you'rerelenting! There's a good aunt! And now, if you won't be grateful, asany other mamma in the world would have been, and as I calculated on, when I pretended to have been a prudent, designing woman, instead of awild mischievous monkey at least you'll forgive me enough to invite meto the wedding. Oh! what a beauty of a wedding it will be! I'd come fromKilcoran all the way on my bare knees to see it. And you'll let me bebridesmaid, and have a ball after it?'

'There is no saying what I may do, if you'll only be a good girl, andhold your tongue. I don't want to prevent your telling anything toyour mamma, of course, but pray don't let it go any further. Don't letMaurice hear it, I have especial reasons for wishing it should not beknown. You know it is not even an engagement, and nothing must be donewhich can make Guy feel in the least bound?'

Eveleen promised, and Mrs. Edmonstone knew that she had sense and properfeeling enough for her promise to deserve trust. 

CHAPTER 14

 For falsehood now doth flow, And subject faith doth ebbe, Which would not be, if reason ruled, Or wisdom weav'd the webbe. 

 The daughter of debate, That eke discord doth sowe, Shal reape no gaine where former rule Hath taught stil peace to growe. --QUEEN ELIZABETH

 'ATHENAEUM TERRACE, ST MILDRED'S, August 4th, 'MY DEAR PHILIP, --Thank you for returning the books, which were broughtsafely by Sir Guy. I am sorry you do not agree in my estimate of them. Ishould have thought your strong sense would have made you perceive thatreasoning upon fact, and granting nothing without tangible proof, werethe best remedy for a dreamy romantic tendency to the weakness andcredulity which are in the present day termed poetry and faith. It iscurious to observe how these vague theories reduce themselves to theabsurd when brought into practice. There are two Miss Wellwoods here, daughters of that unfortunate man who fell in a duel with old Sir GuyMorville, who seem to make it their business to become the generalsubject of animadversion, taking pauper children into their house, wherethey educate them in a way to unfit them for their station, and teachthem to observe a sort of monastic rule, preaching the poor people inthe hospital to death, visiting the poor at all sorts of strange hours. Dr Henley actually found one of them, at twelve o'clock at night, in amiserable lodging-house, filled with the worst description of inmates. Quite young women, too, and with no mother or elder person to directthem; but it is the fashion among the attendants at the new chapel toadmire them. This subject has diverted me from what I intended to saywith respect to the young baronet. Your description agrees with all Ihave hitherto seen, though I own I expected a Redclyffe Morville tohave more of the "heros de roman", or rather of the grand tragic cast offigure, as, if I remember right, was the case with this youth'sfather, a much finer and handsomer young man. Sir Guy is certainlygentlemanlike, and has that sort of agreeability which depends on highanimal spirits. I should think him clever, but superficial; and with hismania for music, he can hardly fail to be merely an accomplished man. Inspite of all you said of the Redclyffe temper, I was hardly prepared tofind it so ready to flash forth on the most inexplicable provocations. It is like walking on a volcano. I have seen him two or three times drawhimself up, bite his lip, and answer with an effort and a sharpness thatshows how thin a crust covers the burning lava; but I acknowledge thathe has been very civil and attentive, and speaks most properly of whathe owes to you. I only hope he will not be hurt by the possession of solarge a property so early in life, and I have an idea that our good auntat Hollywell has done a good deal to raise his opinion of himself. Weshall, of course, show him every civility in our power, and give him theadvantage of intellectual society at our house. His letters are directedto this place, as you know South Moor Farm is out of the cognizanceof the post. They seem to keep up a brisk correspondence with him fromHollywell. Few guardians' letters are, I should guess, honoured withsuch deepening colour as his while reading one from my uncle. He tellsme he has been calling at Stylehurst; it is a pity, for his sake, thatColonel Harewood is at home, for the society of those sons is by nomeans advisable for him. I can hardly expect to offer him what is likelyto be as agreeable to him as the conversation and amusements of Edwardand Tom Harewood, who are sure to be at home for the St. Mildred'sraces. I hear Tom has been getting into fresh scrapes at Cambridge. 

 'Your affectionate sister, 'MARGARET HENLEY. '

 'ATHENAEUM TERRACE. ST. MILDRED'S, Sept. 6th. 'MY DEAR PHILIP, --No one can have a greater dislike than myself to whatis called mischief-making; therefore I leave it entirely to you to makewhat use you please of the following facts, which have fallen under mynotice. Sir Guy Morville has been several times at St. Mildred's, incompany with Tom Harewood, and more than once alone with some strangequestionable-looking people; and not many days ago, my maid met himcoming out of a house in one of the low streets, which it is hard toassign a motive for his visiting. This, however, might be accident, andI should never have thought of mentioning it, but for a circumstancethat occurred this morning. I had occasion to visit Grey's Bank, andwhile waiting in conversation with Mr. Grey, a person came in whom Iknew to be a notorious gambler, and offered a cheque to be changed. Asit lay on the counter, my eye was caught by the signature. It was myuncle's. I looked again, and could not be mistaken. It was a draft for£30 on Drummond, dated the 12th of August, to Sir Guy Morville, signedC. Edmonstone, and endorsed in Sir Guy's own writing, with the name ofJohn White. In order that I might be certain that I was doing the pooryoung man no injustice, I outstayed the man, and asked who he was, when Mr. Grey confirmed me in my belief that it was one Jack White, a jockeying sort of man who attends all the races in the country, andmakes his livelihood by betting and gambling. And now, my dear brother, make what use of this fact you think fit, though I fear there islittle hope of rescuing the poor youth from the fatal habits which arehereditary in his family, and must be strong indeed not to have beeneradicated by such careful training as you say he has received. I leaveit entirely to you, trusting in your excellent judgment, and only hopingyou will not bring my name forward. Grieving much at having to be thefirst to communicate such unpleasant tidings, which will occasion somuch vexation at Hollywell. '

 'Your affectionate sister, 'MARGARET HENLEY. '

Captain Morville was alone when he received the latter of these letters. At first, a look divided between irony and melancholy passed over hisface, as he read his sister's preface and her hearsay evidence, but, as he went farther, his upper lip curled, and a sudden gleam, as ofexultation in a verified prophecy, lighted his eye, shading offquickly, however, and giving place to an iron expression of rigidityand sternness, the compressed mouth, coldly-fixed eye, and sedatebrow, composed into a grave severity that might have served for animpersonation of stern justice. He looked through the letter a secondtime, folded it up, put it in his pocket, and went about his usualaffairs; but the expression did not leave his face all day; and the nextmorning he took a day-ticket by the railway to Broadstone, where, as itwas the day of the petty sessions, he had little doubt of meeting Mr. Edmonstone. Accordingly, he had not walked far down the High Street, before he saw his uncle standing on the step of the post-office, openinga letter he had just received. 

'Ha! Philip, what brings you here? The very man I wanted. Coming toHollywell?'

'No, thank you, I go back this evening, ' said Philip, and, as he spoke, he saw that the letter which Mr. Edmonstone held, and twisted with ahasty, nervous movement, was in Guy's writing. 

'Well, I am glad you are here, at any rate. Here is the mostextraordinary thing! What possesses the boy I cannot guess. Here's Guywriting to me for--What do you think? To send him a thousand pounds!'

'Hem!' said Philip in an expressive tone; yet, as if he was not verymuch amazed; 'no explanation, I suppose?'

'No, none at all. Here, see what he says yourself. No! Yes, you may, 'added Mr. Edmonstone, with a rapid glance at the end of the letter, --amovement, first to retain it, and then following his first impulse, withan unintelligible murmuring. 

Philip read, --

 'SOUTH MOOR, SEPT. 7th. 

'MY DEAR MR. EDMONSTONE, --You will be surprised at the request I have tomake you, after my resolution not to exceed my allowance. However, thisis not for my own expenses, and it will not occur again. I should bemuch obliged to you to let me have £1OOO, in what manner you please, only I should be glad if it were soon. I am sorry I am not at liberty totell you what I want it for, but I trust to your kindness. Tell CharlieI will write to him in a day or two, but, between our work, and walkingto St. Mildred's for the letters, which we cannot help doing everyday, the time for writing is short. Another month, however, and what aholiday it will be! Tell Amy she ought to be here to see the purple ofthe hills in the early morning; it almost makes up for having no sea. The races have been making St. Mildred's very gay; indeed, we laugh atWellwood for having brought us here, by way of a quiet place. I neverwas in the way of so much dissipation in my life. 

 'Yours very affectionately, 'GUY MORVILLE. '

'Well, what do you think of it? What would you do in my place--eh, Philip! What can he want of it, eh?' said Mr. Edmonstone, tormentinghis riding-whip, and looking up to study his nephew's face, which, withstern gravity in every feature, was bent over the letter, as if toweigh every line. 'Eh, Philip?' repeated Mr. Edmonstone, several times, without obtaining an answer. 

'This is no place for discussion, ' at last said Philip, deliberatelyreturning the letter. 'Come into the reading-room. We shall find no onethere at this hour. Here we are. '

'Well--well--well, ' began Mr. Edmonstone, fretted by his coolness to theextreme of impatience, 'what do you think of it? He can't be after anymischief; 'tis not in the boy; when--when he is all but--Pooh! what am Isaying? Well, what do you think?'

'I am afraid it confirms but too strongly a report which I receivedyesterday. '

'From your sister? Does she know anything about it?'

'Yes, from my sister. But I was very unwilling to mention it, becauseshe particularly requests that her name may not be used. I came here tosee whether you had heard of Guy lately, so as to judge whether it wasneedful to speak of it. This convinces me; but I must beg, in the firstinstance, that you will not mention her, not even to my aunt. '

'Well, yes; very well. I promise. Only let me hear. '

'Young Harewood has, I fear, led him into bad company. There can now beno doubt that he has been gambling. '

Philip was not prepared for the effect of these words. His uncle startedup, exclaiming--'Gambling! Impossible! Some confounded slander! Idon't believe one word of it! I won't hear such things said of him, ' herepeated, stammering with passion, and walking violently about the room. This did not last long; there was something in the unmoved way in whichPhilip waited till he had patience to listen, which gradually masteredhim; his angry manner subsided, and, sitting down, he continued theargument, in a would-be-composed voice. 

'It is utterly impossible! Remember, he thinks himself bound not so muchas to touch a billiard cue. '

'I could have thought it impossible, but for what I have seen of theway in which promises are eluded by persons too strictly bound, ' saidPhilip. 'The moral force of principle is the only efficient pledge. '

'Principle! I should like to see who has better principles than Guy!'cried Mr. Edmonstone. 'You have said so yourself, fifty times, and youraunt has said so, and Charles. I could as soon suspect myself. ' He wasgrowing vehement, but again Philip's imperturbability repressed hisviolence, and he asked, 'Well, what evidence have you? Mind, I am notgoing to believe it without the strongest. I don't know that I wouldbelieve my own eyes against him. '

'It is very sad to find such confidence misplaced, ' said Philip. 'Mostsincerely do I wish this could be proved to be a mistake; but thisextraordinary request corroborates my sister's letter too fully. '

'Let me hear, ' said Mr. Edmonstone feebly. Philip produced his letter, without reading the whole of it; for he could not bear the appearance ofgossip and prying, and would not expose his sister; so he pieced it outwith his own words, and made it sound far less discreditable to her. Itwas quite enough for Mr. Edmonstone; the accuracy of the details seemedto strike him dumb; and there was a long silence, which he broke bysaying, with a deep sigh, --

'Who could have thought it? Poor little Amy!'

'Amy?' exclaimed Philip. 

'Why, ay. I did not mean to have said anything of it, I am sure; butthey did it among them, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, growing ashamed, underPhilip's eye, as of a dreadful piece of imprudence. 'I was out of theway at the time, but I could not refuse my consent, you know, as thingsstood then. '

'Do you mean to say that Amy is engaged to him?'

'Why, no--not exactly engaged, only on trial, you understand, to see ifhe will be steady. I was at Broadstone; 'twas mamma settled it all. Poor little thing, she is very much in love with him, I do believe, butthere's an end of everything now. '

'It is very fortunate this has been discovered in time, ' said Philip. 'Instead of pitying her, I should rejoice in her escape. '

'Yes, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, ruefully. 'Who could have thought it?'

'I am afraid the mischief is of long standing, ' proceeded Philip, resolved, since he saw his uncle so grieved, to press him strongly, thinking that to save Amy from such a marriage was an additional motive. 'He could hardly have arrived at losing as much as a thousand pounds, all at once, in this month at St. Mildred's. Depend upon it, thatpainful as it may be at present, there is great reason, on her account, to rejoice in the discovery. You say he has never before applied, to youfor money?'

'Not a farthing beyond his allowance, except this unlucky thirty pounds, for his additional expense of the tutor and the lodging. '

'You remember, however, that he has always seemed short of money, neverappeared able to afford himself any little extra expense. You havenoticed it, I know. You remember, too, how unsatisfactory his reserveabout his proceedings in London has been, and how he has persisted indelaying there, in spite of all warnings. The work, no doubt, beganthere, under the guidance of his uncle; and now the St. Mildred's racesand Tom Harewood have continued it. '

'I wish he had never set foot in the place!'

'Nay; for Amy's sake, the exposure is an advantage, if not for his own. The course must have been long since begun; but he contrived to avoidwhat could lead to inquiry, till he has at length involved himself insome desperate scrape. You see, he especially desires to have the money_soon_, and he never even attempts to say you would approve of theobject. 

'Yes; he has the grace not to say that. '

'Altogether, it is worse than I could have thought possible, ' saidPhilip. I could have believed him unstable and thoughtless; but theconcealment, and the attempting to gain poor Amy's affections in themidst of such a course--'

'Ay, ay!' cried Mr. Edmonstone, now fully provoked; 'there is themonstrous part. He thought I was going to give up my poor little girl toa gambler, did he? but he shall soon see what I think of him, --riches, Redclyffe, title, and all!'

'I knew that would be your feeling. '

'Feel! Yes; and he shall feel it, too. So, Sir Guy, you thought you hadan old fool of a guardian, did you, whom you could blind as you pleased?but you shall soon see the difference!'

'Better begin cautiously, ' suggested Philip. 'Remember his unfortunatetemper, and write coolly. '

'Coolly? You may talk of coolness; but 'tis enough to make one'sblood boil to be served in such a way. With the face to be sending hermessages in the very same letter! That is a pass beyond me, to standcoolly to see my daughter so treated. '

'I would only give him the opportunity of saying what he can forhimself. He may have some explanation. '

'I'll admit of no explanation! Passing himself off for steadinessitself; daring to think of my daughter, and all the time going on inthis fashion! I hate underhand ways! I'll have no explanation. He maygive up all thoughts of her. I'll write and tell him so before I'm a dayolder; nay, before I stir from this room. My little Amy, indeed!'

Philip put no obstacles in the way of this proposal, for he knew thathis uncle's displeasure, though hot at first, was apt to evaporatein exclamations; and he thought it likely that his good nature, hispartiality for his ward, his dislike to causing pain to his daughter, and, above all, his wife's blind confidence in Guy, would, when once athome, so overpower his present indignation as to prevent the salutarystrictness which was the only hope of reclaiming Guy. Beside, a letterwritten under Philip's inspection was likely to be more guarded, as wellas more forcible, than an unassisted composition of his own, as was, indeed, pretty well proved by the commencement of his first attempt. 

'My dear Guy, --I am more surprised than I could have expected at yourapplication. '

Philip read this aloud, so as to mark its absurdity, and he began again. 

'I am greatly astonished, as well as concerned, at your application, which confirms the unpleasant reports--'

'Why say anything of reports?' said Philip. 'Reports are nothing. A manis not forced to defend himself from reports. '

'Yes, --hum--ha, --the accounts I have received. No. You say there is notto be a word of Mrs. Henley. '

'Not a word that can lead her to be suspected. '

'Confirms--confirms--' sighed Mr. Edmonstone. 

'Don't write as if you went on hearsay evidence. Speak ofproofs--irrefragable proofs--and then you convict him at once, withoutpower of eluding you. '

So Mr. Edmonstone proceeded to write, that the application confirmedthe irrefragable proofs, then laughed at himself, and helplessly beggedPhilip to give him a start. It now stood thus:--

'Your letter of this morning has caused me more concern than surprise, as it unhappily only adds confirmation to the intelligence already inmy possession; that either from want of resolution to withstand theseductions of designing persons, or by the impetuosity and instabilityof your own character, you have been led into the ruinous and degradingpractice of gambling; and that from hence proceed the difficulties thatoccasion your application to me for money. I am deeply grieved at thusfinding that neither the principles which have hitherto seemed to guideyou, nor the pledges which you used to hold sacred, nor, I may add, thefeelings you have so recently expressed towards a member of my family, have been sufficient to preserve you from yielding to a temptation whichcould never be presented to the mind of any one whose time was properlyoccupied in the business of his education. '

'Is that all I am to say about her, ' exclaimed Mr. Edmonstone, 'afterthe atrocious way the fellow has treated her in?'

'Since it is, happily, no engagement, I cannot see how you can, withpropriety, assume that it is one, by speaking of breaking it off. Besides, give him no ground for complaint, or he will take refuge inbelieving himself ill-used. Ask him if he can disprove it, and when hecannot, it will be time enough to act further. But wait--wait, sir, ' asthe pen was moving over the paper, impatient to dash forward. 'You havenot told him yet of what you accuse him. '

Philip meditated a few moments, then produced another sentence. 

'I have no means of judging how long you have been following thisunhappy course; I had rather believe it is of recent adoption, but I donot know how to reconcile this idea with the magnitude of your demand, unless your downward progress has been more rapid than usual in suchbeginnings. It would, I fear, be quite vain for me to urge upon you allthe arguments and reasons that ought to have been present to your mind, and prevented you from taking the first fatal step. I can only entreatyou to pause, and consider the ruin and degradation to which thishateful vice almost invariably conducts its victims, and consistentlywith my duty as your guardian, everything in my power shall be doneto extricate you from the embarrassments in which you have involvedyourself. But, in the first place, I make it a point that you treat mewith perfect confidence, and make a full, unequivocal statement of yourproceedings; above all, that you explain the circumstances, occasioningyour request for this large sum. Remember, I say, complete candour onyour part will afford the only means of rescuing you from difficulties, or of in any degree restoring you to my good opinion. '

So far the letter had proceeded slowly, for Philip was careful anddeliberate in composition, and while he was weighing his words, Mr. Edmonstone rushed on with something unfit to stand, so as to have tobegin over again. At last, the town clock struck five; Philip started, declaring that if he was not at the station in five minutes, he shouldlose the train; engaged to come to Hollywell on the day an answer mightbe expected, and hastened away, satisfied by having seen two sheetsnearly filled, and having said there was nothing more but to sign, seal, and send it. 

Mr. Edmonstone had, however, a page of note-paper more, and it was witha sensation of relief that he wrote, --

'I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that you could clear yourself. Ifa dozen men had sworn it till they were black in the face, I would nothave believed it of you that you could serve us in such a manner, after the way you have been treated at home, and to dare to think of mydaughter with such things on your mind. I could never have believed it, but for the proofs Philip has brought; and I am sure he is as sorry asmyself. Only tell the whole truth, and I will do my best to get you outof the scrape. Though all else must be at an end between us, I am yourguardian still, and I will not be harsh with you. '

He posted his letter, climbed up his tall horse, and rode home, ratherheavy-hearted; but his wrath burning out as he left Broadstone behindhim. He saw his little Amy gay and lively, and could not bear to saddenher; so he persuaded himself that there was no need to mentionthe suspicions till he had heard what Guy had to say for himself. Accordingly, he told no one but his wife; and she, who thought Guy asunlikely to gamble as Amy herself, had not the least doubt that he wouldbe able to clear himself, and agreed that it was much better to keepsilence for the present. 

CHAPTER 15

 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I have disabled mine estate, By something showing a more swelling port Than my faint means would grant continuance. --Merchant of Venice

St. Mildred's was a fashionable summer resort, which the virtues of amineral spring, and the reputation of Dr. Henley, had contributedto raise to a high degree of prosperity. It stood at the foot of amagnificent range of beautifully formed hills, where the crescents andvillas, white and smart, showed their own insignificance beneath thepurple peaks that rose high above them. 

About ten miles distant, across the hills, was Stylehurst, the parishof the late Archdeacon Morville, and the native place of Philip and hissister Margaret. It was an extensive parish, including a wide tract ofthe hilly country; and in a farm-house in the midst of the moorland, midway between St. Mildred's and the village of Stylehurst, had Mr. Wellwood fixed himself with his three pupils. 

Guy's first visit was of course to Mrs. Henley, and she was, on herside, prepared by her brother to patronize him as Philip would havedone in her place. Her patronage was valuable in her own circle; herconnections were good; the Archdeacon's name was greatly respected; shehad a handsome and well-regulated establishment, and this, together withtalents which, having no family, she had cultivated more than most womenhave time to do, made her a person of considerable distinction at St. Mildred's. She was, in fact, the leading lady of the place--the managerof the book-club, in the chair at all the charitable committees, and theprincipal person in society, giving literary parties, with a degree ofexclusiveness that made admission to them a privilege. 

She was a very fine woman, handsomer at two-and-thirty than in her earlybloom; her height little less than that of her tall brother, and hermanner and air had something very distinguished. The first time Guy sawher, he was strongly reminded both of Philip and of Mrs. Edmonstone, but not pleasingly. She seemed to be her aunt, without the softness andmotherly affection, coupled with the touch of naivete that gave Mrs. Edmonstone her freshness, and loveableness; and her likeness to herbrother included that decided, self-reliant air, which became him wellenough, but which did not sit as appropriately on a woman. 

Guy soon discovered another resemblance--for the old, unaccountableimpatience of Philip's conversation, and relief in escaping from it, haunted him before he had been a quarter of an hour in Mrs. Henley'sdrawing-room. She asked after the Hollywell party; she had not seen hercousins since her marriage, and happily for his feelings, passed overLaura and Amy as if they were nonentities; but they were all too nearhis heart for him to be able with patience to hear 'poor Charles's'temper regretted, and still less the half-sarcastic, half-compassionatetone in which she implied that her aunt spoilt him dreadfully, andshowed how cheap she hold both Mr. And Mrs. Edmonstone. 

Two years ago, Guy could not have kept down his irritation; but now hewas master of himself sufficiently to give a calm, courteous reply, so conveying his own respect for them, that Mrs. Henley was almostdisconcerted. 

Stylehurst had great interest for Guy, both for the sake of ArchdeaconMorville's kindness, and as the home which Philip regarded withaffection, that seemed the one softening touch in his character. So Guyvisited the handsome church, studied the grave-yard, and gathered thetraditions of the place from the old sexton's wife, who rejoiced infinding an auditor for her long stories of the good Archdeacon, MissFanny, and Mr. Philip. She shook her head, saying times were changed, and 'Miss Morville that was, never came neist the place. '

The squire, Colonel Harewood, was an old friend of his grandfather's, and therefore was to be called on. He had never been wise, and had beendissipated chiefly from vacancy of mind; he was now growing old, andled a quieter life, and though Guy did not find him a very entertainingcompanion, he accepted, his civilities, readily, for his grandfather'ssake. When his sons came home, Guy recognized in them the descriptionof men he was wont to shun at Oxford, as much from distaste as fromprinciple; but though he did not absolutely avoid them, he saw littleof them, being very busy, and having pleasant companions in his fellowpupils. It was a very merry party at South Moor, and Guy's high spiritsmade him the life of everything. 

The first time Mr. Wellwood went to call on his cousins at St. Mildred's, the daughters of that officer who had fallen by the handof old Sir Guy, he began repeating, for the twentieth time, what anexcellent fellow Morville was; then said he should not have troubledthem with any of his pupils, but Morville would esteem their receivinghim as an act of forgiveness, and besides, he wished them to knowone whom he valued so highly. Guy thus found himself admitted into anentirely new region. There were two sisters, together in everything. Jane, the younger, was a kind-hearted, commonplace person, who wouldnever have looked beyond the ordinary range of duties and charities; butElizabeth was one of those who rise up, from time to time, as burningand shining lights. It was not spending a quiet, easy life, making hercharities secondary to her comforts, but devoting time, strength, andgoods; not merely giving away what she could spare, but actually sharingall with the poor, reserving nothing for the future. She not only taughtthe young, and visited the distressed, but she gathered orphans intoher house, and nursed the sick day and night. Neither the means nor thestrength of the two sisters could ever have been supposed equal to whatthey were known to have achieved. It seemed as if the power grew withthe occasion, and as if they had some help which could not fail them. Guy venerated them more and more, and many a long letter about themwas written to Mrs. Edmonstone for Amy to read. There is certainly a'tyrannous hate' in the world for unusual goodness, which is a rebuke toit, and there was a strong party against the sisters. At the head of itwas Mrs. Henley, who had originally been displeased at their preferringthe direction of the clergyman to that of the ladies' committee, thoughthe secret cause of her dislike was, perhaps, that Elizabeth Wellwoodwas just what Margaret Morville might have been. So she blamed them, not, indeed for their charity, but for slight peculiarities which mightwell have been lost in the brightness of the works of mercy. She spokeas with her father's authority, though, if she had been differentlydisposed, she might have remembered that his system and principles werethe same as theirs, and that, had he been alive, he would probably havefully approved of their proceedings. Archdeacon Morville's name was ofgreat weight, and justified many persons, in their own opinion, inthe opposition made to Miss Wellwood, impeding her usefulness, andsubjecting her to endless petty calumnies. 

These made Guy very angry. He knew enough of the Archdeacon through Mrs. Edmonstone, and the opinions held by Philip, to think his daughter wasascribing to him what he had never held but, be that as it might, Guycould not bear to hear good evil spoken of, and his indignation wasstirred as he heard these spiteful reports uttered by people who satat home at ease, against one whose daily life was only too exaltedfor their imitation. His brow contracted, his eye kindled, his lip wasbitten, and now and then, when he trusted himself to reply, it was witha keen, sharp power of rebuke that made people look round, astonishedto hear such forcible words from one so young. Mrs. Henley was afraid ofhim, without knowing it; she thought she was sparing the Morville temperwhen she avoided the subject, but as she stood in awe of no one else, except her brother, she disliked him accordingly. 

One evening Guy had been dining at Dr. Henley's, and was setting out, enjoying his escape from Mrs. Henley and her friends, and rejoicing inthe prospect of a five miles' walk over the hills by moonlight. He hadonly gone the length of two streets, when he saw a dark figure at alittle distance from him, and a voice which he had little expected tohear, called out, --

'Sir Guy himself! No one else could whistle that Swedish air socorrectly!'

'My uncle!' exclaimed Guy. 'I did not know that you were here!'

Mr. Dixon laughed, said something about a fortunate rencontre, and beganan account about a concert somewhere or other, mixed up with somethingabout his wife and child, all so rambling and confused, that Guy, beginning to suspect he had been drinking, was only anxious to get ridof him, asked where he lodged, and talked of coming to see him in themorning. He soon found, however, that this had not been the case, atleast not to any great extent. Dixon was only nervous and excited, either about something he had done, or some request he had to make, andhe went on walking by his nephew's side, talking in a strange, desultoryway of open, generous-hearted fellows overlooking a little indiscretion, and of Guy's riches, which he seemed to think inexhaustible. 

'If there is anything that you want me to do for you, tell me plainlywhat it is, ' said Guy, at last. 

Mr. Dixon began to overwhelm him with thanks, but he cut them short. 'Ipromise nothing. Let me hear what you want, and I can judge whether Ican do it. '

Sebastian broke out into exclamations at the words 'if I can, ' as if hethought everything in the power of the heir of Redclyffe. 

'Have I not told you, ' said Guy, 'that for the present I have verylittle command of money? Hush! no more of that, ' he added, sternly, cutting off an imprecation which his uncle was commencing on those whokept him so short. 

'And you are content to bear it? Did you never hear of ways and means?If you were to say but one word of borrowing, they would go down ontheir knees to you, and offer you every farthing you have to keep you intheir own hands. '

'I am quite satisfied, ' said Guy, coldly. 

'The greater fool are you!' was on Dixon's lips, but he did notutter it, because he wanted to propitiate him; and after some morecircumlocution, Guy succeeded in discovering that he had been gambling, and had lost an amount which, unless he could obtain immediateassistance, would become known, and lead to the loss of his characterand situation. Guy stood and considered. He had an impulse, but he didnot think it a safe one, and resolved to give himself time. 

'I do not say that I cannot help you, ' he answered, 'but I must havetime to consider. '

'Time! would you see me ruined while you are considering?'

'I suppose this must be paid immediately. Where do you lodge?'

Mr. Dixon told him the street and number. 

'You shall hear from me to-morrow morning. I cannot trust my presentthoughts. Good night!'

Mr. Dixon would fain have guessed whether the present thoughts werefavourable, but all his hope in his extremity was in his nephew; itmight be fatal to push him too far, and, with a certain trust inhis good-nature, Sebastian allowed him to walk away without furtherremonstrance. 

Guy knew his own impetuous nature too well to venture to act on impulsein a doubtful case. He had now first to consider what he was able to do, and secondly what he would do; and this was not as clear to his mind asin the earlier days of his acquaintance with his uncle. 

Their intercourse had never been on a comfortable footing. It wouldperhaps have been better if Philip's advice had been followed, and noconnection kept up. Guy had once begged for some definite rule, sincethere was always vexation when he was known to have been with his uncle, and yet Mr. Edmonstone would never absolutely say he ought not to seehim. As long as his guardian permitted it, or rather winked at it, Guydid not think it necessary to attend to Philip's marked disapproval. Part of it was well founded, but part was dislike to all that mightbe considered as vulgar, and part was absolute injustice to SebastianDixon, there was everything that could offend in his line of argument, and in the very circumstance of his interfering; and Guy had a continualstruggle, in which he was not always successful, to avoid showing theaffront he had taken, and to reason down his subsequent indignation. Theever-recurring irritation which Philip's conversation was apt to causehim, made him avoid it as far as he could, and retreat in haste from thesubjects on which they were most apt to disagree, and so his manner hadassumed an air of reserve, and almost of distrust, with his cousin, thatwas very unlike its usual winning openness. 

This had been one unfortunate effect of his intercourse with his uncle, and another was a certain vague, dissatisfied feeling which his silence, and Philip's insinuations respecting the days he spent in London, left on Mr. Edmonstone's mind, and which gained strength from theirrecurrence. The days were, indeed, not many; it was only that in comingfrom and going to Oxford, he slept a night at an hotel in London (forhis uncle never would take him to his lodgings, never even would tellhim where they were, but always gave his address at the place of hisengagement), was conducted by him to some concert in the evening, andhad him to breakfast in the morning. He could not think there was anyharm in this; he explained all he had done to Mr. Edmonstone the firsttime, but nothing was gained by it: his visits to London continued to betreated as something to be excused or overlooked--as something not quitecorrect. 

He would almost have been ready to discontinue them, but that he sawthat his uncle regarded him with affection, and he could not bear thethought of giving up a poor relation for the sake of the opinion ofhis rich friends. These meetings were the one pure pleasure to whichSebastian looked, recalling to him the happier days of his youth, and ofhis friendship with Guy's father; and when Guy perceived how he valuedthem, it would have seemed a piece of cruel neglect to gratify himselfby giving the time to Hollywell. 

Early in the course of their acquaintance, the importunity of a creditorrevealed that, in spite of his handsome salary, Sebastian Dixon wasoften in considerable distress for money. In process of time, Guydiscovered that at the time his uncle had been supporting his sisterand her husband in all the luxury he thought befitted their rank, he hadcontracted considerable debts, and he had only been able to return toEngland on condition of paying so much a-year to his creditors. Thisleft him very little on which to maintain his family, but still hispride made him bent on concealing his difficulties, and it was notwithout a struggle that he would at first consent to receive assistancefrom his nephew. 

Guy resolved that these debts, which he considered as in fact hisfather's own, should be paid as soon as he had the command of hisproperty; but, in the meantime, he thought himself bound to send hisuncle all the help in his power, and when once the effort of acceptingit at all was over, Dixon's expectations extended far beyond his power. His allowance was not large, and the constant requests for a few poundsto meet some pressing occasion were more than he could well meet. Theykept him actually a great deal poorer than men without a tenth part ofhis fortune, and at the end of the term he would look back with surpriseat having been able to pay his way; but still he contrived neither toexceed his allowance, nor to get into debt. This was, indeed, only doneby a rigid self-denial of little luxuries such as most young men lookon nearly as necessaries; but he had never been brought up to thinkself-indulgence a consequence of riches, he did not care what was saidof him, he had no expensive tastes, for he did not seek after society, so that he was not ill-prepared for such a course, and only thought ofit as an assistance in abstaining from the time-wasting that might havetempted him if he had had plenty of money to spend. 

The only thing that concerned him was a growing doubt lest he might befeeding extravagance instead of doing good; and the more he dislikedhimself for the suspicion, the more it would return. There was no doubtmuch distress, the children were sickly; several of them died; thedoctor's bills, and other expenses, pressed heavily, and Guy blamedhimself for having doubted. Yet, again, he could not conceal fromhimself traces that his uncle was careless and imprudent. He had once, indeed, in a violent fit of self-reproach, confessed as much, allowedthat what ought to have been spent in the maintenance of his family, hadgone in gambling, but immediately after, he had been seized with a fitof terror, and implored Guy to guard the secret, since, if once itcame to the knowledge of his creditors, it would be all over with him. Concealment of his present difficulties was therefore no less necessarythan assistance in paying the sum he owed. Indeed, as far as Guy wasable to understand his confused statement, what he wanted was at onceto pay a part of his debt, before he could go on to a place where he wasengaged to perform, and where he would earn enough to make up the rest. 

Guy had intended to have sent for Deloraine, but had since given up theidea, in order to be able to help forward some plans of Miss Wellwood's, and resigning this project would enable him to place thirty pounds athis uncle's disposal, leaving him just enough to pay his expenses atSouth Moor, and carry him back to Hollywell. It was sorely against hisinclination that, instead of helping a charity, his savings should goto pay gaming debts, and his five-miles walk was spent in self-debate onthe right and wrong of the matter, and questions what should be donefor the future--for he was beginning to awaken to the sense of hisresponsibility, and feared lest he might be encouraging vice. 

Very early next morning Guy put his head into his tutor's room, announced that he must walk into St. Mildred's on business, but shouldbe back by eleven at the latest, ran down-stairs, called Bustle, andmade interest with the farmer's wife for a hunch of dry bread and a cupof new milk. 

Then rejoicing that he had made up his mind, though not light-heartedenough to whistle, he walked across the moorland, through the whitemorning mist, curling on the sides of the hills in fantastic forms, andnow and then catching his lengthened shadow, so as to make him smile byreminding him of the spectre of the Brocken. 

Not without difficulty, he found a back street, and a little shop, wherea slovenly maid was sweeping the steps, and the shutters were not yettaken down. He asked if Mr. Dixon lodged there. 'Yes, ' the woman said, staring in amazement that such a gentleman could be there at that timein the morning, asking for Mr. Dixon. 

'Is he at home?'

'Yes, sir but he is not up yet. He was very late last night. Did youwant to speak to him? I'll tell Mrs. Dixon. '

'Is Mrs. Dixon here? Then tell her Sir Guy Morville would be glad tospeak to her. '

The maid curtseyed, hurried off, and returned with a message from Mrs. Dixon to desire he would walk in. She conducted him through a darkpassage, and up a still darker stair, into a dingy little parlour, witha carpet of red and green stripes, a horsehair sofa, a grate coveredwith cut paper, and a general perfume of brandy and cigars. There weresome preparations for breakfast, but no one was in the room but a littlegirl, about seven years old, dressed in shabby-genteel mourning. 

She was pale and sickly-looking, but her eyes were of a lovely deepblue, with a very sweet expression, and a profusion of thick flaxencurls hung round her neck and shoulders. She said in a soft, little, shyvoice, --

'Mamma says she will be here directly, if you will excuse her a moment. '

Having made this formal speech, the little thing was creeping off ontip-toe, so as to escape before the maid shut the door, but Guy held outhis hand, sat down so as to be on a level with her, and said, --

'Don't go, my little maid. Won't you come and speak to your cousin Guy?'

Children never failed to be attracted, whether by the winning beauty ofhis smile, or the sweetness of the voice in which he spoke to anythingsmall or weak, and the little girl willingly came up to him, and put herhand into his. He stroked her thick, silky curls, and asked her name. 

'Marianne, ' she answered. 

It was his mother's name, and this little creature had more resemblanceto his tenderly-cherished vision of his young mother than anydescription Dixon could have given. He drew her closer to him, took theother small, cold hand, and asked her how she liked St. Mildred's. 

'Oh! much better than London. There are flowers!' and she proudlyexhibited a cup holding some ragged robins, dead nettles, and othercommon flowers which a country child would have held cheap. He admiredand gained more of her confidence, so that she had begun to chatter awayquite freely about 'the high, high hills that reached up to the sky, andthe pretty stones, ' till the door opened, and Mrs. Dixon and Bustle madetheir entrance. 

Marianne was so much afraid of the dog, Guy so eager to console, and hermother to scold her, and protest that it should not be turned out, thatthere was nothing but confusion, until Guy had shown her that Bustle wasno dangerous wild beast, induced her to accept his offered paw, and laya timid finger on his smooth, black head, after which the transition wasshort to dog and child sitting lovingly together on the floor, Mariannestroking his ears, and admiring him with a sort of silent ecstasy. 

Mrs. Dixon was a great, coarse, vulgar woman, and Guy perceived why hisuncle had been so averse to taking him to his home, and how he must havefelt the contrast between such a wife and his beautiful sister. Shehad a sort of broad sense, and absence of pretension, but her manner oftalking was by no means pleasant, as she querulously accused her husbandof being the cause of all their misfortunes, not even restrained by thepresence of her child from entering into a full account of his offences. 

Mrs. Dixon said she should not say a word, she should not care if it wasnot for the child, but she could not see her wronged by her own father, and not complain; poor little dear! she was the last, and she supposedshe should not keep her long. 

It then appeared that on her husband's obtaining an engagement for aseries of concerts at the chief county town, Mrs. Dixon had insistedon coming with him to St. Mildred's in the hope that country air mightbenefit Marianne, who, in a confined lodging in London, was pining anddwindling as her brothers and sisters had done before her. Sebastian, who liked to escape from his wife's grumbling and rigid supervision, andlooked forward to amusement in his own way at the races, had grudginglyallowed her to come, and, as she described it, had been reluctant to goto even so slight an expense in the hope of saving his child's life. Shehad watched him as closely as she could; but he had made his escape, andthe consequences Guy already knew. 

If anything could have made it worse, it was finding that after partinglast night, he had returned, tried to retrieve his luck, had involvedhimself further, had been drinking more; and at the very hour when hisnephew was getting up to see what could be done for him, had comehome in a state, which made it by no means likely that he would bepresentable, if his wife called him, as she offered to do. 

Guy much preferred arranging with her what was to be done on the presentemergency. She was disappointed at finding thirty pounds was all thehelp he could give; but she was an energetic woman, full of resources, and saw her way, with this assistance, through the present difficulty. The great point was to keep the gambling propensities out of sight ofthe creditors; and as long as this was done, she had hope. Dixon wouldgo the next morning to the town where the musical meeting was to beheld, and there he would be with his employers, where he had a characterto preserve, so that she was in no fear of another outbreak. 

It ended, therefore, in his leaving with her Mr. Edmonstone's draft, securing its destination by endorsing it to the person who was toreceive it; and wishing her good morning, after a few more kind words tolittle Marianne, who had sat playing with Bustle all the time, sidlingcontinually nearer and nearer to her new cousin, her eyes bent down, andno expression on her face which could enable him to guess how far shelistened to or comprehended the conversation so unfit for her ear. Whenhe rose to go, and stooped to kiss her, she looked wistfully in hisface, and held up a small sparkling bit of spar, the most precious ofall her hoards, gleaned from the roadsides of St. Mildred's. 

'What, child, do you want to give it to Sir Guy?' said her mother. 'Hedoes not want such trumpery, my dear, though you make such a work withit. '

'Did you mean to give it to me, my dear?' said Guy, as the child hungher head, and, crimsoned with blushes, could scarcely whisper her timid'Yes. '

He praised it, and let her put it in his waistcoat pocket, and promisedhe would always keep it; and kissed her again, and left her a happychild, confident in his promise of always keeping it, though her motheraugured that he would throw it over the next hedge. 

He was at South Moor by eleven o'clock, in time for his morning'sbusiness, and made up for the troubles of the last few hours by a longtalk with Mr. Wellwood in the afternoon, while the other two pupils weregone to the races, for which he was not inclined, after his two ten-milewalks. 

The conversation was chiefly on Church prospects in general, and inparticular on Miss Wellwood and her plans; how they had by degreesenlarged and developed as the sin, and misery, and ignorance aroundhad forced themselves more plainly on her notice, and her means hadincreased and grown under her hand in the very distribution. Otherschemes were dawning on her mind, of which the foremost was thefoundation of a sort of school and hospital united, under the chargeof herself, her sister, and several other ladies, who were desirous ofjoining her, as a sisterhood. But at present it was hoping against hope, for there were no funds with which to make a commencement. All this wastold at unawares, drawn forth by different questions and remarks, tillGuy inquired how much it would take to give them a start?'

'It is impossible to say. Anything, I suppose, between one thousandand twenty. But, by the bye, this design of Elizabeth's is an absolutesecret. If you had not almost guessed it, I should never have said oneword to you about it. You are a particularly dangerous man, with yourconnection with Mrs. Henley. You must take special good care nothing ofit reaches her. '

Guy's first impression was, that he was the last person to mention itto Mrs. Henley; but when he remembered how often her brother was atHollywell, he perceived that there might be a train for carrying thereport back again to her, and recognized the absolute necessity ofsilence. 

He said nothing at the time, but a bright scheme came into his head, resulting in the request for a thousand pounds, which caused so muchastonishment. He thought himself rather shabby to have named no more, and was afraid it was an offering that cost him nothing; but he muchenjoyed devising beforehand the letter with which he would place themoney at the disposal of Miss Wellwood's hospital. 

CHAPTER 16

 Yet burns the sun on high beyond the cloud; Each in his southern cave, The warm winds linger, but to be allowed One breathing o'er the wave, One flight across the unquiet sky; Swift as a vane may turn on high, The smile of heaven comes on. So waits the Lord behind the veil, His light on frenzied cheek, or pale, To shed when the dark hour is gone. --LYRA INNOCENTIUM

On the afternoon on which Guy expected an answer from Mr. Edmonstone, he walked with his fellow pupil, Harry Graham, to see if there were anyletters from him at Dr. Henley's. 

The servant said Mrs. Henley was at home, and asked them to come in andtake their letters. These were lying on a marble table, in the hall; andwhile the man looked in the drawing-room for his mistress, and sent oneof the maids up-stairs in quest of her, Guy hastily took up one, bearinghis address, in the well-known hand of Mr. Edmonstone. 

Young Graham, who had taken up a newspaper, was startled by Guy's loud, sudden exclamation, --'

'Ha! What on earth does this mean?'

And looking up, saw his face of a burning, glowing red, the featuresalmost convulsed, the large veins in the forehead and temples swollenwith the blood that rushed through them, and if ever his eyes flashedwith the dark lightning of Sir Hugh's, it was then. 

'Morville! What's the matter?'

'Intolerable!--insulting! Me? What does he mean?' continued Guy, hispassion kindling more and more. 'Proofs? I should like to see them!The man is crazy! I to confess! Ha!' as he came towards the end, 'Isee it, --I see it. It is Philip, is it, that I have to thank. Meddlingcoxcomb! I'll make him repent it, ' added he, with a grim fierceness ofdetermination. Slandering me to them! And that, '--looking at the wordswith regard to Amy, --'that passes all. He shall see what it is to insultme!'

'What is it? Your guardian out of humour?' asked his companion. 

'My guardian is a mere weak fool. I don't blame him, --he can't help it;but to see him made a tool of! He twists him round his finger, abuseshis weakness to insult--to accuse. But he shall give me an account!'

Guy's voice had grown lower and more husky; but though the sound sunk, the force of passion rather increased than diminished; it was like thelow distant sweep of the tempest as it whirls away, preparing to returnwith yet more tremendous might. His colour, too, had faded to paleness, but the veins were still swollen, purple, and throbbing, and there wasa stillness about him that made his wrath more than fierce, intense, almost appalling. 

Harry Graham was dumb with astonishment; but while Guy spoke, Mrs. Henley had come down, and was standing before them, beginning agreeting. The blood rushed back into Guy's cheeks, and, controlling hisvoice with powerful effort, he said, --

'I have had an insulting--an unpleasant letter, ' he added, catchinghimself up. 'You must excuse me;' and he was gone. 

'What has happened?' exclaimed Mrs. Henley, though, from her brother'sletter, as well as from her observations during a long and purposelyslow progress, along a railed gallery overhanging the hall, and down awinding staircase, she knew pretty well the whole history of his anger. 

'I don't know, ' said young Graham. 'Some absurd, person interferingbetween him and his guardian. I should be sorry to be him to fall in hisway just now. It must be something properly bad. I never saw a man insuch a rage. I think I had better go after him, and see what he has donewith himself. '

'You don't think, ' said Mrs. Henley, detaining him, 'that his guardiancould have been finding fault with him with reason?'

'Who? Morville? His guardian must have a sharp eye for picking holes, ifhe can find any in Morville. Not a steadier fellow going, --only too muchso. '

'Ah!' thought Mrs. Henley, 'these young men always hang together;' andshe let him escape without further question. But, when he emerged fromthe house, Guy was already out of sight, and he could not succeed infinding him. 

Guy had burst out of the house, feeling as if nothing could relievehim but free air and rapid motion; and on he hurried, fast, faster, conscious alone of the wild, furious tumult of rage and indignationagainst the maligner of his innocence, who was knowingly ruining himwith all that was dearest to him, insulting him by reproaches on hisbreaking a most sacred, unblemished word, and, what Guy felt scarcelyless keenly, forcing kind-hearted Mr. Edmonstone into a persecution soforeign to his nature. The agony of suffering such an accusation, andfrom such a quarter, --the violent storm of indignation and pride, --wild, undefined ideas of a heavy reckoning, --above all, the dreary thought ofAmy denied to him for ever, --all these swept over him, and swayed himby turns, with the dreadful intensity belonging to a nature formed forviolent passions, which had broken down, in the sudden shock, all thebarriers imposed on them by a long course of self-restraint. 

On he rushed, reckless whither he went, or what he did, driven forwardby the wild impulse of passion, far over moor and hill, up and down, till at last, exhausted at once by the tumult within, and by theviolent bodily exertion, a stillness--a suspension of thought andsensation--ensued; and when this passed, he found himself seated ona rock which crowned the summit of one of the hills, his handkerchiefloosened, his waistcoat open, his hat thrown off, his temples burningand throbbing with a feeling of distraction, and the agitated beatingsof his heart almost stifling his panting breath. 

'Yes, ' he muttered to himself, 'a heavy account shall he pay me for thiscrowning stroke of a long course of slander and ill-will! Have I notseen it? Has not he hated me from the first, misconstrued every word anddeed, though I have tried, striven earnestly, to be his friend, --borne, as not another soul would have done, with his impertinent interferenceand intolerable patronizing airs! But he has seen the last of it!anything but this might be forgiven; but sowing dissension between meand the Edmonstones--maligning me there. Never! Knowing, too, as heseems to do, how I stand, it is the very ecstasy of malice! Ay! thisvery night it shall be exposed, and he shall be taught to beware--madeto know with whom he has to deal. '

Guy uttered this last with teeth clenched, in an excess of deep, vengeful ire. Never had Morville of the whole line felt more deadlyfierceness than held sway over him, as he contemplated his revenge, looked forward with a dire complacency to the punishment he would wreak, not for this offence alone, but for a long course of enmity. He sat, absorbed in the plan of vengeance, perfectly still, for his physicalexhaustion was complete; but as the pulsations of his heart grewless wild, his purpose became sterner and more fixed. He devised itsexecution, planned his sudden journey, saw himself bursting on Philipearly next morning, summoning him to answer for his falsehoods. Theimpulse to action seemed to restore his power over his senses. He lookedround, to see where he was, raising his head from his hands. 

The sun was setting opposite to him, in a flood of gold, --a ruddy ball, surrounded with its pomp of clouds, on the dazzling sweep of horizon. That sight recalled him not only to himself, but to his true and betterself; the good angel so close to him for the twenty years of his life, had been driven aloof but for a moment, and now, either that, or a stillhigher and holier power, made the setting sun bring to his mind, almostto his ear, the words, --

 Let not the sun go down upon your wrath, Neither give place to the devil. 

Guy had what some would call a vivid imagination, others a lively faith. He shuddered, then, his elbows on his knees, and his hands clasped overhis brow, he sat, bending forward, with his eyes closed, wrought up in afearful struggle; while it was to him as if he saw the hereditary demonof the Morvilles watching by his side, to take full possession of himas a rightful prey, unless the battle was fought and won before that redorb had passed out of sight. Yes, the besetting fiend of his family--thespirit of defiance and resentment--that was driving him, even now, whilerealizing its presence, to disregard all thoughts save of the revengefor which he could barter everything--every hope once precious to him. 

It was horror at such wickedness that first checked him, and brought himback to the combat. His was not a temper that was satisfied with halfmeasures. He locked his hands more rigidly together, vowing to compelhimself, ere he left the spot, to forgive his enemy--forgive himcandidly--forgive him, so as never again to have to say, 'I forgivehim!' He did not try to think, for reflection only lashed up his senseof the wrong: but, as if there was power in the words alone, he forcedhis lips to repeat, --

'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass againstus. '

Coldly and hardly were they spoken at first; again he pronounced them, again, again, --each time the tone was softer, each time they came morefrom the heart. At last the remembrance of greater wrongs, and worserevilings came upon him, his eyes filled with tears, the most subduingand healing of all thoughts--that of the great Example--became presentto him; the foe was driven back. 

Still he kept his hands over his face. The tempter was not yet defeatedwithout hope. It was not enough to give up his first intention (no greatsacrifice, as he perceived, now that he had time to think how Philipwould be certain to treat a challenge), it was not enough to wish no illto his cousin, to intend no evil measure, he must pardon from the bottomof his heart, regard him candidly, and not magnify his injuries. 

He sat long, in deep thought, his head bent down, and his countenancestern with inward conflict. It was the hardest part of the whole battle, for the Morville disposition was as vindictive as passionate; but, atlast, he recovered clearness of vision. His request might well appearunreasonable, and possibly excite suspicion, and, for the rest, it wasdoing a man of honour, like Philip, flagrant injustice to suspect him oforiginating slanders. He was, of course, under a mistake, had acted, notperhaps kindly, but as he thought, rightly and judiciously, in makinghis suspicions known. If he had caused his uncle to write provokingly, every one knew that was his way, he might very properly wish, under hisbelief, to save Amabel; and though the manner might have been otherwise, the proceeding itself admitted complete justification. Indeed, when Guyrecollected the frenzy of his rage, and his own murderous impulse, hewas shocked to think that he had ever sought the love of that pureand gentle creature, as if it had been a cruel and profane linking ofinnocence to evil. He was appalled at the power of his fury, he hadnot known he was capable of it, for his boyish passion, even whenunrestrained, had never equalled this, in all the strength of earlymanhood. 

He looked up, and saw that the last remnant of the sun's disk was justdisappearing beneath the horizon. The victory was won!

But Guy's feeling was not the rejoicing of the conquest, it was more therelief which is felt by a little child, weary of its fit of naughtiness, when its tearful face is raised, mournful yet happy, in having won truerepentance, and it says, 'I _am_ sorry now. '

He rose, looked at his watch, wondered to find it so late; gazed round, and considered his bearings, perceiving, with a sense of shame, how farhe had wandered; then retraced his steps slowly and wearily, and did notreach South Moor till long after dark. 

CHAPTER 17

 My blood hath been too cold and temperate, Unapt to stir at these indignities; But you have found me. --KING HENRY IV

Philip, according to promise, appeared at Hollywell, and a volume ofawful justice seemed written on his brow. Charles, though ignorant ofits cause, perceived this at a glance, and greeted him thus:--

'Enter Don Philip II, the Duke of Alva, alguazils, corregidors, andexecutioners. '

'Is anything the matter, Philip?' said Amy; a question which took himby surprise, as he could not believe her in ignorance. He was sorry forher, and answered gravely, --

'Nothing is amiss with me, thank you, Amy, '

She knew he meant that he would tell no more, and would have thought nomore about it, but that she saw her mother was very uneasy. 

'Did you ask whether there were any letters at the post?' said Charles. 'Guy is using us shamefully--practising self-denial on us, I suppose. Isthere no letter from him?'

'There is, ' said Philip, reluctantly. 

'Well, where is it?'

'It is to your father. '

'Oh!' said Charles, with a disappointed air. 'Are you sure? Depend onit, you overlooked my M. He has owed me a letter this fortnight. Let mesee. '

'It is for my uncle, ' repeated Philip, as if to put an end to thesubject. 

'Then he has been so stupid as to forget my second name. Come, give itme. I shall have it sooner or later. '

'I assure you, Charles, it is not for you. '

'Would not any one suppose he had been reading it?' exclaimed Charles. 

'Did you know Mary Ross was gone to stay with her brother John?' brokein Mrs. Edmonstone, in a nervous, hurried manner. 

'No is she?' replied Philip. 

'Yes; his wife is ill. '

The universal feeling was that something was amiss, and mamma was in thesecret. Amy looked wistfully at her, but Mrs. Edmonstone only gazedat the window, and so they continued for some minutes, while anuninteresting exchange of question and answer was kept up between herand her nephew until at length the dressing-bell rang, and cleared theroom. Mrs. Edmonstone lingered till her son and daughters were gone, andsaid, --

'You have heard from St. Mildred's?'

'Yes, ' said Philip, as if he was as little inclined to be communicativeto her as to his cousins. 

'From Guy, or from Margaret?'

'From Margaret. '

'But you say there is a letter from him?'

'Yes, for my uncle. '

'Does she say nothing more satisfactory?' asked his aunt, her anxietytortured by his composure. 'Has she learnt no more?'

'Nothing more of his proceedings. I see Amy knows nothing of thematter?'

'No; her papa thought there was no need to distress her till we had seenwhether he could explain. '

'Poor little thing!' said Philip; 'I am very sorry for her. 

Mrs. Edmonstone did not choose to discuss her daughter's affairs withhim, and she turned the conversation to ask if Margaret said much ofGuy. 

'She writes to tell the spirit in which he received my uncle's letter. It is only the Morville temper, again, and, of course, whatever you maythink of that on Amy's account, I should never regard it, as concernsmyself, as other than his misfortune. I hope he may be able to explainthe rest. '

'Ah! there comes your uncle!' and Mr. Edmonstone entered. 

'How d'ye do, Philip? Brought better news, eh?'

'Here is a letter to speak for itself. '

'Eh? From Guy? Give it me. What does he say? Let me see. Here, mamma, read it; your eyes are best. '

Mrs. Edmonstone read as follows:--

'MY DEAR MR. EDMONSTONE, --Your letter surprised and grieved me verymuch. I cannot guess what proofs Philip may think he has, of whatI never did, and, therefore, I cannot refute them otherwise than bydeclaring that I never gamed in my life. Tell me what they are, and Iwill answer them. As to a full confession, I could of course tell youof much in which I have done wrongly, though not in the way which hesupposes. On that head, I have nothing to confess. I am sorry I amprevented from satisfying you about the £1OOO, but I am bound in honournot to mention the purpose for which I wanted it. I am sure you couldnever believe I could have said what I did to Mrs. Edmonstone if I hadbegun on a course which I detest from the bottom of my heart. Thank youvery much for the kindness of the latter part of your letter. I do notknow how I could have borne it, if it had ended as it began. I hope youwill soon send me these proofs of Philip's. Ever your affectionate, 'G. M. '

Not a little surprised was Philip to find that he was known to be Guy'saccuser; but the conclusion revealed that his style had betrayed him, and that Mr. Edmonstone had finished with some mention of him, andhe resolved that henceforth he would never leave a letter of his owndictation till he had seen it signed and sealed. 

'Well!' cried Mr. Edmonstone, joyfully beating his own hand with hisglove, 'that is all right. I knew it would be so. He can't evenguess what we are at. I am glad we did not tease poor little Amy. Eh, mamma?--eh, Philip?' the last eh being uttered much more doubtfully, andless triumphantly than the first. 

'I wonder you think it right, ' said Philip. 

'What more would you have?' said Mr. Edmonstone, hastily. 

'Confidence. '

'Eh? Oh, ay, he says he can't tell--bound in honour. '

'It is easy to write off-hand, and say I cannot satisfy you, I ambound in honour; but that is not what most persons would think a fulljustification, especially considering the terms on which you stand. '

'Why, yes, he might have said more. It would have been safe enough withme. '

'It is his usual course of mystery, reserve, and defiance. '

'The fact is, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, turning away, 'that it is a veryproper letter; right sense, proper feeling--and if he never gamed in hislife, what would you have more?'

'There are different ways of understanding such a denial as this, ' saidPhilip. 'See, he says not in the way in which I suppose. ' He held uphis hand authoritatively, as his aunt was about to interpose. 'It wasagainst gaming that his vow was made. I never thought he had played, buthe never says he has not betted. '

'He would never be guilty of a subterfuge!' exclaimed Mr. Edmonstone, indignantly. 

'I should not have thought so, without the evidence of the payment ofthe cheque, my uncle had just given him, to this gambling fellow, ' saidPhilip; 'yet it is only the natural consequence of the habit of eludinginquiry into his visits to London. '

'I can't see any reason for so harsh an accusation, ' said she. 

'I should hardly want more reason than his own words. He refuses toanswer the question on which my uncle's good opinion depends; he owns hehas been to blame, and thus retracts his full denial. In my opinion, hisletter says nothing so plainly as, "While I can stand fair with you I donot wish to break with you. "'

'He will not find that quite so easy. ' cried Mr. Edmonstone. 'I am nofool to be hoodwinked, especially where my little Amy is concerned. I'llsee all plain and straight before he says another word of her. But yousee what comes of their settling it while I was out of the way. '

Mrs. Edmonstone was grieved to see him so hurt at this. It could nothave been helped, and if all had been smooth, he never would havethought of it again; but it served to keep up his dignity in his owneyes, and, as he fancied, to defend him from Philip's censure, and hetherefore made the most of it, which so pained her that she did notventure to continue her championship of Guy. 

'Well, well, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, 'the question is what to do next--eh, Philip?' I wish he would have spoken openly. I hate mysteries. I'llwrite and tell him this won't do; he must be explicit--eh, Philip?'

'We will talk it over by and by, ' said Philip. 

His aunt understood that it was to be in her absence, and left the room, fearing it would be impossible to prevent Amy from being distressed, though she had no doubt that Guy would be able to prove his innocence ofthe charges. She found Amy waiting for her in her room. 

'Don't, ring, mamma, dear. I'll fasten your dress, ' said she; thenpausing--'Oh! mamma, I don't know whether I ought to ask, but if youwould only tell me if there is nothing gone wrong. '

'I don't believe there is anything really wrong, my dear, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, kissing her, as she saw how her colour first deepened andthen faded. 

'Oh! no, ' said she. 

'But there is some mystery about his money-matters, which has vexed yourpapa. '

'And what has Philip to do with it?'

'I cannot quite tell, my dear. I believe Margaret Henley has heardsomething, but I do not know the whole. '

'Did you see his letter, mamma? said Amy, in a low, trembling voice. 

'Yes, it is just like himself, and absolutely denies the accusations. '

Amy did not say 'then they are false, ' but she held up her head. 

'Then papa is satisfied?' she said. 

'I have no doubt all will be made clear in time, ' said her mother; 'butthere is still something unexplained, and I am afraid things may notgo smoothly just now. I am very sorry, my little Amy, that such a cloudshould have come over you, she added, smoothing fondly the long, softhair, sad at heart to see the cares and griefs of womanhood gatheringover her child's bright, young life. 

'I said I must learn to bear things!' murmured Amy to herself. 'Only, 'and the tears filled her eyes, and she spoke with almost childishsimplicity of manner, 'I can't bear them to vex him. I wish Philip wouldlet papa settle it alone. Guy will be angry, and grieved afterwards. '

They were interrupted by the dinner-bell, but Amy ran into her own roomfor one moment. 

'I said I would learn to bear, ' said she to herself, 'or I shall neverbe fit for him. Yes, I will, even though it is the thinking he isunhappy. He said I must be his Verena; I know what that means; I oughtnot to be uneasy, for he will bear it beautifully, and say he is glad ofit afterwards. And I will try not to seem cross to Philip. '

Mr. Edmonstone was fidgety and ill at ease, found fault with the dinner, and was pettish with his wife. Mrs. Edmonstone set Philip offupon politics, which lasted till the ladies could escape into thedrawing-room. In another minute Philip brought in Charles, set him down, and departed. Amy, who was standing by the window, resting her foreheadagainst the glass, and gazing into the darkness, turned round hastily, and left the room, but in passing her brother, she put her hand intohis, and received a kind pressure. Her mother followed her, and theother three all began to wonder. Charles said he had regularly beenturned out of the dining-room by Philip, who announced that he wanted tospeak to his uncle, and carried him off. 

They conjectured, and were indignant at each other's conjectures, tilltheir mother returned, and gave them as much information as she could;but this only made them very anxious. Charles was certain that Mrs. Henley had laid a cockatrice egg, and Philip was hatching it; and Lauracould not trust herself to defend Philip, lest she should do it toovehemently. They could all agree in desire to know the truth, in hopethat Guy was not culpable, and, above all, in feeling for Amy; but bytacit consent they were silent on the three shades of opinion in theirminds. Laura was confident that Philip was acting for the best; Mrs. Edmonstone thought he might be mistaken in his premises, but desirous ofGuy's real good; and Charles, though sure he would allege nothing whichhe did not believe to be true, also thought him ready to draw the worstconclusions from small grounds, and to take pleasure in driving Mr. Edmonstone to the most rigorous measures. 

Philip, meanwhile, was trying to practise great moderation andforbearance, not bringing forward at first what was most likely toincense Mr. Edmonstone, and without appearance of animosity in his cool, guarded speech. There was no design in this, he meant only to be just;yet anything less cool would have had far less effect. 

When he shut the dining-room door, he found his uncle wavering, touchedby the sight of his little Amy, returning to his first favourable viewof Guy's letter, ready to overlook everything, accept the justification, and receive his ward on the same footing as before, though he was atthe same time ashamed that Philip should see him relent, and desirousof keeping up his character for firmness, little guessing how his nephewfelt his power over him, and knew that he could wield him at will. 

Perceiving and pitying his feebleness, and sincerely believing strongmeasures the only rescue for Amy, the only hope for Guy, Philip foundhimself obliged to work on him by the production of another letter fromhis sister. He would rather, if possible, have kept this back, so muchdid his honourable feeling recoil from what had the air of slander andmischief-making; but he regarded firmness on his uncle's part as theonly chance for Guy or for his cousin, and was resolved not to let himswerve from strict justice. 

Mrs. Henley had written immediately after Guy's outburst in her house, and, taking it for granted that her brother would receive a challenge, she wrote in the utmost alarm, urging him to remember how precious hewas to her, and not to depart from his own principles. 

'You would not be so mad as to fight him, eh?' said Mr. Edmonstone, anxiously. 'You know better--besides, for poor Amy's sake. '

'For the sake of right, ' replied Philip, 'no. I have reassured mysister. I have told her that, let the boy do what he will, he shallnever make me guilty of his death. '

'You have heard from him, then?'

'No; I suppose a night's reflection convinced him that he had norational grounds for violent proceedings, and he had sense enough not toexpose himself to such an answer as I should have given. What caused hiswrath to be directed towards me especially, I cannot tell, nor can mysister, ' said Philip, looking full at his uncle; 'but I seem to havecome in for a full share of it. '

He proceeded to read the description of Guy's passion, and theexpressions he had used. Violent as it had been, it did not lose inMrs. Henley's colouring; and what made the effect worse was that she hadomitted to say she had overheard his language, so that it appeared asif he had been unrestrained even by gentlemanly feeling, and had thusspoken of her brother and uncle in her presence. 

Mr. Edmonstone was resentful now, really displeased, and wounded to thequick. The point on which he was especially sensitive was his reputationfor sense and judgment; and that Guy, who had shown him so much respectand affection, whom he had treated with invariable kindness, andreceived into his family like a son, that he should thus speak of himshocked him extremely. He was too much overcome even to break out intoexclamations at first, he only drank off his glass of wine hastily, andsaid, 'I would never have thought it!'

With these words, all desire for forbearance and toleration departed. IfGuy could speak thus of him, he was ready to believe any accusation, to think him deceitful from the first, to say he had been trifling withAmy, to imagine him a confirmed reprobate, and cast him off entirely. Philip had some difficulty to restrain him from being too violent;and to keep him to the matter in hand, he defended Guy from theexaggerations of his imagination in a manner which appeared highlynoble, considering how Guy had spoken of him. Before they parted thatnight, another letter had been written, which stood thus, --

'DEAR SIR GUY, --Since you refuse the confidence which I have a right todemand, since you elude the explanation I asked, and indulge yourself inspeaking in disrespectful terms of me and my family, I have every reasonto suppose that you have no desire to continue on the same footing asheretofore at Hollywell. As your guardian, I repeat that I considermyself bound to keep a vigilant watch over your conduct, and, ifpossible, to recover you from the unhappy course in which you haveinvolved yourself: but all other intercourse between you and this familymust cease. 'Your horse shall be sent to Redclyffe to-morrow. 

 'Yours faithfully, 'C. EDMONSTONE. '

This letter was more harsh than Philip wished; but Mr. Edmonstone wouldhardly be prevailed on to consent to enter on no further reproaches. He insisted on banishing Deloraine, as well as on the mention of Guy'sdisrespect, both against his nephew's opinion; but it was necessary tolet him have his own way on these points, and Philip thought himselffortunate in getting a letter written which was in any degree rationaland moderate. 

They had been so busy, and Mr. Edmonstone so excited, that Philipthought it best to accept the offer of tea being sent them in thedining-room, and it was not till nearly midnight that their conferencebroke up, when Mr. Edmonstone found his wife sitting up by thedressing-room fire, having shut Charles's door, sorely against his will. 

'There, ' began Mr. Edmonstone, 'you may tell Amy she may give him up, and a lucky escape she has had. But this is what comes of settlingmatters in my absence. ' So he proceeded with the narration, mixing thefacts undistinguishably with his own surmises, and overwhelming his wifewith dismay. If a quarter of this was true, defence of Guy was out ofthe question; and it was still more impossible to wish Amy's attachmentto him to continue; and though much was incredible, it was no time tosay so. She could only hope morning would soften her husband's anger, and make matters explicable. 

Morning failed to bring her comfort. Mr. Edmonstone repeated that Amymust be ordered to give up all thoughts of Guy, and she perceived thatthe words ascribed to him stood on evidence which could not be doubted. She could believe he might have spoken them in the first shock of anunjust imputation, and she thought he might have been drawn into somescrape to serve a friend; but she could never suppose him capable of allMr. Edmonstone imagined. 

The first attempt to plead his cause, however, brought on her an angryreply; for Philip, by a hint, that she never saw a fault in Guy, had putit into his uncle's head that she would try to lead him, and made himparticularly inaccessible to her influence. 

There was no help for it, then; poor little Amy must hear the worst;and it was not long before Mrs. Edmonstone found her waiting in thedressing-room. Between obedience to her husband, her conviction of Guy'sinnocence, and her tenderness to her daughter, Mrs. Edmonstone had ahard task, and she could scarcely check her tears as Amy nestled up forher morning kiss. 

'O mamma! what is it?'

'Dearest, I told you a cloud was coming. Try to bear it. Your papa isnot satisfied with Guy's answer, and it seems he spoke some hasty wordsof papa and Philip; they have displeased papa very much, and, my dearchild, you must try to bear it, he has written to tell Guy he must notthink any more of you. '

'He has spoken hasty words of papa!' repeated Amy, as if she had notheard the rest. 'How sorry he must be!'

As she spoke, Charles's door was pushed open, and in he came, halfdressed, scrambling on, with but one crutch, to the chair near which shestood, with drooping head and clasped hands. 

'Never mind, little Amy, he said; 'I'll lay my life 'tis only somemonstrous figment of Mrs. Henley's. Trust my word, it will right itself;it is only a rock to keep true love from running too smooth. Come, don'tcry, as her tears began to flow fast, 'I only meant to cheer you up. '

'I am afraid, Charlie, said his mother, putting a force on her ownfeeling, 'it is not the best or kindest way to do her good by tellingher to dwell on hopes of him. '

'Mamma one of Philip's faction!' exclaimed Charles. 

'Of no faction at all, Charles, but I am afraid it is a bad case;' andMrs. Edmonstone related what she knew; glad to address herself to anyone but Amy, who stood still, meanwhile, her hands folded on the back ofher brother's chair. 

Charles loudly protested that the charges were absurd and preposterous, and would be proved so in no time. He would finish dressing instantly, go to speak to his father, and show him the sense of the thing. Amyheard and hoped, and his mother, who had great confidence in his clearsight, was so cheered as almost to expect that today's post might carrya conciliatory letter. 

Meantime, Laura and Philip met in the breakfast-room, and in answer toher anxious inquiry, he had given her an account of Guy, which, thoughharsh enough, was far more comprehensible than what the rest had beenable to gather. 

She was inexpressibly shocked, 'My poor dear little Amy!' she exclaimed. 'O Philip, now I see all you thought to save me from!'

'It is an unhappy business that it ever was permitted!'

'Poor little dear! She was so happy, so very happy and sweet in herhumility and her love. Do you know, Philip, I was almost jealous for amoment that all should be so easy for them; and I blamed poverty; butoh! there are worse things than poverty!'

He did not speak, but his dark blue eye softened with the tender lookknown only to her; and it was one of the precious moments for which shelived. She was happy till the rest came down, and then a heavy cloudseemed to hang on them at breakfast time. 

'Charles, who found anxiety on Guy's account more exciting, thoughconsiderably less agreeable, than he had once expected, would not goaway with the womankind; but as soon as the door was shut, exclaimed, 'Now then, Philip, let me know the true grounds of your persecution. '

It was not a conciliating commencement. His father was offended, andpoured out a confused torrent of Guy's imagined misdeeds, while Philipexplained and modified his exaggerations. 

'So the fact is, ' said Charles, at length, 'that Guy has asked for hisown money, and when in lieu of it he received a letter full of unjustcharges, he declared Philip was a meddling coxcomb. I advise you not tojustify his opinion. '

Philip disdained to reply, and after a few more of Mr. Edmonstone'sexclamations Charles proceeded, 'This is the great sum total. '

'No, ' said Philip; 'I have proof of his gambling. '

'What is it?'

'I have shown it to your father, and he is satisfied. '

'Is it not proof enough that he is lost to all sense of propriety, that he should go and speak in that fashion of us, and to Philip's ownsister?' cried Mr. Edmonstone. 'What would you have more?'

'That little epithet applied to Captain Morville is hardly, to my mind, proof sufficient that a man is capable of every vice, ' said Charles, who, in the pleasure of galling his cousin, did not perceive the harmhe did his friend's cause, by recalling the affront which his father, at least, felt most deeply. Mr. Edmonstone grew angry with him fordisregarding the insulting term applied to himself; and Charles, who, though improved in many points, still sometimes showed the effects ofearly habits of disrespect to his father, answered hastily, that no onecould wonder at Guy's resenting such suspicions; he deserved no blame atall, and would have been a blockhead to bear it tamely. 

This was more than Charles meant, but his temper was fairly roused, andhe said much more than was right or judicious, so that his advocacy onlyinjured the cause. He had many representations to make on the injusticeof condemning Guy unheard, of not even laying before him the proofs onwhich the charges were founded, and on the danger of actually drivinghim into mischief, by shutting the doors of Hollywell against him. 'Ifyou wanted to make him all you say he is, you are taking the very bestmeans. '

Quite true; but Charles had made his father too angry to pay attention. This stormy discussion continued for nearly two hours, with no effectsave inflaming the minds of all parties. At last Mr. Edmonstone wascalled away; and Charles, rising, declared he should go at that moment, and write to tell Guy that there was one person at least still in hissenses. 

'You will do as you please, ' said Philip. 

'Thank you for the permission, ' said Charles, proudly. 

'It is not to me that your submission is due, ' said Philip. 

'I'll tell you what, Philip, I submit to my own father readily, but I donot submit to Captain Morville's instrument. '

'We have had enough of unbecoming retorts for one day, ' said Philip, quietly, and offering his arm. 

Much as Charles disliked it, he was in too great haste not to accept it;and perceiving that there were visitors in the drawing-room, he desiredto go up-stairs. 

'People who always come when they are not wanted!' he muttered, as hewent up, pettish with them as with everything else. 

'I do not think you in a fit mood to be advised, Charles, ' said Philip;'but to free my own conscience, let me say this. Take care how youpromote this unfortunate attachment. '

'Take care what you say!' exclaimed Charles, flushing with anger, ashe threw himself forward, with an impatient movement, trusting to hiscrutch rather than retain his cousin's arm; but the crutch slipped, hemissed his grasp at the balusters, and would have fallen to the bottomof the flight if Philip had not been close behind. Stretching out hisfoot, he made a barrier, receiving Charles's weight against his breast, and then, taking him in his arms, carried him up the rest of the wayas easily as if he had been a child. The noise brought Amy out of thedressing-room, much frightened, though she did not speak till Charleswas deposited on the sofa, and assured them he was not in the leasthurt, but he would hardly thank his cousin for having so dexterouslysaved him; and Philip, relieved from the fear of his being injured, viewed the adventure as a mere ebullition of ill-temper, and went away. 

'A fine helpless log am I, ' exclaimed Charles, as he found himself alonewith Amy. 'A pretty thing for me to talk of being of any use, when Ican't so much as show my anger at an impertinence about my own sister, without being beholden for not breaking my neck to the very piece ofpresumption that uttered it. '

'Oh, don't speak so' began Amy; and at that moment Philip was closeto them, set down the crutch that had been dropped, and went withoutspeaking. 

'I don't care who hears, ' said Charles; 'I say there is no greatermisery in this world than to have the spirit of a man and the limbs of acripple. I know if I was good for anything, things would not long be inthis state. I should be at St. Mildred's by this time, at the bottom ofthe whole story, and Philip would be taught to eat his words in no time, and make as few wry faces as suited his dignity. But what is the use oftalking? This sofa'--and he struck his fist against it--'is my prison, and I am a miserable cripple, and it is mere madness in me to think ofbeing attended to. '

'O Charlie!' cried Amy, caressingly, and much distressed, 'don't talkso. Indeed, I can't bear it! You know it is not so. '

'Do I? Have not I been talking myself hoarse, showing up theirinjustice, saying all a man could say to bring them to reason, and notan inch could I move them. I do believe Philip has driven my fatherstark mad with these abominable stories of his sister's, which I verilybelieve she invented herself. '

'O no, she could not. Don't say so. '

'What! Are you going to believe them, too?'

'Never!'

'It is that which drives me beyond all patience, ' proceeded Charles, 'tosee Philip lay hold of my father, and twist him about as he chooses, andset every one down with his authority. '

'Philip soon goes abroad, ' said Amy, who could not at the moment sayanything more charitable. 

'Ay! there is the hope. My father will return to his natural stateprovided they don't drive Guy, in the meantime, to do somethingdesperate. '

'No, they won't, ' whispered Amy. 

'Well, give me the blotting-book. I'll write to him this moment, andtell him we are not all the tools of Philip's malice. '

Amy gave the materials to her brother, and then turning away, busiedherself in silence as best she might, in the employment her mother hadrecommended her, of sorting some garden-seeds for the cottagers. Afteran interval, Charles said, 'Well, Amy, what shall I say to him for you?'

There was a little silence, and presently Amy whispered, 'I don't thinkI ought. '

'What?' asked Charles, not catching her very low tones, as she satbehind him, with her head bent down. 

'I don't think it would be right, ' she repeated, more steadily. 

'Not right for you to say you don't think him a villain?'

'Papa said I was to have no--'and there her voice was stopped withtears. 

'This is absurd, Amy, ' said Charles; 'when it all was approved at first, and now my father is acting on a wrong impression; what harm can therebe in it? Every one would do so. '

'I am sure he would not think it right, ' faltered Amy. 

'He? You'll never have any more to say to him, if you don't take carewhat you are about. '

'I can't help it, ' said Amy, in a broken voice. 'It is not right. '

'Nonsense! folly!' said Charles. 'You are as bad as the rest. When theyare persecuting, and slandering, and acting in the most outrageous wayagainst him, and you know one word of yours would carry him through all, you won't say it, to save him from distraction, and from doing all myfather fancies he has done. Then I believe you don't care a rush forhim, and never want to see him again, and believe the whole monstrousfarrago. I vow I'll say so. '

'O Charles, you are very cruel!' said Amy, with an irrepressible burstof weeping. 

'Then, if you don't believe it, why can't you send one word to comforthim?'

She wept in silence for some moments; at last she said, --

'It would not comfort him to think me disobedient. He will trust mewithout, and he will know what you think. You are very kind, dearCharlie; but don't persuade me any more, for I can't bear it. I am goingaway now; but don't fancy I am angry, only I don't think I can sit bywhile you write that letter. '

Poor little Amy, she seldom knew worse pain than at that moment, whenshe was obliged to go away to put it out of her power to follow thepromptings of her heart to send the few kind words which might provethat nothing could shake her love and trust. 

A fresh trial awaited her when she looked from her own window. Shesaw Deloraine led out, his chestnut neck glossy in the sun and Williamprepared for a journey, and the other servants shaking hands, andbidding him good-bye. She saw him ride off, and could hardly help flyingback to her brother to exclaim, 'O Charlie, they have sent Deloraineaway!' while the longing to send one kind greeting became more earnestthan ever; but she withstood it, and throwing herself on the bed, exclaimed, --

'He will never come back--never, never!' and gave way, unrestrainedly, to a fit of weeping; nor was it till this had spent itself that shecould collect her thoughts. 

She was sitting on the side of her bed trying to compose herself, whenLaura, came in. 

'My own Amy--my poor, dearest, --I am very sorry!'

'Thank you, dear Laura, ' and Amy gladly rested her aching head on hershoulder. 

'I wish I knew what to do for you!' proceeded Laura. 'You cannot, ceaseto think about him, and yet you ought. '

'If I ought, I suppose I can, ' said Amy in a voice exhausted withcrying. 

'That's right, darling. You will not be weak, and pine for one who isnot worthy. '

'Not worthy, Laura?' said Amy, withdrawing her arm, and holding up herhead. 

'Ah! my poor Amy, we thought--'

'Yes; and it is so still. I know it is so. I know he did not do it. '

'Then what do you think of Margaret and Philip?'

'There is some mistake. '

And how can you defend what he said of papa?'

'I don't, ' said Amy, hiding her face. 'That is the worst; but I am sureit was only a moment's passion, and that he must be very unhappy aboutit now. I don't think papa would mind it, at least not long, if itwas not for this other dreadful misapprehension. O, Laura! why cannotsomething be done to clear it up?'

'Everything will be done, ' said Laura. Papa has written to Mr. Wellwood, and Philip means to go and make inquiries at Oxford and St. Mildred's. '

'When?' asked Amy. 

'Not till term begins. You know he is to have a fortnight's leave beforethe regiment goes to Ireland. '

'Oh, I hope it will come right then. People must come to anunderstanding when they meet; it is so different from writing. '

'He will do everything to set things on a right footing. You may beconfident of that, Amy, for your sake as much as anything else. '

'I can't think why he should know I have anything to do with it, ' saidAmy, blushing. 'I had much rather he did not. '

'Surely, Amy, you think he can be trusted with your secret; and thereis no one who can take more care for you. You must look on him as one ofourselves. '

Amy made no answer, and Laura, was annoyed. 

'You are vexed with him for having told this to papa; but that is notreasonable of you, Amy; your better sense must tell you that it is theonly truly kind course, both towards Guy and yourself. '

It was said in Philip's manner, which perhaps made it harder to bear;and Amy could scarcely answer, --

'He means it for the best. '

'You would not have had him be silent?'

'I don't know, ' said Amy, sadly. 'No; he should have done something, buthe might have done it more kindly. '

Laura endeavoured to persuade her that nothing could have been more kindand judicious, and Amy sat dejectedly owning the good intention, andsoothed by the affection of her family; with the bitter suffering of herheart unallayed, with all her fond tender feelings torn at the thoughtof what Guy must be enduring, and with the pain of knowing it was herfather's work. She had one comfort, in the certainty that Guy would bearit nobly. She was happy to find her confidence confirmed by her motherand Charles; and one thing she thought she need not give up, thoughshe might no longer think of him as her lover, she might be his Verenastill, whether he knew it or not. It could not be wrong to remember anyone in her prayers, and to ask that he might not be led into temptation, but have strength to abide patiently. That helped her to feel that hewas in the hands of One to whom the secrets of all hearts are known; anda line of poetry seemed to be whispered in her ears, in his own sweettones, --

 Wait, and the cloud shall roll away. 

So, after the first day, she went on pretty well. She was indeed silentand grave, and no longer the sunbeam of Hollywell; but she took hershare in what was passing, and a common observer would hardly haveremarked the submissive melancholy of her manner. Her father was veryaffectionate, and often called her his jewel of good girls; but he wastoo much afraid of women's tears to talk to her about Guy, he leftthat to her mother: and Mrs. Edmonstone, having seen her submit to herfather's will, was unwilling to say more. 

She doubted whether it was judicious to encourage her in dwelling onGuy; for, even supposing his character clear, they had offended himdeeply, and released him from any engagement to her, so that therewas nothing to prevent him from forming an attachment elsewhere. Mrs. Edmonstone did not think he would; but it was better to say nothingabout him, lest she should not speak prudently, and only keep up thesubject in Amy's mind. 

Charles stormed and wrangled, told Mr. Edmonstone 'he was breaking hisdaughter's heart, that was all;' and talked of unfairness and injustice, till Mr. Edmonstone vowed it was beyond all bearing, that his own sonshould call him a tyrant, and accused Guy of destroying all peace in hisfamily. 

The replies to the letters came; some thought them satisfactory, andthe others wondered that they thought so. Mr. Wellwood gave the highestcharacter of his pupil, and could not imagine how any irregularitiescould be laid to his charge; but when asked in plain terms how hedisposed of his time, could only answer in general, that he had friendsand engagements of his own at St. Mildred's and its neighbourhood, andhad been several times at Mrs. Henley's and at Colonel Harewood's. Thelatter place, unfortunately, was the very object of Philip's suspicions;and thus the letter was anything but an exculpation. 

Guy wrote to Charles in the fulness of his heart, expressing gratitudefor his confidence and sympathy. He again begged for the supposedevidence of his misconduct, declaring he could explain it, whatever itmight be, and proceeded to utter deep regrets for his hasty expressions. 

'I do not know what I may have said, ' he wrote; 'I have no doubt itwas unpardonable, for I am sure my feelings were so, and that I deservewhatever I have brought on myself. I can only submit to Mr. Edmonstone'ssentence, and trust that time will bring to his knowledge that I aminnocent of what I am accused of. He has every right to be displeasedwith me. 

Charles pronounced this to be only Guy's way of abusing himself; but hisfather saw in it a disguised admission of guilt. It was thought, also, to be bad sign that Guy intended to remain at South Moor till the endof the vacation, though Charles argued that he must be somewhere; and ifthey wished to keep him out of mischief, why exile him from Hollywell!He would hardly listen to his mother's representation, that on Amy'saccount it would not be right to have him there till the mystery wascleared up. 

He tried to stir his father up to go and see Guy at St. Mildred's, andinvestigate matters for himself; but, though Mr. Edmonstone would haveliked the appearance of being important, this failed, because Philipdeclared it to be unadvisable, knowing that it would be no investigationat all, and that his uncle would be talked over directly. Next, Charleswould have persuaded Philip himself to go, but the arrangements abouthis leave did not make this convenient; and it was put off till heshould pay his farewell visit to his sister, in October. Lastly, Charleswrote to Mrs. Henley, entreating her to give him some information aboutthis mysterious evidence which was wanting, but her reply was a complete'set down' for interference in a matter with which he had no concern. 

He was very angry. In fact, the post seldom came in without occasioninga fresh dispute, which only had the effect of keeping up the heat of Mr. Edmonstone's displeasure, and making the whole house uncomfortable. 

Fretfulness and ill-humour seemed to have taken possession of Charlesand his father. Such a state of things had not prevailed since Guy'sarrival: Hollywell was hardly like the same house; Mrs. Edmonstone andLaura could do nothing without being grumbled at or scolded by oneor other of the gentlemen; even Amy now and then came in for a littlepetulance on her father's part, and Charles could not always forgive herfor saying in her mournful, submissive tome, --'It is of no use to talkabout it!'

CHAPTER 18

 This just decree alone I know, Man must be disciplined by woe, To me, whate'er of good or ill The future brings, since come it will, I'll bow my spirit, and be still. --AESCHYLUS, (Anstice's Translation. )

Guy, in the meantime, was enduring the storm in loneliness, for he wasunwilling to explain the cause of his trouble to his companions. Theonly occasion of the suspicions, which he could think of, was hisrequest for the sum of money; and this he could not mention toMr. Wellwood, nor was he inclined to make confidants of his othercompanions, though pleasant, right-minded youths. 

He had only announced that he had had a letter which had grieved himconsiderably, but of which he could not mention the contents; and asHarry Graham, who knew something of the Broadstone neighbourhood, hadpicked up a report that Sir Guy Morville was to marry Lady Eveleen deCourcy, there was an idea among the party that there was some trouble inthe way of his attachment. He had once before been made, by somejoke, to colour and look conscious; and now this protected him frominconvenient questions, and accounted for his depression. He was likewhat he had been on first coming to Hollywell--grave and silent, fallinginto reveries when others were talking, and much given to long, lonelywanderings. Accustomed as he had been in boyhood to a solitary life inbeautiful scenery, there was something in a fine landscape that was tohim like a friend and companion; and he sometimes felt that it wouldhave been worse if he had been in a dull, uniform country, instead ofamong mountain peaks and broad wooded valleys. Working hard, too, helpedhim not a little, and conic sections served him almost as well as theyserved Laura. 

A more real help was the neighbourhood of Stylehurst. On the firstSunday after receiving Mr. Edmonstone's letter, he went to church there, instead of with the others, to St. Mildred's. They thought it wasfor the sake of the solitary walk; but he had other reasons for thepreference. In the first place it was a Communion Sunday, and in thenext, he could feel more kindly towards Philip there, and he knew heneeded all that could strengthen such a disposition. 

Many a question did he ask himself, to certify whether he wilfullyentertained malice or hatred, or any uncharitableness. It was a long, difficult examination; but at its close, he felt convinced that, ifsuch passions knocked at the door of his heart, it was not at his ownsummons, and that he drove them away without listening to them. Andsurely he might approach to gain the best aid in that battle, especiallyas he was certain of his strong and deep repentance for his fit ofpassion, and longing earnestly for the pledge of forgiveness. 

The pardon and peace he sought came to him, and in such sort that thecomfort of that day, when fresh from the first shock, and waiting insuspense for some new blow, was such as never to be forgotten. Theylinked themselves with the grave shade of the clustered gray columns, and the angel heads on roof of that old church; with the long grass andtall yellow mullens among its churchyard graves, and with the tints ofthe elm-trees that closed it in, their leaves in masses either of greenor yellow, and opening here and there to show the purple hills beyond. 

He wandered in the churchyard between the services. All enmity to Philipwas absent now; and he felt as if it would hardly return when he stoodby the graves of the Archdeacon and of the two Frances Morvilles, andthought what that spot was to his cousin. There were a few flowersplanted round Mrs. Morville's grave, but they showed that they had longbeen neglected, and no such signs of care marked her daughter Fanny's. And when Guy further thought of Mrs. Henley, and recollected how Philiphad sacrificed all his cherished prospects and hopes of distinction, andembraced an irksome profession, for the sake of these two sisters, he did not find it difficult to excuse the sternness, severity, anddistrust which were an evidence how acutely a warm heart had suffered. 

Though he suffered cruelly from being cut off from Amy, yet hisreverence for her helped him to submit. He had always felt as if she wastoo far above him; and though he had, beyond his hopes, been allowedto aspire to the thought of her, it was on trial, and his failure, hisreturn to his old evil passions, had sunk him beneath her. He shudderedto think of her being united to anything so unlike herself, and whichmight cause her so much misery; it was wretchedness to think that evennow she might be suffering for him; and yet not for worlds would he havelost the belief that she was so feeling, or the remembrance of the lookswhich had shone on him so sweetly and timidly as she sat at her mother'sfeet; though that remembrance was only another form of misery. But Amywould be tranquil, pure and good, whatever became of him, and he shouldalways be able to think of her, looking like one of those peacefulspirits, with bending head, folded hands, and a star on its brow, in the"Paradiso" of Flaxman. Her serenity would be untouched; and though shemight be lost to him, he could still be content while he could look upat it through his turbid life. Better she were lost to him than that herpeace should be injured. 

He still, of course, earnestly longed to prove his innocence, thoughhis hopes lessened, for as long as the evidence was withheld, he hadno chance. After writing as strongly as he could, he could do no more, except watch for something that might unravel the mystery; and Charles'swarm sympathy and readiness to assist him were a great comfort. 

He had not seen his uncle again; perhaps Sebastian was ashamed to meethim after their last encounter, and was still absent on his engagement;but the wife and child were still at St. Mildred's, and one afternoon, when Guy had rather unwillingly gone thither with Mr. Wellwood, he sawMrs. Dixon sitting on one of the benches which were placed on the pathscut out on the side of the hill, looking very smart and smiling, amongseveral persons of her own class. 

To be ashamed to recognise her was a weakness beneath him; he spoke toher, and was leaving her, pluming herself on his notice, when he sawlittle Marianne's blue eyes fixed wistfully upon him, and held out hishand to her. She ran up to him joyfully, and he led her a few steps fromher mother's party. 'Well, little one, how are you? I have your piece ofspar quite safe. Have you said how d'ye do to Bustle?'

'Bustle! Bustle!' called the soft voice but it needed a whistle from hismaster to bring him to be caressed by the little girl. 

'Have you been taking any more pleasant walks?'

'Oh yes. We have been all round these pretty paths. And I should like togo to the top of this great high hill, and see all round; but mamma saysshe has got a bone in her leg, and cannot go. '

'Do you think mamma would give you leave to go up with me? Should youlike it?'

She coloured all over; too happy even to thank him. 

'Then, ' said Guy to his tutor, 'I will meet you here when you have doneyour business in the town, in an hour or so. Poor little thing, she hasnot many pleasures. '

Mrs. Dixon made no difficulty, and was so profuse in thanks that Guy gotout of her way as fast as he could, and was soon on the soft thymy grassof the hill-side, the little girl frisking about him in great delight, playing with Bustle, and chattering merrily. 

Little Marianne was a delicate child, and her frolic did not last long. As the ascent became steeper, her breath grew shorter, and she toiled onin a resolute uncomplaining manner after his long, vigorous steps, tillhe looked round, and seeing her panting far behind, turned to help her, lead her, and carry her, till the top was achieved, and the little girlstood on the topmost stone, gazing round at the broad sunny landscape, with the soft green meadows, the harvest fields, the woods in theirgorgeous autumn raiment, and the moorland on the other side, with itsother peaks and cairns, brown with withered bracken, and shadowed inmoving patches by the floating clouds. The exhilarating wind brought acolour into her pale cheeks, and her flossy curls were blowing over herface. 

He watched her in silence, pleased and curious to observe how beautifula scene struck the childish eye of the little Londoner. The first thingshe said, after three or four minutes' contemplation--a long time forsuch a child--was, 'Oh! I never saw anything so pretty!' then presentlyafter, 'Oh! I wish little brother Felix was here!'

'This is a pleasant place to think about your little brother, ' said Guy, kindly; and she looked up in his face, and exclaimed, 'Oh! do you knowabout Felix?'

'You shall tell me' said Guy. 'Here, sit on my knee, and rest after yourscramble. '

'Mamma never lets me talk of Felix, because it makes her cry, ' saidMarianne; but I wish it sometimes. '

Her little heart was soon open. It appeared that Felix was the last whohad died, the nearest in age to Marianne, and her favourite playfellow. She told of some of their sports in their London home, speaking of themwith eagerness and fondness that showed what joys they had been, thoughto Guy they seemed but the very proof of dreariness and dinginess. Shetalked of walks to school, when Felix would tell what he would do whenhe was a man, and how he took care of her at the crossings, and how rudeboys used to drive them, and how they would look in at the shop windowsand settle what they would buy if they were rich. Then she talked of hisbeing ill--ill so very long; how he sat in his little chair, and couldnot play, and then always lay in bed, and she liked to sit by him, there; but at last he died, and they carried him away in a great blackcoffin, and he would never come back again. But it was so dull now, there was no one to play with her. 

Though the little girl did not cry, she looked very mournful, and Guytried to comfort her, but she did not understand him. 'Going to heaven'only conveyed to her a notion of death and separation, and this phrase, together with a vague idea who had made her, and that she ought to begood, seemed to be the extent of the poor child's religious knowledge. She hardly ever had been at church and though she had read one or twoBible stories, it seemed to have been from their having been used aslessons at school. She had a dim notion that good people read theBible, and there was one on the little table at home, with theshell-turkey-cock standing upon it, and mamma read it when Felix died;but it was a big book, and the shell-turkey-cock always stood upon it;in short, it seemed only connected with mamma's tears, and the loss ofher brother. 

Guy was very much shocked, and so deep in thought that he could hardlytalk to the child in their progress down the hill; but she was justso tired as to be inclined to silence, and quite happy clinging to hishand, till he delivered her over to her mother at the foot of the hill, and went to join his tutor, at the place appointed. 

'Wellwood, ' said he, breaking silence, when they had walked about halfway back to the farm, 'do you think your cousin would do me a greatkindness? You saw that child? Well, if the parents consent, it would bethe greatest charity on earth if Miss Wellwood would receive her intoher school. '

'On what terms? What sort of an education is she to have?'

'The chief thing she wants is to be taught Christianity, poor child;the rest Miss Wellwood may settle. She is my first cousin. I don't knowwhether you are acquainted with our family history?' and he went on toexplain as much as was needful. It ended in a resolution that if MissWellwood would undertake the charge, the proposal should be made to Mrs. Dixon. 

It was a way of assisting his relations likely to do real good, and onthe other hand, he would be able, under colour of the payment for thechild, to further Miss Wellwood's schemes, and give her the interestof the thousand pounds, until his five and twentieth year might put hisproperty in his own power. 

Miss Wellwood readily consented, much pleased with the simplicity andabsence of false shame he showed in the whole transaction, and veryanxious for the good of a child in a class so difficult to reach. Henext went to Mrs. Dixon, expecting more difficulty with her, but hefound none. She thought it better Marianne should live at St. Mildred'sthan die in London, and was ready to catch at the prospect of her beingfitted for a governess. Indeed, she was so strongly persuaded that therich cousin might make Marianne's fortune, that she would have been veryunwilling to interfere with the fancy he had taken for her. 

Little Marianne was divided between fear of leaving mamma and likingfor St. Mildred's, but her first interview with Miss Wellwood, and MissJane's showing her a little white bed, quite turned the scale in theirfavour. Before the time came for Guy's return to Oxford, he had seen hersettled, heard her own account of her happy life, and had listened toMiss Jane Wellwood's delight in her sweet temper and good disposition. 

Those thousand pounds; Guy considered again and again whether he couldexplain their destination, and whether this would clear him. It seemedto him only a minor charge, and besides his repugnance to mention sucha design, he saw too many obstacles in his way. Captain Morville and hissister were the very persons from whom Miss Wellwood's project was tobe kept secret. Besides, what would be gained? It was evident that Guy'sown assertions were doubted, and he could bring no confirmation of them;he had never spoken of his intention to his tutor, and Mr. Wellwoodcould, therefore, say nothing in his favour. If Mr. Edmonstone alone hadbeen concerned, or if this had been the only accusation, Guy might havetried to explain it; but with Philip he knew it would be useless, andtherefore would not enter on the subject. He could only wait patiently. 

CHAPTER 19

 Most delicately, hour by hour, He canvassed human mysteries, And stood aloof from other minds. Himself unto himself he sold, Upon himself, himself did feed, Quiet, dispassionate, and cold, With chiselled features clear and sleek. --TENNYSON

Guy had been about a week at Oxford, when one evening, as he wassitting alone in his rooms, he received an unexpected visit from CaptainMorville. He was glad, for he thought a personal interview would removeall misconstructions, and held out his hand cordially, saying:--

'You here, Philip! When did you come?'

'Half an hour ago. I am on my way to spend a week with the Thorndales. Igo on to-morrow to my sister's. '

While speaking, Philip was surveying the apartment, for he held that aman's room is generally an indication of his disposition, and assuredlythere was a great deal of character in his own, with the scrupulousneatness and fastidious taste of its arrangements. Here, he thought, hecould not fail to see traces of his cousin's habits, but he was obligedto confess to himself that there was very little to guide him. Thefurniture was strictly as its former occupant had left it, only ratherthe worse for wear, and far from being in order. The chairs were soheaped with books and papers, that Guy had to make a clearance ofone before his visitor could sit down, but there was nothing else tocomplain of, not even a trace of cigars; but knowing him to be a greatreader and lover of accomplishments, Philip wondered that the onlydecorations were Laura's drawing of Sintram, and a little print ofRedclyffe, and the books were chiefly such as were wanted for hisstudies, the few others having for the most part the air of old librarybooks, as if he had sent for them from Redclyffe. Was this another proofthat he had some way of frittering away his money with nothing to showfor it? A Sophocles and a lexicon were open before him on the table, anda blotting-book, which he closed, but not before Philip had caught sightof what looked like verses. 

Neither did his countenance answer Philip's expectations. It had not hisusual bright lively expression; there was a sadness which made him smilelike a gleam on a showery day, instead of constant sunshine; but therewas neither embarrassment nor defiance, and the gleam-like smile wasthere, as with a frank, confiding tone, he said, --

'This is very kind of you, to come and see what you can do for me. '

Philip was by no means prepared to be thus met half-way, but he thoughtGuy wanted to secure him as an intercessor, and hardened himself intorighteous severity. 

'No one can be more willing to help you than I, but you must, in thefirst place, help yourself. '

Instantly the sedate measured tone made Guy's heart and head throb withimpatience, awakening all the former memories so hardly battled down;but with the impulse of anger came the thought, 'Here it is again! If Idon't keep it down now, I am undone! The enemy will seize me again!' Heforced himself not to interrupt, while Philip went calmly on. 

'While you are not open, nothing can be done. '

'My only wish, my only desire, is to be open, ' said Guy, speaking fastand low, and repressing the feeling, which, nevertheless, affected hisvoice; 'but the opportunity of explanation has never been given me. '

'You need complain of that no longer. I am here to convey to my uncleany explanation you may wish to address to him. I will do my best toinduce him to attend to it favourably, but he is deeply offended andhurt by what has passed. '

'I know--I know, ' said Guy, colouring deeply, and all irritationdisappearing from voice and manner; 'I know there is no excuse for me. I can only repeat that I am heartily sorry for whatever I may have said, either of him or of you. '

'Of course, ' returned Philip, 'I should never think of resenting whatyou may have said in a moment of irritation, especially as you expressregret for it. Consider it as entirely overlooked on my part. '

Guy was nearly choked in uttering a 'Thank you, ' which did not sound, after all, much like acceptance of forgiveness. 

'Now to the real matter at issue, ' said Philip: 'the application for themoney, which so amazed Mr. Edmonstone. '

'I do not see that it is the point, ' said Guy, 'I wanted it for a schemeof my own: he did not think fit to let me have it, so there is an end ofthe matter. '

'Mr Edmonstone does not think so. He wishes to be convinced that youhave not spent it beforehand. '

'What would you have beyond my word and honour that I have not?'exclaimed Guy. 

Far be it from me to say that he doubts it, ' said Philip; and as atthose words the flash of the Morville eye darted lightning, he expectedthat the next moment, 'Do you?' would be thundered forth, and he couldnot, with truth, answer 'No;' but it was one of his maxims that aman need never be forced into an open quarrel, and he tranquillycontinued--'but it is better not to depend entirely on assertion. Why doyou not bring him full proofs of your good intention, and thus restoreyourself to his confidence?'

'I have said that I am bound not to mention the purpose. '

'Unfortunate!' said Philip; then, while Guy bit his lip till it bled, the pain really a relief, by giving some vent to his anger at theimplied doubt, he went on, --'If it is impossible to clear this up, thenext advice I would give is, that you should show what your expenditurehas been; lay your accounts before him, and let them justify you. '

Most people would have resented this as an impertinent proposal, wereit only that doing so would have served to conceal the awkward factthat the accounts had not been kept at all. Guy had never been taughtto regard exactness in this respect as a duty, had no natural taste forprecision, and did not feel responsible to any person; nor if he hadkept any, could he have shown them, without exposing his uncle. Torefuse, would, however, be a subterfuge, and after a moment, he made aneffort, and confessed he had none to show, though he knew Philip woulddespise him for it as a fool, and probably take it as positive evidenceagainst him. 

It would have been more bearable if Philip would but have said 'Howfoolish, ' instead of drily repeating 'Unfortunate!'

After a pause, during which Guy was not sufficiently master of himselfto speak, Philip added--'Then this matter of the thousand pounds is tobe passed over? You have no explanation to offer?'

'No:' and again he paused. 'When my word is not accepted, I have no moreto say. But this is not the point. What I would know is, what are thecalumnies that accuse me of having gamed? If you really wish to do mea service, you will give me an opportunity of answering these preciousproofs. '

'I will' answered Philip; who could venture on doing so himself, though, for his sister's sake, it was unsafe to trust Mr. Edmonstone, with whomwhat was not an absolute secret was not a secret at all. 'My uncle knowsthat a thirty pound cheque of his, in your name, was paid by you to anotorious gamester. '

Guy did not shrink, as he simply answered--'It is true. '

'Yet you have neither played, nor betted, nor done anything that couldcome under the definition of gambling?'

'No. '

'Then why this payment?'

'I cannot explain that. I know appearances are against me, ' replied Guysteadily, and with less irritation than he had hitherto shown. I oncethought my simple word would have sufficed, but, since it seems thatwill not do, I will not again make what you call assertions. '

'In fact, while you profess a desire to be open and sincere, a mysteryappears at every turn. What would you have us do?'

'As you think fit, ' he answered proudly. 

Philip had been used to feel men's wills and characters bend and giveway beneath his superior force of mind. They might, like Charles, chafeand rage, but his calmness always gave him the ascendant almost withoutexertion, and few people had ever come into contact with him without acertain submission of will or opinion. With Guy alone it was not so;he had been sensible of it once or twice before; he had no mastery, andcould no more bend that spirit than a bar of steel. This he could notbear, for it obliged him to be continually making efforts to preservehis own sense of superiority. 

'Since this is your ultimatum, ' he said--'since you deny yourconfidence, and refuse any reply to these charges, you have no right tocomplain of suspicion. I shall do my best, both as your true friend, andas acting with your guardian's authority, to discover all that may leadto the elucidation of the mystery. In the first place, I am desired tomake every inquiry here as to your conduct and expenditure. I hope theywill prove satisfactory. '

'I am very much obliged to you, ' answered Guy, his voice stern anddignified, and the smile that curled his lip was like Philip's own. 

Philip was positively annoyed, and desirous to say something to put himdown, but he had not committed himself by any vehemence, and Philipwas too cool and wise to compromise his own dignity, so he rose to go, saying, 'Good night! I am sorry I cannot induce you to act in the onlyway that can right you. '

'Good night!' replied Guy, in the same dignified manner in which he hadspoken ever since his passion had been surmounted. 

They parted, each feeling that matters were just where they were before. Philip went back to his inn, moralizing on the pride and perversenesswhich made it impossible to make any impression on a Redclyffe Morville, whom not even the fear of detection could lead to submission. 

Next morning, while Philip was hastily breakfasting, the door opened, and Guy entered, pale and disturbed, as if he had been awake all night. 

'Philip!' said he, in his frank, natural voice, 'I don't think we partedlast night as your good intentions deserved. '

'O, ho!' thought Philip; 'the fear of an investigation has brought himto reason;' and he said, 'Well, I am very glad you see things in a truerlight this morning;' then asked if he had breakfasted. He had; and hiscousin added, 'Have you anything to say on the matter we discussed last night?'

'No. I can only repeat that I am not guilty, and wait for time to showmy innocence. I only came to see you once more, that I might feel weparted friends. '

'I shall always hope to be a true friend. '

'I did not come here for altercation, ' said Guy (an answer rather to thespirit than the words), 'so I will say no more. If you wish to see meagain, you will find me in my rooms. Good-bye. '

Philip was puzzled. He wondered whether Guy had come wishing topropitiate him, but had found pride indomitable at the last moment; orwhether he had been showing himself too severely just to admit entreaty. He would be able to judge better after he had made his inquiries, and heproceeded with them at once. He met with no such replies as he expected. Every one spoke of Sir Guy Morville in high terms, as strict in hishabits of application, and irreproachable in conduct. He was generallyliked, and some regret was expressed that he lived in so secludeda manner, forming so few intimacies; but no one seemed to think itpossible that anything wrong could be imputed to him. Philip could evenperceive that there was some surprise that such inquiries should bemade at all, especially by so young a man as himself. Mr. Wellwood, theperson whom he most wished to see, was not at Oxford, but was at homepreparing for his ordination. 

Nor could Philip get nearer to the solution of the mystery when he wentto the tradesmen, who were evidently as much surprised as the tutors, and said he always paid in ready money. Captain Morville felt like alawyer whose case is breaking down, no discoveries made, nothing done;but he was not one whit convinced of his cousin's innocence, thinkingthe college authorities blind and careless, and the tradesmen combinedto conceal their extortions, or else that the mischief had been doneat St. Mildred's. He was particularly provoked when he remembered Guy'sinvitation to him to come to his rooms, knowing, as he must have done, what would be the result of his inquiry. 

Philip was conscious that it would have been kind to have gone to saythat, so far, he had found nothing amiss, but he did not like giving Guythis passing triumph. It made no difference in his real opinion; andwhy renew a useless discussion? He persuaded himself that he had lefthimself no time, and should miss the train, and hastened off to thestation, where he had to wait a quarter of an hour, consoling himselfwith reflecting--

'After all, though I might have gone to him, it would have been useless. He is obstinate, and occasions of irritating his unfortunate temper areabove all to be avoided. '

One short year after, what would not Philip have given for that quarterof an hour!

By six o'clock he was at St. Mildred's, greeted with delight by hissister, and with cordiality by Dr. Henley. They were both proud of him, and every tender feeling his sister had was for Philip, her pet, andher pupil in his childhood, and her most valued companion and counsellorthrough her early womanhood. 

She had a picked dinner-party to meet him, for she knew the doctor'sconversation was not exactly the thing to entertain him through a wholeevening, and the guests might well think they had never seen a handsomeror more clever brother and sister than Mrs. Henley and Captain Morville. The old county families, if they did wonder at her marriage, were alwaysglad to meet her brother, and it was a great pleasure to him to see oldfriends. 

Only once did his sister, in the course of the evening, make him feelthe difference of their sentiments, and that was about Miss Wellwood. Philip defended her warmly; and when he heard that there was a plangetting up for excluding her from the hospital, he expressed strongdisapprobation at the time; and after the guests were gone, spoke uponthe subject with his sister and her husband. The doctor entered into noparty questions, and had only been stirred up to the opposition by hiswife; he owned that the Miss Wellwoods had done a great deal of good, and made the nurses do their duty better than he had ever known, andwas quite ready to withdraw his opposition. Mrs. Henley argued aboutopinions, but Philip was a match for her in her own line; and the endof it was, that though she would not allow herself to be convinced, and shook her head at her brother's way of thinking, he knew he hadprevailed, and that Miss Wellwood would be unmolested. 

There was not another person in the world to whom Margaret would haveyielded; and it served to restore him to the sense of universal dominionwhich had been a little shaken by his conversation with Guy. 

'Sir Guy was a great deal with the Wellwoods, ' said Mrs. Henley. 

'Was he, indeed?'

'O, you need not think of _that_. It would be too absurd. The youngestmust be twice his age. '

'I was not thinking of any such thing, ' said Philip, smiling, as hethought of the very different course Guy's affections had taken. 

'I did hear he was to marry Lady Eveleen de Courcy. Is there anything inthat report?'

'No; certainly not. '

'I should pity the woman who married him, after the specimen I saw ofhis temper. '

'Poor boy!' said Philip. 

'Lady Eveleen has been a great deal at Hollywell, has she not? I ratherwondered my aunt should like to have her there, considering all things. '

'What things, sister?'

'Considering what a catch he would be for one of the Edmonstone girls. '

'I thought you had just been pitying the woman who should marry him. Perhaps my aunt had Lady Eveleen there to act as a screen for her owndaughters. '

'That our good-natured aunt should have acted with such ultra-prudence!'said Margaret, laughing at his grave ironical tone. 'Lady Eveleen isvery pretty, is she not? A mere beauty, I believe?'

'Just so; she is much admired; but Guy is certainly not inclined to fallin love with her. '

'I should have thought him the very man to fall in love young, like hisfather. Do you think there is any chance for either of the Edmonstones?Laura's beauty he spoke of, but it was not in a very lover-like way. Doyou admire Laura so much?'

'She is very pretty. '

'And little Amy?'

'She is a mere child, and will hardly ever be anything more; but she isa very good little amiable thing. '

'I wish poor Charles's temper was improved. '

'So do I; but it is very far from improvement at present, in consequenceof his zeal for Guy. Guy has been very attentive and good natured tohim, and has quite won his heart; so that I should positively honour himfor his championship if it was not in great degree out of opposition tohis father and myself. To-morrow, Margaret, you must give me some guideto the most probable quarters for learning anything respecting this poorboy's follies. '

Mrs. Henley did her best in that way, and Philip followed up hisinquiries with great ardour, but still unsuccessfully. Jack White, thehero of the draft, was not at St. Mildred's, nor likely to be heardof again till the next races; and whether Sir Guy had been on therace-ground at all was a doubtful point. Next, Philip walked toStylehurst, to call on Colonel Harewood, and see if he could learnanything in conversation with him; but the Colonel did not seem to knowanything, and his sons were not at home. Young Morville was, he thought, a spirited lad, very good natured; he had been out shooting once ortwice with Tom, and had a very fine spaniel. If he had been at theraces, the Colonel did not know it; he had some thoughts of asking himto join their party, but had been prevented. 

This was no reason, thought Philip, why Guy might not have been with TomHarewood without the Colonel's knowledge. Tom was just the man to leadhim amongst those who were given to betting; he might have been drawnin, and, perhaps, he had given some pledge of payment when he was ofage, or, possibly, obtained an immediate supply of money from the oldsteward at Redclyffe, who was devotedly attached to him. If so, Philip trusted to be able to detect it from the accounts; on the othersupposition, there was no hope of discovery. 

The conversation with Colonel Harewood kept him so late that he had notime for going, as usual, to his old haunts, at Stylehurst; nor didhe feel inclined just then to revive the saddening reflections theyexcited. He spent the evening in talking over books with his sister, andthe next day proceeded on his journey to Thorndale Park. 

This was one of the places where he was always the most welcome, eversince he had been a school-boy, received in a way especially flattering, considering that the friendship was entirely owing to the uncompromisinggood sense and real kindness with which he had kept in order the folliesof his former fag. 

Charles might laugh, and call them the young man and young man'scompanion, and Guy more classically term them the pious Aeneas and hisfidus Achates, but it was a friendship that did honour to both; and thevalue that the Thorndales set upon Captain Morville was not misplaced, and scarcely over-rated. Not particularly clever themselves, they themore highly appreciated his endowments, and were proud that James hadbeen able to make such a friend, for they knew, as well as the rest ofthe world, that Captain Morville was far from seeking the acquaintancefor the sake of their situation in life, but that it was from realliking and esteem. How far this esteem was gained by the deference thewhole family paid to his opinion, was another question; at any rate, thecourting was from them. 

The Miss Thorndales deemed Captain Morville the supreme authority indrawing, literature, and ecclesiastical architecture; and whenever aperson came in their way who was thought handsome, always pronouncedthat he was not by any means equal to James's friend. Lady Thorndaledelighted to talk over James with him, and thank him for his kindness;and Lord Thorndale, rather a pompous man himself, liked his somewhatstately manners, and talked politics with him, sincerely wishing he washis neighbour at Redclyffe, and calculating how much good he would dothere. Philip listened with interest to accounts of how the Thorndaleand Morville influence had always divided the borough of Moorworth, and, if united, might dispose of it at will, and returned evasive answers toquestions what the young heir of Redclyffe might be likely to do. 

James Thorndale drove his friend to Redclyffe, as Philip had authorityfrom Mr. Edmonstone to transact any business that might be requiredwith Markham, the steward; and, as has been said before, he expected todiscover in the accounts something that might explain why Guy had ceasedto press for the thousand pounds. However, he could find nothing amissin them, though--bearing in mind that it is less easy to detect the lossof a score of sheep than of one--he subjected them to a scrutiny whichseemed by no means agreeable to the gruff old grumbling steward. He alsowalked about the park, saw to the marking of certain trees that wereinjuring each other; and finding that there was a misunderstandingbetween Markham and the new rector, Mr. Ashford, about certain parishmatters, where the clergyman was certainly right, he bore down Markham'sopposition with Mr. Edmonstone's weight, and felt he was doing goodservice. 

He paused at the gate, and looked back at the wide domain and fine oldhouse. He pitied them, and the simple-hearted, honest tenantry, forbeing the heritage of such a family, and the possession of one so likelyto misuse them, instead of training them into the means of conferringbenefits on them, on his country. What would not Philip himself do ifthose lands were his, --just what was needed to give his talents freescope? and what would it be to see his beautiful Laura their mistress?

CHAPTER 20

 The longing for ignoble things, The strife for triumph more than truth, The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth. --LONGFELLOW

After his week at Thorndale Park, Captain Morville returned to make hisfarewell visit at Hollywell, before joining his regiment at Cork, whenceit was to sail for the Mediterranean. He reckoned much on this visit, for not even Laura herself could fathom the depth of his affection forher, strengthening in the recesses where he so sternly concealed it, andviewing her ever as more faultless since she had been his own. While shewas his noble, strong-minded, generous, fond Laura, he could bear withhis disappointment in his sister, with the loss of his home, and withthe trials that had made him a grave, severe man. She had proved thestrength of her mind by the self-command he had taught her, and forwhich he was especially grateful to her, as it made him safer and moreunconstrained, able to venture on more demonstration than in those earlydays when every look had made her blush and tremble. 

Mr. Edmonstone brought the carriage to fetch him from the station, andquickly began, --

'I suppose, as you have not written, you have found nothing out?'

'Nothing. '

'And you could do nothing with him. Eh?'

'No; I could not get a word of explanation, nor break through the fenceof pride and reserve. I must do him the justice to say that he bears thebest of characters at Oxford; and if there were any debts I could notget at them from the tradesmen. '

'Well, well, say no more about it; he is an ungrateful young dog, and Iam sick of it. I only wish I could wash my hands of him altogether. It was mere folly to expect any of that set could ever come to good. There's everything going wrong all at once now; poor little Amy breakingher heart after him, and, worse than all, there's poor Charlie laid upagain, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, one of the most affectionate people in theworld; but his maundering mood making him speak of Charles's illness asif he only regarded it as an additional provocation for himself. 

'Charles ill!' exclaimed Philip. 

'Yes; another, of those formations in the joint. I hoped and trustedthat was all over now; but he is as bad as ever, --has not been able tomove for a week, and goodness knows when he will again. '

'Indeed! I am very sorry. Is there as much pain as before?'

'Oh, yes. He has not slept a wink these four nights. Mayerne talksof opium; but he says he won't have it till he has seen you, he is soanxious about this unlucky business. If anything could persuade me tohave Guy back again it would be that this eternal fretting after him isso bad for poor Charlie. '

'It is on Amy's account that it is impossible to have him here, ' saidPhilip. 

'Ay! He shall never set eyes on Amy again unless all this is clearedup, which it never will be, as I desire mamma to tell her. By the bye, Philip, Amy said something of your having a slip with Charles on thestairs. '

There was very nearly an accident; but I believed he was not hurt. Ihope it has nothing to do with this illness?'

'He says it was all his own fault, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, 'and that heshould have been actually down but for you. '

'But is it really thought it can have caused this attack?'

'I can hardly suppose so; but Thompson fancies there may have been somejar. However, don't distress yourself; I dare say it would have come onall the same. '

Philip did not like to be forgiven by Mr. Edmonstone, and there wassomething very annoying in having this mischance connected with hisname, though without his fault; nor did he wish Charles to have the kindof advantage over him that might be derived from seeming to pass overhis share in the misfortune. 

When they arrived at Hollywell, it was twilight, but no one was in thedrawing-room, generally so cheerful at that time of day; the fire hadlately been smothered with coals, and looked gloomy and desolate. Mr. Edmonstone left Philip there, and ran up to see how Charles was, andsoon after Laura came in, sprang to his side, and held his hand in bothhers. 

'You bring no good news?' said she, sadly, as she read the answer in hisface. 'O! how I wish you had. It would be such a comfort now. You haveheard about poor Charlie?'

'Yes; and very sorry I am. But, Laura, is it really thought thataccident could have occasioned it?'

'Dr. Mayerne does not think so, only Mr. Thompson talked of remotecauses, when Amy mentioned it. I don't believe it did any harm, andCharlie himself says you saved him from falling down-stairs. '

Philip had begun to give Laura his version of the accident, as he hadalready done to her father, when Mrs. Edmonstone came down, lookingharassed and anxious. She told her nephew that Charles was very desirousto see him, and sent him up at once. 

There was a fire in the dressing-room, and the door was open into thelittle room, which was only lighted by a lamp on a small table, whereAmy was sitting at work. After shaking hands, she went away, leaving himalone with Charles, who lay in his narrow bed against the wall, fixedin one position, his forehead contracted with pain, his eyelids red andheavy from sleeplessness, his eyes very quick and eager, and his handsand arms thrown restlessly outside the coverings. 

'I am very sorry to find you here, ' said Philip, coming up to him, andtaking, rather than receiving, his hot, limp hand. 'Is the pain verybad?'

'That is a matter of course, ' said Charles, in a sharp, quick manner, his voice full of suffering. 'I want to hear what you have been doing atOxford and St. Mildred's. '

'I am sorry I do not bring the tidings you wish. '

'I did not expect you would. I know you too well; but I want to hearwhat you have been doing--what he said, ' answered Charles, in short, impatient sentences. 

'It can be of no use, Charlie. You are not in a state to enter onagitating subjects. '

'I tell you I will hear all, ' returned Charles, with increased asperity. 'I know you will say nothing to his advantage that you can help, butstill I know you will speak what you think the truth, and I want tojudge for myself. '

'You speak as if I was not acting for his good. '

'Palaver!' cried Charles, fully sensible of the advantage his illnessgave him. 'I want the facts. Begin at the beginning. Sit down--there's achair by you. Now tell me, where did you find him?'

Philip could not set Charles down in his present state, and was obligedto submit to a cross-examination, in which he showed no abatement of hisnatural acuteness, and, unsparing as he always was, laid himself underno restraint at all. Philip was compelled to give a full history of hisresearches; and if he had afforded no triumph to Guy, Charles revengedhim. 

'Pray, what did Guy say when he heard the result of this fine voyage ofdiscovery?'

'I did not see him again. '

'Not see him! not tell him he was so far justified!'

'I had no time--at least I thought not. It would have been useless, forwhile these mysteries continue, my opinion is unchanged, and there wasno benefit in renewing vain disputes. '

'Say no more!' exclaimed Charles. 'You have said all I expected, andmore too. I gave you credit for domineering and prejudice, now I see itis malignity. '

As he spoke, Laura entered from the dressing-room, and stood aghast atthe words, and then looked imploringly at her cousin. Dr. Mayerne wasfollowing her, and Charles called out, --

'Now, doctor, give me as much opium as you please. I only want to bestupefied till the world has turned round, and then you may wake me. '

Philip shook hands with Dr. Mayerne, and, without betraying a shadeof annoyance, wished Charles good night; but Charles had drawn thecoverings over his head, and would not hear him. 

'Poor fellow!' said Philip to Laura, when they were out of the room. 'Heis a very generous partisan, and excitement and suffering make him carryhis zeal to excess. '

'I knew you could not be angry with him. '

'I could not be angry at this time at far more provocation given by anyone belonging to you, Laura. '

Laura's heart had that sensation which the French call "se serrer", asshe heard him allude to the long separation to which there seemed nolimit; but they could say no more. 

'Amy, ' said Charles, when she returned to him after dinner, 'I am morethan ever convinced that things will right themselves. I never sawprejudice more at fault. '

'Did he tell you all about it?'

'I worked out of him all I could, and it is my belief Guy had the bestof it. I only wonder he did not horsewhip Philip round the quadrangle. Iwish he had. '

'Oh, no, no! But he controlled himself?'

'If he had not we should have heard of it fast enough;' and Charles toldwhat he had been able to gather, while she sat divided between joy andpain. 

Philip saw very little more of Charles. He used to come to ask him howhe was once a day, but never received any encouragement to lengthen hisvisit. These gatherings in the diseased joint were always excessivelypainful, and were very long in coming to the worst, as well asafterwards in healing; and through the week of Philip's stay atHollywell, Charles was either in a state of great suffering, or elseheavy and confused with opiates. His mother's whole time and thoughtswere absorbed in him; she attended to him day and night, and couldhardly spare a moment for anything else. Indeed, with all her affectionand anxiety for the young lovers, Charles was so entirely her engrossingobject, that her first feeling of disappointment at the failure ofPhilip's journey of investigation was because it would grieve Charlie. She could not think about Guy just then, and for Amy there was nothingfor it but patience; and, good little creature, it was very nice tosee her put her own troubles aside, and be so cheerful a nurse to herbrother. She was almost always in his room, for he liked to have herthere, and she could not conquer a certain shrinking from Philip. 

Laura had once pleaded hard and earnestly for Guy with Philip, butall in vain; she was only taught to think the case more hopeless thanbefore. Laura was a very kind nurse and sister, but she could better bespared than her mother and Amy, so that it generally fell to her lot tobe down-stairs, making the drawing-room habitable. Dr. Mayerne, wheneverCharles was ill, used to be more at Hollywell than at his own house, andthere were few days that he did not dine there. When Amy was out of theway, Philip used to entertain them with long accounts of Redclyffe, howfine a place it was, how far the estate reached on the Moorworth road, of its capacities for improvement, wastes of moorland to be enclosed orplanted, magnificent timber needing nothing but thinning. He spoke ofthe number of tenantry, and the manorial rights, and the influence inboth town and county, which, in years gone by, had been proved to theutmost in many a fierce struggle with the house of Thorndale. Sir GuyMorville might be one of the first men in England if he were not wantingto himself. Mr. Edmonstone enjoyed such talk, for it made him revel inthe sense of his own magnanimity in refusing his daughter to the ownerof all this; and Laura sometimes thought how Philip would have gracedsuch a position, yet how much greater it was to rest entirely on his ownmerits. 

'Ah, my fine fellow!' muttered Dr. Mayerne to himself one day, whenPhilip and his uncle had left the room, just after a discourse of thiskind, 'I see you have not forgotten you are the next heir. '

 Laura coloured with indignation, exclaimed, 'Oh!' then checkedherself, as if such an aspersion was not worthy of her taking thetrouble to refute it. 

'Ah! Miss Edmonstone, I did not know you were there. '

'Yes, you were talking to yourself, just as if you were at home, ' saidCharlotte, who was specially pert to the old doctor, because she knewherself to be a great pet. 'You were telling some home truths to makeLaura angry. '

'Well, he would make a very good use of it if he had it, ' said thedoctor. 

'Now you'll make me angry, ' said Charlotte; 'and you have not mendedmatters with Laura. She thinks nothing short of four-syllabled wordsgood enough for Philip. '

'Hush! nonsense, Charlotte!' said Laura, much annoyed. 

'There Charlotte, she is avenging herself on you because she can't scoldme' said the doctor, pretending to whisper. 

'Charlotte is only growing more wild than ever for want of mamma, ' saidLaura, trying to laugh it off, but there was so much annoyance evidentabout her, that Dr. Mayerne said, --

'Seriously, I must apologize for my unlucky soliloquy; not that Ithought I was saying much harm, for I did not by any means say orthink the Captain wished Sir Guy any ill, and few men who stood next insuccession to such a property would be likely to forget it. '

'Yes, but Philip is not like other men, ' said Charlotte, who, atfourteen, had caught much of her brother's power of repartee, and couldbe quite as provoking, when unrestrained by any one whom she cared toobey. 

Laura felt it was more for her dignity not to notice this, and replied, with an effort for a laugh, --

'It must be your guilty conscience that sets you apologizing, for yousaid no harm, as you observe. '

'Yes, ' said Dr. Mayerne, good-humouredly. 'He does very well without it, and no doubt he would be one of the first men in the country if he hadit; but it is in very good hands now, on the whole. I don't think, evenif the lad has been tempted into a little folly just now, that he canever go very far wrong. '

'No, indeed, ' said Charlotte; 'but Charlie and I don't believe he hasdone anything wrong. '

She spoke in a little surly decided tone, as if her opinion put an endto the matter, and Philip's return closed the discussion. 

Divided as the party were between up-stairs and down-stairs, and inthe absence of Charles's shrewd observation, Philip and Laura had moreopportunity of intercourse than usual, and now that his departure wouldput an end to suspicion, they ventured on more openly seeking eachother. It never could be the perfect freedom that they had enjoyedbefore the avowal of their sentiments, but they had many briefconversations, giving Laura feverish, but exquisite, delight at eachrenewal of his rare expressions of tenderness. 

'What are you going to do to-day?' he asked, on the last morning beforehe was to leave Hollywell. 'I must see you alone before I go. '

She looked down, and he kept his eyes fixed on her rather sternly, forhe had never before made a clandestine appointment, and he did not likefeeling ashamed of it. At last she said, --

'I go to East-hill School this afternoon. I shall come away at half-pastthree. '

Mary Ross was still absent; her six nephews and nieces having takenadvantage of her visit to have the measles, not like reasonablechildren, all at once, so as to be one trouble, but one after the other, so as to keep Aunt Mary with them as long as possible; and Mr. Ross didnot know what would have become of the female department of his parishbut for Laura, who worked at school-keeping indefatigably. 

Laura had some difficulty in shaking off Charlotte's company thisafternoon, and was obliged to make the most of the probability of rain, and the dreadful dirt of the roads. Indeed, she represented it as soformidable, that Mrs. Edmonstone, who had hardly time to look out ofwindow, much less to go out of doors, strongly advised her to stayat home herself; and Charlotte grew all the more eager for the fun. Luckily, however, for Laura, Dr. Mayerne came in, laughing at thereports of the weather; and as he was wanted to prescribe for a poorold man in an opposite direction, he took Charlotte with him to show theway, and she was much better pleased to have him for a companion thanthe grave Laura. 

Philip, in the meantime, had walked all the way to Broadstone, timinghis return exactly, that he might meet Laura as she came out of theschool, and feel as if it had been by chance. It was a gray, mistyNovember day, and the leaves of the elm-trees came floating round them, yellow and damp. 

'You have had a wet walk, ' said Laura, as they met. 

'It is not quite raining, ' he answered; and they proceeded for someminutes in silence, until he said, --'It is time we should come to anunderstanding. '

She looked at him in alarm, and his voice was immediately gentler;indeed, at times it was almost inaudible from his strong emotion. 'Ibelieve that no affection has ever been stronger or truer than ours. '

'Has been!' repeated Laura, in a wondering, bewildered voice. 

'And is, if you are satisfied to leave things as they are. '

'I must be, if you are. '

'I will not say I am satisfied with what must be, as I am situated; butI felt it due to you to set the true state of the case before you. Fewwould venture their love as I do mine with you, bound in reality, thoughnot formally, with no promise sought or given; yet I am not more assuredthat I stand here than I am that our love is for ever. '

'I am sure it is!' she repeated fervently. 'O Philip, there never was atime I did not love you: and since that day on Ashen Down, I have lovedyou with my whole heart. I am sometimes afraid it has left no properroom for the rest, when I find how much more I think of your going awaythan of poor Charles. '

'Yes, ' he said, 'you have understood me as none but you would have done, through coldness and reserve, apparently, even towards yourself, andwhen to others I have seemed grave and severe beyond my years. You havenever doubted, you have recognized the warmth within; you have trustedyour happiness to me, and it shall be safe in my keeping, for, Laura, itis all mine. '

'There is only one thing, ' said Laura, timidly; 'would it not be betterif mamma knew?'

'Laura, I have considered that, but remember you are not bound; I havenever asked you to bind yourself. You might marry to-morrow, and Ishould have no right to complain. There is nothing to prevent you. '

She exclaimed, as if with pain. 

'True, ' he answered; 'you could not, and that certainty suffices me. Iask no more without your parents' consent; but it would be giving themand you useless distress and perplexity to ask it now. They would objectto my poverty, and we should gain nothing; for I would never be soselfish as to wish to expose you to such a life as that of the wife of apoor officer; and an open engagement could not add to our confidencein each other. We must be content to wait for my promotion. By thattime'--he smiled gravely--'our attachment will have lasted so many yearsas to give it a claim to respect. '

'It is no new thing. '

'No newer than our lives; but remember, my Laura, that you are buttwenty. '

'You have made me feel much older, ' sighed Laura, 'not that I would be athoughtless child again. That cannot last long, not even for poor littleAmy'

'No one would wish to part with the deeper feelings of elder yearsto regain the carelessness of childhood, even to be exempted from thesuffering that has brought them. '

'No, indeed. '

'For instance, these two years have scarcely been a time of greathappiness to you. '

'Sometimes, ' whispered Laura, 'sometimes beyond all words, but oftendreary and oppressive. '

'Heaven knows how unwillingly I have rendered it so. Rather than dim thebrightness of your life, I would have repressed my own sentiments forever. '

'But, then, where would have been my brightness?'

'I would, I say, but for a peril to you. I see my fears were unfounded. You were safe; but in my desire to guard you from what has come on poorAmy, my feelings, though not wont to overpower me, carried me furtherthan I intended. '

'Did they?'

'Do not suppose I regret it. No, no, Laura; those were the most preciousmoments in my life, when I drew from you those words and looks whichhave been blessed in remembrance ever since; and doubly, knowing, as Ido, that you also prize that day. '

'Yes--yes;--'

'In the midst of much that was adverse, and with a necessity for a trustand self-control of which scarce a woman but yourself would have beencapable, you have endured nobly--'

'I could bear anything, if you were not going so far away, '

'You will bear that too, Laura, and bravely. It will not be for ever. '

'How long do you think?'

'I cannot tell. Several years may pass before I have my promotion. Itmay be that I shall not see that cheek in its fresh bloom again, but Ishall find the same Laura that I left, the same in love, and strength, and trust. '

'Ah; I shall grow faded and gray, and you will be a sun-burnt oldsoldier, ' said Laura, smiling, and looking, half sadly, half proudly, upto his noble features; 'but hearts don't change like faces!'

After they came near the house, they walked up and down the lane for along time, for Philip avoided a less public path, in order to keep uphis delusion that he was doing nothing in an underhand way. It grewdark, and the fog thickened, straightening Laura's auburn ringlets, andhanging in dew-drops on Philip's rough coat, but little recked they; itwas such an hour as they had never enjoyed before. Philip had neverso laid himself open, or assured her so earnestly of the force of hisaffection; and her thrills of ecstasy overcame the desolate expectationof his departure, and made her sensible of strength to bear seven, ten, twenty years of loneliness and apparent neglect. She knew him, and hewould never fail her. 

Yet, when at last they went in-doors, and Amy followed her to her room, wondering to find her so wet, and so late, who could have seen the twosisters without reading greater peace and serenity in the face of theyounger. 

Philip felt an elder brother's interest for poor little Amy. He did notsee much of her; but he compassionated her as a victim to her mother'simprudence, hoping she would soon be weaned from her attachment. Hethought her a good, patient little thing, so soft and gentle as probablynot to have the strength and depth that would make the love incurable;and the better he liked her, the more unfit he thought her for Guy. Itwould have been uniting a dove and a tiger; and his only fear was, thatwhen he was no longer at hand, Mr. Edmonstone's weak good-nature mightbe prevailed on to sacrifice her. He did his best for her protection, bymaking his uncle express a resolution never to admit Guy into his familyagain, unless the accusation of gambling was completely disproved. 

The last morning came, and Philip went to take leave of Charles. PoorCharles was feebler by this time, and too much subdued by pain andlanguor to receive him as at first, but the spirit was the same; andwhen Philip wished him good-bye, saying he hoped soon to hear he wasbetter, he returned for answer, 'Good-bye, Philip, I hope soon to hear you are better. I had rather havemy hip than your mind. '

He was in no condition to be answered, and Philip repeated his good-bye, little thinking how they were to meet again. 

The others were assembled in the hall. His aunt's eyes were full oftears, for she loved him dearly, her brother's only son, early leftmotherless, whom she had regarded like her own child, and who had sonobly fulfilled all the fondest hopes. All his overbearing ways anduncalled-for interference were forgotten, and her voice gave way as sheembraced him, saying, 'God bless you, Philip, wherever you may be. We shall miss you verymuch!'

Little Amy's hand was put into his, and he squeezed it kindly; but shecould hardly speak her 'good-bye, ' for the tears that came, because shewas grieved not to feel more sorry that her highly-esteemed cousin, sokind and condescending to her, was going away for so very long a time. 

'Good-bye, Philip, ' said Charlotte; 'I shall be quite grown up by thetime you come home. '

'Don't make such uncivil auguries, Puss, ' said her father; but Philipheard her not, for he was holding Laura's hand in a grasp that seemed asif it never would unclose. 

CHAPTER 21

 I will sing, for I am sad, For many my misdeeds; It is my sadness makes me glad, For love for sorrow pleads. --WILLIAMS. 

After his last interview with Philip, Guy returned to his rooms to forcehimself into occupation till his cousin should come to acknowledge thathere, at least, there was nothing amiss. He trusted that when it wasproved all was right in this quarter, the prejudice with regard to theother might be diminished, though his hopes were lower since he hadfound out the real grounds of the accusation, reflecting that he shouldnever be able to explain without betraying his uncle. 

He waited in vain. The hour passed at which Philip's coming waspossible; Guy was disappointed, but looked for a letter; but post afterpost failed to bring him one. Perhaps Philip would write from Hollywell, or else Mr. Edmonstone would write, or at least he was sure that Charleswould write--Charles, whose confidence and sympathy, expressed in almostdaily letters, had been such a comfort. But not a line came. He reviewedin memory his last letter to Charles, wondering whether it could haveoffended him; but it did not seem possible; he thought over all thatPhilip could have learnt in his visit, to see if it could by any meanshave been turned to his disadvantage. But he knew he had done nothingto which blame could be attached; he had never infringed the rulesof college discipline; and though still backward, and unlikely todistinguish himself, he believed that was the worst likely to have beensaid of him. He only wished his true character was as good as what wouldbe reported of him. 

As he thought and wondered, he grew more and more restless and unhappy. He could imagine no reason for the silence, unless Mr. Edmonstone hadabsolutely forbidden any intercourse, and it did not seem probable thathe would issue any commands in a manner to bind a grown-up son, moreespecially as there had been no attempt at communication with Amy. Itwas terrible thus, without warning, to be cut off from her, and allbesides that he loved. As long as Charles wrote, he fancied her sittingby, perhaps sealing the letter, and he could even tell by the kind ofpaper and envelope, whether they were sitting in the dressing-room ordown-stairs; but now there was nothing, no assurance of sympathy, noword of kindness; they might all have given him up; those unhappy wordswere like a barrier, cutting him off for ever from the happiness ofwhich he had once had a glimpse. Was the Redclyffe doom of sin andsorrow really closing in upon him?

If it had not been for chapel and study, he hardly knew how he shouldhave got through that term; but as the end of it approached, a feverishimpatience seized on him whenever the post came in, for a letter, ifonly to tell him not to come to Hollywell. None came, and he saw nothingfor it but to go to Redclyffe; and if he dreaded seeing it in itsaltered state when his spirits were high and unbroken, how did he shrinkfrom it now! He did, however, make up his mind, for he felt that hisreluctance almost wronged his own beloved home. Harry Graham wanted topersuade him to come and spend Christmas at his home, with his livelyfamily, but Guy felt as if gaiety was not for him, even if he couldenjoy it. He did not wish to drown his present feelings, and steadily, though gratefully, refused this as well as one or two other friendlyinvitations. 

After lingering in vain till the last day of term, he wrote to desirethat his own room and the library might be made ready for him, and that'something' might be sent to meet him at Moorworth. 

Railroads had come a step nearer, even to his remote corner of the world, in the course of the last three years; but there was still thirty milesof coach beyond, and these lay through a part of the country he hadnever seen before. It was for the most part bleak, dreary moor, such as, under the cold gray wintry sky, presented nothing to rouse him from hismusings on the welcome he might have been at that very moment receivingat Hollywell. 

A sudden, dip in the high ground made it necessary for the coach toput on the drag, and thus it slowly entered a village, which attractedattention from its wretched appearance. The cottages, of the rough stoneof the country, were little better than hovels; slates were torn off, windows broken. Wild-looking uncombed women, in garments of universaldirt colour, stood at the doors; ragged children ran and shrieked afterthe coach, the church had a hole in the roof, and stood tottering inspite of rude repairs; the churchyard was trodden down by cattle, andthe whole place only resembled the pictures of Irish dilapidation. 

'What miserable place is this?' asked a passenger. 'Yes, that's what allgentlemen ask, ' replied the coachman; 'and well you may. There's not amore noted place for thieves and vagabonds. They call it Coombe Prior. '

Guy well knew the name, though he had never been there. It was a distantoffset of his own property, and a horrible sense of responsibility forall the crime and misery there came over him. 

'Is there no one to look; after it?' continued the traveller. 'Nosquire, no clergyman?'

'A fox-hunting parson, ' answered the coachman; 'who lives half-a-dozenmiles off, and gallops over for the service. '

Guy knew that the last presentation had been sold in the days of hisgrandfather's extravagance, and beheld another effect of ancestral sin. 

'Do you know who is the owner of the place?'

'Yes, sir; 'tis Sir Guy Morville. You have heard tell of the old Sir GuyMorville, for he made a deal of noise in the world. '

'What! The noted--'

'I ought not to allow you to finish your sentence, ' said Guy, verycourteously, 'without telling you that I am his grandson. '

'I beg your pardon!' exclaimed the traveller. 

'Nay, ' said Guy, with a smile; 'I only thought it was fair to tell you. '

'Sir Guy himself!' said the coachman, turning round, and touching hishat, anxious to do the honours of his coach. 'I have not seen you onthis road before, sir, for I never forget a face; I hope you'll often bethis way. '

After a few more civilities, Guy was at liberty to attend to the freshinflux of sad musings on thoughtless waste affecting not only thedestiny of the individual himself, but whole generations besides. Howmany souls might it not have ruined? 'These sheep, what had they done!'His grandfather had repented, but who was to preach repentance untothese? He did not wonder now that his own hopes of happiness had beenblighted; he only marvelled that a bright present or future had everbeen his--

 While souls were wandering far and wide, And curses swarmed on every side. 

The traveller was, meanwhile, observing the heir of Redclyffe, possessorof wealth and wide lands. Little did he guess how that bright-eyed youthlooked upon his riches. 

Miles were passed in one long melancholy musing, till Guy was roused bythe sight of familiar scenes, and found himself rattling over the stonesof the little borough of Moorworth, with the gray, large-windowed, old-fashioned houses, on each side, looking at him with friendly eyes. There, behind those limes cut out in arches, was the commercial school, where he had spent many an hour in construing with patient Mr. Potts;and though he had now a juster appreciation of his old master'serudition, which he had once thought so vast, he recollected withveneration his long and patient submission to an irksome, uncongeniallife. Rumbling on, the coach was in the square market-place, theodd-looking octagon market-house in the middle, and the inn--therespectable old 'George'--with its long rank of stables andout-buildings forming one side. It was at this inn that Guy had beenborn, and the mistress having been the first person who had him in herarms, considered herself privileged to have a great affection for him, and had delighted in the greetings he always exchanged with her when heput up his pony at her stable, and went to his tutor. 

There was a certainty of welcome here that cheered him, as he swunghimself from the roof of the coach, lifted Bustle down, and called outto the barmaid that he hoped Mrs. Lavers was well. 

The next moment Mrs. Lavers was at the door herself, with her broad, good-humoured face, close cap, bright shawl, and black gown, just as Guyalways recollected, and might, if he could, have recollected, when hewas born. If she had any more guests she neither saw nor cared forthem; her welcome was all for him; and he could not but smile and lookcheerful, if only that he might not disappoint her, feeling, in verytruth, cheered and gratified by her cordiality. If he was in a hurry, he would not show it; and he allowed her to seat him in her own peculiarabode, behind the glass-cases of tongue and cold chicken, told her hecame from Oxford, admired her good fire, and warmed his hands over it, before he even asked if the 'something' had arrived which was to takehim home. It was coming to the door at the moment, and proved to be Mr. Markham's tall, high-wheeled gig, drawn by the old white-faced chestnut, and driven by Markham himself--a short, sturdy, brown-red, honest-facedold man, with frosted hair and whiskers, an air more of a yeoman thanof a lawyer; and though not precisely gentlemanlike, yet notungentlemanlike, as there was no pretension about him. 

Guy darted out to meet him, and was warmly shaken by the hand, thoughthe meeting was gruff. 

'So, Sir Guy! how d'ye do? I wonder what brings you here on such shortnotice? Good morning, Mrs. Lavers. Bad roads this winter. '

'Good morning, Mr. Markham. It is a treat, indeed, to have Sir Guy hereonce more; so grown, too. '

'Grown--hum!' said Markham, surveying him; 'I don't see it. He'll neverbe as tall as his father. Have you got your things, Sir Guy? Ay, that'sthe way, --care for nothing but the dog. Gone on by the coach, mostlikely. '

They might have been, for aught Guy knew to the contrary, but Boots hadbeen more attentive, and they were right. Mrs. Lavers begged he wouldwalk in, and warm himself; but Markham answered, --

'What do you say, Sir Guy? The road is shocking, and it will be as darkas a pit by the time we get home. '

'Very well; we won't keep old Whiteface standing, ' said Guy. 'Good-bye, Mrs. Lavers thank you. I shall see you again before long. '

Before Markham had finished a short private growl on the shocking stateof the Moorworth pavement, and a protest that somebody should be calledover the coals, Guy began, --'

'What a horrible place Coombe Prior is!'

'I only know I wish you had more such tenants as Todd, ' was Markham'sanswer. 'Pays his rent to a day, and improves his land. '

'But what sort of man is he?'

'A capital farmer. A regular screw, I believe; but that is no concern ofmine. '

'There are all the cottages tumbling down. '

'Ay? Are they? I shouldn't wonder, for they are all in his lease; and hewould not lay out an unproductive farthing. And a precious bad lot theyare there, too! There were actually three of them poaching in Cliffstonehanger this autumn; but we have them in jail. A pretty pass of impudenceto be coming that distance to poach. '

Guy used to be kindled into great wrath by the most distant hint ofpoachers; but now he cared for men, not for game; and instead of asking, as Markham expected, the particulars of their apprehension, continued--

'The clergyman is that Halroyd, is he not?'

'Yes; every one knows what he is. I declare it went against me to takehis offer for the living; but it could not be helped. Money must be had;but there! least said, soonest mended. '

'We must mend it, ' said Guy, so decidedly, that Markham looked at himwith surprise. 

'I don't see what's to be done till Halroyd dies; and then you may givethe living to whom you please. He lives so hard he can't last long, thatis one comfort. '

Guy sighed and pondered; and presently Markham resumed the conversation. 

'And what has brought you home at a moment's notice? You might as wellhave written two or three days before, at least. '

'I was waiting in hopes of going to Hollywell, ' said Guy sorrowfully. 

'Well, and what is the matter? You have not been quarrelling with yourguardian, I hope and trust! Going the old way, after all!' exclaimedMarkham, not in his usual gruff, grumbling note, but with real anxiety, and almost mournfulness. 

'He took up some unjust suspicion of me. I could not bear it patiently, and said something that has offended him. '

'Oh, Sir Guy! hot and fiery as ever. I always told you that hasty temperwould be the ruin of you. '

'Too true!' said Guy, so dejectedly, that the old man instantly grewkinder, and was displeased with Mr. Edmonstone. 

'What could he have taken into his head to suspect you of?'

'Of gaming at St. Mildred's. '

'You have not?'

'Never!'

'Then why does not he believe you?'

'He thinks he has proof against me. I can't guess how he discovered it;but I was obliged to pay some money to a gambling sort of man, and hethinks I lost it. '

'Then why don't you show him your accounts?'

'For one reason--because I have kept none. '

As if it was an immense relief to his mind, Markham launched out into adiscourse on the extreme folly, imprudence, and all other evils ofsuch carelessness. He was so glad to find this was the worst, thathis lecture lasted for two miles and a half, during which Guy, thoughattentive at first, had ample space for all the thrills of recognitionat each well-known spot. 

There was the long green-wooded valley between the hills where he hadshot his first woodcock; there was the great stone on which he hadbroken his best knife in a fit of geological research; there was thepool where he used to skate; there the sudden break in the lulls thatgave the first view of the sea. He could not help springing up at thesight--pale, leaden, and misty as it was; and though Markham forthwithrebuked him for not listening, his heart was still beating as at thefirst sight of a dear old friend, when that peep was far behind. Moreblack heaths, with stacks of peat and withered ferns. Guy was straininghis eyes far off in the darkness to look for the smoke of the oldkeeper's cottage chimney, and could with difficulty refrain frominterrupting Markham to ask after the old man. 

Another long hill, and then began a descent into a rich valley, beautiful fields of young wheat, reddish soil, full of fatness, largespreading trees with noble limbs, cottages, and cottage gardens, veryunlike poor Coombe Prior; Markham's house--a perfect little snuggerycovered all over with choice climbing plants, the smart plastereddoctor's house, the Morville Arms, looking honest and venerable, thechurch, with its disproportionately high tower, the parsonage ratherhidden behind it; and, on the opposite side of the road, the park-walland the gate, where old Sarah stood, in an ecstasy of curtsies. 

Guy jumped out to meet her, and to spare Whiteface; for there was asharp, steep bit of hill, rising from the lodge, trying to horses, inspite of the road being cut out in long spirals. On he ran, leaving theroad to Markham, straight up the high, steep, slippery green slope. Hecame in sight at the great dark-red sandstone pile of building; but hepassed it, and ran on to where the ground rose on one side of it stillmore abruptly, and at the highest point was suddenly broken away and cutoff into a perpendicular crag, descending in some parts sheer down tothe sea, in others a little broken, and giving space for the growth ofstunted brushwood. He stood at the highest point, where the precipicewas most abrupt. The sea was dashing far beneath; the ripple, dash, androar were in his ears once more; the wind--such wind as only blows overthe sea--was breathing on his face; the broad, free horizon far beforehim; the field of waves, in gray and brown shade indeed, but still hisown beloved waves; the bay, shut in with rocks, and with Black ShagIsland and its train of rocks projecting far out to the west, and almostimmediately beneath him, to the left, the little steep street of thefishing part of the village, nestled into the cove, which was formedby the mouth of a little mountain-stream, and the dozen boats it couldmuster rocking on the water. 

Guy stood and looked as if he could never cease looking, or enjoying thesea air and salt breeze. It was real pleasure at first, for there werehis home, his friends, and though there was a throb and tightness ofheart at thinking how all was changed but such as this, and how all mustchange; how he had talked with Amy of this very thing, and had longed tohave her standing beside him there; yet there was more of soothing thansuffering in the sensation. 

So many thoughts rushed through his mind, that he fancied he had stoodthere a long time, when he turned and hastened down again, but he hadbeen so rapid as to meet Markham before the servants had had time tomiss him. 

The servants were indeed few. There was, alas! William of Deloraine, waiting to hold Whiteface; there was Arnaud, an old Swiss, first courierand then butler to old Sir Guy; there was Mrs. Drew, the housekeeper, also a very old servant; and these were all; but their welcome was ofthe heartiest, in feeling, if not in demonstration as the gig went withan echoing, thundering sound under the deep archway that led into thepaved quadrangle; round which the house was built, that court where, asPhilip had truly averred, the sun hardly ever shone, so high were thewalls on each side. 

Up the stone steps into the spacious dark hall, and into the large, gloomy library, partially lighted by a great wood fire, replying to Mrs. Drew's questions about his dinner and his room, and asking Markham tostay and dine with him, Guy at length found himself at home, in thevery room where he had spent every evening of his boyhood, with the samegreen leather arm-chair, in the very place where his grandfather used tosit. 

Markham consented to dine with him, and the evening was spent in talkingover the news of Redclyffe. Markham spoke with much bitterness of theway in which Captain Morville had taken upon him; his looking into theaccounts, though any one was welcome to examine them, was, he thought, scarcely becoming in so young a man--the heir-at-law, too. 

'He can't help doing minutely whatever he undertakes, ' said Guy. If youhad him here, you would never have to scold him like me. '

'Heaven forbid!' said Markham, hastily. 'I know the same place would nothold him and me long. '

'You have told me nothing of our new vicar. How do you get on with him?'

'None the better for that same Captain Morville, ' replied Markham, plunging forthwith into his list of grievances, respecting which he waswaging a petty warfare, in the belief that he was standing up for hismaster's rights. 

Mr. Bernard, the former clergyman, had been a quiet, old-fashioned man, very kind-hearted, but not at all active, and things had gone on ina sleepy, droning, matter-of-fact way, which Markham being used to, thought exactly what ought to be. Now, Mr. Ashford was an energeticperson, desirous to do his utmost for the parish, and whatever he didwas an offence to Markham, from the daily service, to the objecting tothe men going out fishing on Sunday. He opposed every innovation withall his might, and Captain Morville's interference, which had borneMarkham down with Mr. Edmonstone's authority, had only made him moredetermined not to bate an inch. He growled every time Guy was inclinedto believe Mr. Ashford in the right, and brought out some freshcomplaint. The grand controversy was at present about the school. There was a dame's school in the cove or fishing part of the parish, maintained at the expense of the estate, in a small cottage far from thechurch, and Mr. And Mrs. Ashford had fixed their eyes on a house in thevillage, and so near the church as to be very convenient for a SundaySchool. It only wanted to be floored, and to have a partition takendown, but to this Markham would not consent, treating it as a monstrousproposal to take away the school from old Jenny Robinson. 

'I suppose Mr. Ashford meant to pension her off?' said Guy. 

'He did say something about it; but who is to do it, I should like toknow?'

'We are, I suppose. '

'Pay two schoolmistresses mistresses at once! One for doing nothing! Apretty tolerable proposal for Mr. Ashford to be making?'

'I don't see why. Of course it is my business!'

'Besides, I don't see that she is not as fit to keep school as ever shewas. '

'That may well be, ' said Guy, smiling. 'We never used to be noted forour learning. '

'Don't you be for bringing new lights into the parish, Sir Guy, or weshall never have any more peace. '

'I shall see about old Jenny, ' answered Guy. 'As to the house, that mustbe done directly. Her cottage is not fit to keep school in. '

Grunt, grunt; but though a very unbending viceroy, a must from thereigning baronet had a potent effect on Markham, whether it was for goodor evil. He might grumble, but he never disobeyed, and the boy he wasused to scold and order had found that Morville intonation of the must, which took away all idea of resistance. He still, however remonstrated. 

'As you please, Sir Guy, but we shall have the deer frightened, and theplantations cut to pieces, if the boys from the Cove are to be crossingthe park. '

'I'll be answerable for all the damage. If they are once properly spokento, they will be on honour to behave well. I have seen a little of whata village school ought to be at East-hill, and I should like to seeRedclyffe like it. '

Grunt again; and Guy found that to make Markham amiable, he must inquireafter all his nephews and nieces. 

All the evening he had much to occupy him, and the dreaded senseof solitude and bereavement did not come on till he had parted withMarkham, and stood alone before the fire in the large, gloomy room, where the light of the lamp seemed absorbed in the darkness of thedistant corners, and where he had scarcely been since the moment whenhe found his grandfather senseless in that very chair. How differenthad that room once been in his eyes, when his happy spirits defied everyassociation of gloom, and the bookshelves, the carved chairs, the heavydark-green curtains and deep windows were connected with merry freaks, earnest researches, delightful achievements or discoveries! How long agothat time seemed! and how changed was he!

There was a certain tendency to melancholy in Guy's mind. High spirits, prosperity, and self-discipline, had kept it from developing itselfuntil the beginning of his troubles, but since that time it had beengradually gaining ground, and this was a time of great suffering, as hestood alone in his forefathers' house, and felt himself, in his earlyyouth, a doomed man, destined to bear the penalty of their crimes in theruin of his dearest hopes, as if his heirloom of misery had but waitedto seize on him till the very moment when it would give him the most toendure. 

'But bear it, I must and will!' said he, lifting his head from thecarved chimney-piece, where he had been resting it. 'I have been in willa murderer myself, and what right have I to repine like the Israelites, with their self-justifying proverb? No; let me be thankful that I wasnot given up even then, but have been able to repent, and do a littlebetter next time. It will be a blessing as yet ungranted to any of us, if indeed I should bear to the full the doom of sorrow, so that it maybe vouchsafed me only to avoid actual guilt. Yes, Amy, your words arestill with me--"Sintram conquered his doom, "--and it was by followingdeath! Welcome, then, whatever may be in store for me, were it even along, cheerless life without you, Amy. There is another world!'

With the energy of freshened resolution, he lighted his candle, andwalked, with echoing steps, up the black oak staircase, along the broadgallery, up another flight, down another passage, to his own room. Hehad expressly written 'his own room, ' and confirmed it on his arrival, or Mrs. Drew would have lodged him as she thought more suitably for themaster of the house. Nothing had been done to alter its old familiaraspect, except lighting a fire, which he had never seen there before. There were all his boyish treasures, his bows and arrows, his collectionof birds' wings, his wonderful weapons and contrivances, from hisfire-balloon down to the wren's-egg, all just as he left them, theirgood condition attesting the care that Mrs. Drew had taken for his sake. 

He renewed his acquaintance with them with a sort of regretful affectionand superiority; but there was a refreshment in these old memories whichaided the new feeling of life imparted to him by his resolution to bear. Nor had he only to bear, he had also to do; and before the late hour atwhich he fell asleep, he had made up his mind what was the first stepto be taken about Coombe Priory, and had remembered with rejoicing thatwhereas he had regretted leaving the chapel at college which had socomforted and helped him, there was now daily service at RedclyffeChurch. The last thing in his mind, before reflection was lost in sleep, was this stanza--

 Gales from Heaven, if so He will, Sweeter melodies may wake On the lowly mountain rill Than the meeting waters make. Who hath the Father and the Son, May be left, but not alone. 

CHAPTER 22

 And when the solemn deep church-bell Entreats the soul to pray, The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away. 

 Down the broad Vale of Tears afar, The spectral camp is fled; Faith shineth as a morning star, Our ghastly fears are dead. --LONGFELLOW

Mr. Ashford was a connection of Lady Thorndale's, and it was about ayear since the living of Redclyffe had been presented to him. Mr. AndMrs. Ashford were of course anxious to learn all they could about theiryoung squire, on whom the welfare of the parish depended, even more thanin most cases, as the whole was his property. Their expectations werenot raised by Mr. Markham's strenuous opposition to all their projects, and his constant appeals to the name of 'Sir Guy'; but, on the otherhand, they were pleased by the strong feeling of affection that all thevillagers manifested for their landlord. 

The inhabitants of Redclyffe were a primitive race, almost all relatedto each other, rough and ignorant, and with a very strong feudal feelingfor 'Sir Guy, ' who was king, state, supreme authority, in their eyes;and Mrs. Ashford further found that 'Master Morville, ' as the old womencalled him in his individual character, was regarded by them with greatpersonal affection. 

On the occasion when Captain Morville came to Redclyffe, and left JamesThorndale to spend a couple of hours at the parsonage, they interrogatedthe latter anxiously on his acquaintance with Sir Guy. He had not theleast idea of creating prejudice, indeed, he liked him as a companion, but he saw everything through the medium of his friend, and spokesomething to this effect: He was very agreeable; they would like hismanners; he was tolerably clever, but not to be named in the same daywith his cousin for abilities, far less in appearance. Very pleasant, generally liked, decidedly a taking man; but there was some cloud overhim just now--debts, probably. Morville had been obliged to go to Oxfordabout it; but Mr. Thorndale did not profess to understand it, as ofcourse Morville said as little of it as he could. Thereupon all began toadmire the aforesaid Morville, already known by report, and whose finecountenance and sensible conversation confirmed all that had been saidof him. 

And as, after his interference, Mr. Markham's opposition became surly, as well as sturdy, and Sir Guy's name was sure to stand arrayed againstthem whichever way they turned, the younger part of the family learnt toregard him somewhat in the light of an enemy, and their elders awaitedhis majority with more of fear than of hope. 

'Mamma!' cried Edward Ashford, rushing in, so as to bring the first newsto his mother, who had not been to the early service, 'I do believe SirGuy is come!'

'Sir Guy was at church!' shouted Robert, almost at the same moment. 

Mr. Ashford confirmed the intelligence. 

'I saw him speaking, after church, to some of the old men, so afterwardsI went to ask old John Barton, and found him with tears in his eyes, positively trembling with delight, for he said he never thought to haveheard his cheery voice again, and that he was coming down by and by tosee the last letter from Ben, at sea. '

'That is very nice! Shall you call?'

'Yes. Even if he is only here for a day or two, it will be better tohave made the acquaintance. '

Mr. Ashford went to the Park at two in the afternoon, and did not returntill near four. 

'Well, ' said he, 'it is as James Thorndale says, there is something veryprepossessing about him. '

'Have you been there all this time?'

'Yes. He was not at home; so I left my card, and was coming away, when Imet him at the turn leading to the Cove. He need not have seen me unlesshe had liked, but he came up in a good-natured cordial way, and thankedme for coming to call. '

'Is he like his cousin?'

'Not in the least; not nearly so tall or so handsome, but with a verypleasant face, and seeming made up of activity, very slight, as if hewas all bone and sinew. He said he was going to see the Christmas oxat the farm, and asked me to come with him. Presently we came to a highgate, locked up. He was over it in an instant, begged me to wait whilehe ran on to the farm for the key, and was back in a second with it. '

'Did he enter on any of the disputed subjects!'

'He began himself about the school, saying the house should be altereddirectly; and talked over the whole matter very satisfactorily;undertook himself to speak to Jenny Robinson; and was very glad to hearyou meant her still to keep the infants at the Cove; so I hope thatmatter is in a right train. '

'If Mr. Markham will but let him. '

'O, he is king or more here! We met Markham at the farm; and the firstthing, after looking at the cattle, Sir Guy found some planks lyingabout, and said they were the very thing for flooring the school. Markham mentioned some barn they were intended for, but Sir Guy said theschool must be attended to at once, and went with us to look at it. Thatwas what kept me so long, measuring and calculating; and I hope it maybe begun in a week. '

'This is delightful! What more could we wish?'

'I don't think he will give trouble in parish matters, and in personalintercourse he will be sure to be most agreeable. I wish I knew therewas nothing amiss. It seems strange for him to come here for thevacation, instead of going to his guardian's, as usual, and altogetherhe had an air of sadness and depression, not like a youth, especiallysuch an active one. I am afraid something is wrong; those engagingpeople are often unstable. One thing I forgot to tell you. We werewalking through that belt of trees on the east side of the hill, whenhe suddenly called out to ask how came the old ash-tree to be marked. Markham answered in his gruff way, it was not his doing, but theCaptain's. He turned crimson, and began some angry exclamation, but asMarkham was going on to tell something else about it, he stopped himshort, saying, 'Never mind! I dare say it's all right. I don't want tohear any more!' And I don't think he spoke much again till we got intothe village. I am afraid there is some misunderstanding between thecousins. '

'Or more likely Mr. Markham is teaching him some jealousy of his heir. We could not expect two Captain Morvilles in one family, and I am gladit is no worse. '

All that the Ashfords further saw of their young baronet made animpression in his favour; every difficulty raised by the stewarddisappeared; their plans were forwarded, and they heard of little buthis good-nature to the poor people; but still they did not know how farto trust these appearances, and did not yet venture to form an opinionon him, or enter into intimacy. 

'So the singers will not come to us on Christmas Eve, because they saythey must go to the Park, ' said Edward, rather savagely. 

'I was thinking, ' said Mrs. Ashford, 'how forlorn it will be for thatpoor youth to spend his Christmas-day alone in that great house. Don'tyou think we might ask him to dinner?'

Before Mr. Ashford could answer, the boys made such an uproar at theproposal of bringing a stranger to spoil their Christmas, that theirparents gave up the idea. 

It was that Christmas-day that Guy especially dreaded, as recalling somany contrasts both with those passed here and at Hollywell. Since hisreturn, he had been exerting himself to attend to what he felt to behis duty, going about among his people, arranging for their good orpleasure, and spending a good deal of time over his studies. He hadwritten to Mr. Ross, to ask his advice about Coombe Prior, and had setMarkham, much against his will, to remonstrate with Farmer Todd aboutthe repairs; but though there was a sort of satisfaction in doing thesethings--though the attachment of his dependants soothed him, and broughta new sense of the relation between himself and them--though viewsof usefulness were on each side opening before him--yet there was adreariness about everything; he was weary even while he undertook andplanned energetically; each new project reminding him that there was noAmy to plan with him. He could not sufficiently care for them. 

Still more dreary was his return to his old haunts, and to the scenerywhich he loved so devotedly--the blue sea and purple hills, which hadbeen like comrades and playfellows, before he had known what it was tohave living companions. They used to be everything to him, and hehad scarcely a wish beyond; afterwards his dreams had been of longingaffection for them, and latterly the idea of seeing Amy love them andadmire them had been connected with every vision of them; and now thesight of the reality did but recall the sense that their charm haddeparted; they could no longer suffice to him as of old; and theirpresence brought back to him, with fresh pangs of disappointment, the thought of lost happiness and ruined hopes, as if Amy alone couldrestore their value. 

The depression of his spirits inclined him to dwell at present moreon the melancholy history of his parents than on anything else. He hadhitherto only heard the brief narration of his grandfather, when hecould ask no questions; but he now obtained full particulars fromMarkham, who, when he found him bent on hearing all, related everything, perhaps intending it as a warning against the passions which, whenonce called into force, he dreaded to find equally ungovernable in hispresent master. 

Mr. Morville had been his great pride and glory, and, in fact, had beenso left to his care, as to have been regarded like a son of his own. Hehad loved him, if possible, better than Guy, because he had been morehis own; he had chosen his school, and given him all the reproofs whichhad ever been bestowed on him with his good in view, and how he hadgrieved for him was never known to man. It was the first time he hadever talked it over, and he described, with strong, deep feeling, thenoble face and bearing of the dark-eyed, gallant-looking stripling, hisgenerosity and high spirit tainted and ruined by his wild temper andimpatience of restraint. There seemed to have been a great sweetness ofdisposition, excellent impulses, and so strong a love of his father, inspite of early neglect and present resentment, as showed what he mighthave been with only tolerable training, which gave Guy's idea of himmore individuality than it had ever had before, and made him betterunderstand what his unhappy grandfather's remorse had been. Guy doubtedfor a moment whether it had not been selfish to make Markham narrate thehistory of the time when he had suffered so much; and Markham, when hehad been led into telling it, and saw the deepening sadness on his youngmaster's countenance, wished it had not been told, and ended by sayingit was of no use to stir up what was better forgotten. 

He would have regretted the telling it still more if he had known howGuy acted it all over in his solitude; picturing his father standing anoutcast at the door of his own home, yielding his pride and resentmentfor the sake of his wife, ready to do anything, yearning forreconciliation, longing to tread once more the friendly, familiar hall, and meeting only the angry repulse and cruel taunt! He imaginedthe headlong passion, the despair, the dashing on his horse inwhirlwind-like swiftness, then the blow--the fall--the awful stillnessof the form carried back to his father's house, and laid on that tablea dead man! Fierce wrath--then another world! Guy worked himself up inimagining the horror of the scene, till it was almost as if he had beenan actor in it. 

Yet he had never cared so much for the thought of his father as forhis mother. His yearning for her which he had felt in early days atHollywell, had returned in double force, as he now fancied that shewould have been here to comfort him, and to share his grief, to be aMrs. Edmonstone, whose love no fault and no offence could ever cancel. 

He rode to Moorworth, and made Mrs. Lavers tell him all she remembered. She was nothing loath, and related how she had been surprised by Mr. Morville arriving with his fair, shrinking young wife, and how she hadrejoiced in his coming home again. She described Mrs. Morville withbeautiful blue eyes and flaxen hair, looking pale and delicate, and withclinging caressing ways like a little child afraid to be left. 

'Poor thing!' said Mrs. Lavers, wiping her eyes; 'when he was going, sheclung about him, and cried, and was so timid about being left, that atlast he called me, and begged me to stay with her, and take care of her. It was very pretty to see how gentle and soft he was to her, sharp andhasty as he was with most; and she would not let him go, coaxing him notto stay away long; till at last he put her on the sofa, saying, "There, there, Marianne, that will do. Only be a good child, and I'll come foryou. " I never forget those words, for they were the last I ever heardhim speak. '

'Well?'

'Poor dear! she cried heartily at first; but after a time she cheeredup, and quite made friends with me. I remember she told me which wereMr. Morville's favourite songs, and sang little scraps of them. '

'Can you remember what they were?' eagerly exclaimed Guy. 

'Law, no, air; I never had no head for music. And she laughed about herjourney to Scotland, and got into spirits, only she could not bear Ishould go out of the room; and after a time she grew very anxious forhim to come back. I made her some tea, and tried to get her to bed, but she would not go, though she seemed very tired; for she said Mr. Morville would come to take her to Redclyffe, and she wanted to hear allabout the great house, listening for him all the time, and I trying toquiet her, and telling her the longer he stayed the better chance therewas. Then came a call for me, and down-stairs I found everything inconfusion; the news had come--I never knew how. I had not had time tohear it rightly myself, when there was a terrible cry from up-stairs. Poor thing! whether she thought he was come, or whether her mind misgaveher, she had come after me to the head of the stairs, and heard whatthey were saying. I don't believe she ever rightly knew what hadhappened, for before I could get to her she had fainted; and she wasvery ill from that moment. '

'And it was the next day she died!' said Guy, looking up, after a longsilence. 'Did she--could she take any notice of me?'

'No, sir; she lived but half an hour, or hardly that, after you wereborn. ' I told her it was a son; but she was not able to hear or mind me, and sank away, fainting like. I fancied I heard her say something like"Mr. Morville, " but I don't know; and her breath was very soon gone. Poor dear!' added Mrs. Lavers, wiping away her tears. 'I grieved for heras if she had been my own child; but then I thought of her waking up tohear he was dead. I little thought then, Sir Guy, that I should ever seeyou stand there, --strong and well grown. I almost thought you were deadalready when I sent for Mr. Harrison to baptize you. '

'Was it you that did so?' said Guy, his face, mournful before, lightingup in a sudden beam of gratitude. 'Then I have to thank you for morethan all the world besides. '

'Law, sir!' said Mrs. Lavers, smiling, and looking pleased, though asif but half entering into his meaning. 'Yes, it was in that very chinabowl; I have kept it choice ever since, and never let it be used foranything. I thought it was making very bold, but the doctor and allthought you could not live, and Mr. Harrison might judge. I was veryglad just before he came that Mr. Markham came from Redclyffe. He hadnot been able to leave poor Sir Guy before. '

Guy soon after set out on his homeward ride. His yearning to hear ofhis mother had been satisfied; but though he could still love the fair, sweet vision summoned up by her name, he was less disposed to feel thatit had been hard upon him that she died. It was not Amy. In spite of histender compassion and affection, he knew that he had not lost a Verenain her. None could occupy that place save Amy; and his mind, from custom, reverted to Amy as still his own, thrilled like afreshly-touched wound, and tried to realize the solace that even yet shemight be praying for him. 

It was dreariness and despondency by day, and he struggled with it byenergy and occupation; but it was something even worse in the evening, in the dark, solitary library, where the very size of the room gavean additional sense of loneliness; and in the silence he could hear, through the closed shutters, the distant plash and surge of the tide, --asound, of which, in former years, he had never been sensible. There, evening after evening, he sat, --his attention roaming from hisemployment to feed on his sad reflections. 

One evening he went to the large dark dining-room, unlocked the door, which echoed far through the house, and found his way through thepacked-up furniture to a picture against the wall, to which he held uphis light. It was a portrait by Lely, a half-length of a young man, onehand on his sword, the other holding his plumed hat. His dark chestnuthair fell on each side of a bright youthful face, full of life andhealth, and with eyes which, even in painting, showed what theirvividness must have been. The countenance was full of spirit and joy;but the mouth was more hard and stern than suited the rest; and therewas something in the strong, determined grasp of the sword, which madeit seem as if the hand might be a characteristic portrait. In the cornerof the picture was the name--'Hugo Morville. AEt. 2O, 1671. '

Guy stood holding up his light, and looking fixedly at it for aconsiderable time. Strange thoughts passed through his mind as thepictured eyes seemed to gaze piercingly down into his own. When heturned away, he muttered aloud, --

'He, too, would have said--"Is thy servant a dog, that he should dothis?"'

It seemed to him as if he had once been in a happier, better world, withthe future dawning brightly on him; but as if that once yielding to thepassions inherited from that wretched man, had brought on him the doomof misery. He had opened the door to the powers of evil, and must bearthe penalty. 

These feelings might partly arise from its having been only now that, had all been well, he could have been with Amabel; so that it seemed asif he had never hitherto appreciated the loss. He had at first comfortedhimself by thinking it was better to be without her than to cause herdistress; but now he found how hard it was to miss her--his brightangel. Darkness was closing on him; a tedious, aimless life spread outbefore him; a despair of doing good haunted him, and with it a sense ofsomething like the presence of an evil spirit, triumphing in his havingonce put himself within its grasp. 

It was well for Guy that he was naturally active, and had acquiredpower over his own mind. He would not allow himself to brood overthese thoughts by day, and in the evening he busied himself as much aspossible with his studies, or in going over with Markham matters thatwould be useful to him to know when he came to the management of hisproperty. Yet still these thoughts would thicken on him, in spite ofhimself, every evening when he sat alone in the library. 

The late hours of Christmas Eve was the time when he had most to suffer. The day had been gloomy and snowy, and he had spent it almost entirelyin solitude, with no companion or diversion to restore the tone of hismind, when he had tried it with hard study. He tried to read, but itwould not do; and he was reduced to sit looking at the fire, recallingthis time last year, when he had been cutting holly, helping the sistersto deck the house, and in the evening enjoying a merry Christmas party, full of blitheness and glee, where there were, of course, specialrecollections of Amabel. 

As usual, he dwelt on the contrast, mused on the estrangement of Mrs. Edmonstone, and tormented himself about Charles's silence, till he fellinto the more melancholy train of thought of the destiny of his race. 

Far better for him to bear all alone than to bring on Amy grief andhorror, such as had fallen on his own mother, but it was much to bearthat loneliness and desolation for a lifetime. The brow was contracted, and the lip drawn into a resolute expression of keeping down suffering, like that of a man enduring acute bodily pain; as Guy was not yielding, he was telling himself--telling the tempter, who would have made himgive up the struggle--that it was only for a life, and that it was shameand ingratitude to be faint-hearted, on the very night when he ought tobe rejoicing that One had come to ruin the power of the foe, and set himfree. But where was his rejoicing? Was he cheered, --was he comforted?Was not the lone, blank despondency that had settled on him more heavilythan ever, a token that he was shut out from all that was good, --nay, that in former years there had been no true joy in him, only enjoymentof temporal pleasure? Had his best days of happiness been, then, nothingbut hollowness and self-deception?

At that moment the sound of a Christmas carol came faintly on his ear. It was one of those tunes which, when the village choir were the onlymusicians he knew, he had thought, unrivalled; and now, even to histutored, delicate ear, softened as it was by distance, and endeared byassociation, it was full of refreshing, soothing harmony. He undrew thecurtain, opened the shutter, and looked into the court, where he sawsome figures standing. As soon as the light shone from the window, thecarol was resumed, and the familiar tones were louder and harsher, buthe loved them, with all their rudeness and dissonance, and throwing upthe window, called the singers by name, asking why they stood out in thesnow, instead of coming into the hall, as usual. 

The oldest of the set came to the window to answer, --so old a man thathis voice was cracked, and his performance did more harm than good inthe psalms at church. 

'You see, Sir Guy, ' said he, 'there was some of us thought you might notlike to have us coming and singing like old times, 'cause 'tis not allas it used to be here with you. Yet we didn't like not to come at all, when you had been away so long, so we settled just to begin, and seewhether you took any notice. '

'Thank you. It was a very kind thought, James, ' said Guy, touched by therough delicacy of feeling manifested by these poor men; 'I had ratherhear the carols than anything. Come to the front door; I'll let you in. '

'Thank you, sir, ' with a most grateful touch of the hat; and Guyhastened to set things in order, preferring the carols to everything atthat moment, even though disabused of his pristine admiration for JamesRobinson's fiddle, and for Harry Ray's grand shake. A long space wasspent in listening, and a still longer in the endeavour to show what Mr. Ashford meant by suggesting some improvements which they were regardingwith dislike and suspicion, till they found Sir Guy was of the samemind. In fact, when he had sung a verse or two to illustrate hismeaning, the opinion of the choir was, that, with equal advantages, SirGuy might sing quite as well as Harry Ray. 

It was the first time he had heard his own voice, except at church, since the earlier days of St. Mildred's, but as he went up the longstairs and galleries to bed, he found himself still singing. It was, Who lives forlorn, On God's own word doth rest, His path is bright With heavenly light, His lot among the blest. 

He wondered, and remembered finding music for it with Amy's help. Hesighed heavily, but the anguish of feeling, the sense of being in thepower of evil, had insensibly left him, and though sad and oppressed, the unchangeable joy and hope of Christmas were shedding a beam on him. 

They were not gone when he awoke, and rose to a solitary breakfastwithout one Christmas greeting. The light of the other life wasbeginning to shine out, and make him see how to do and to bear, withthat hope before him. The hope was becoming less vague; the resolution, though not more firm, yet less desponding, that he would go on tograpple with temptation, and work steadfastly; and with that hope beforehim, he now felt that even a lifetime without Amy would be endurable. 

The power of rejoicing came more fully at church, and the serviceentered into his soul as it never had done before. It had never beensuch happiness, though repentance and mournful feelings were everpresent with him; nor was his 'Verena' absent from his mind. Hewalked about between the services, saw the poor people dining in theirholly-decked houses, exchanging Christmas wishes with them, and gavehis old, beautiful, bright smile as he received demonstrations of theirattachment, or beheld their enjoyment. He went home in the dark, allowedMrs. Drew to have her own way, and serve him and Bustle with a dinnersufficient for a dozen people, and was shut up for the solitaryChristmas evening which he had so much dreaded, and which would havebeen esteemed a misfortune even by those who had no sad thoughts tooccupy them. 

Yet when the clock struck eleven he was surprised, and owned that it hadbeen more than not being unhappy. The dark fiends of remorse and despairhad not once assaulted him, yet it had not been by force of employmentthat they had been averted. He had read and written a little, but verylittle, and the time had chiefly been spent in a sort of day-dream, though not of a return to Hollywell, nor of what Redclyffe might be withAmy. It had been of a darkened and lonely course, yet, in another sense, neither dark nor lonely, of a cheerless home and round of duties, witha true home beyond; and still it had been a happy, refreshing dream, andhe began the next morning with the fresh brightened spirit of a man whofelt that such an evening was sent him to reinvigorate his energies, andfit him for the immediate duties that lay before him. 

On the breakfast-table was what he had not seen for a long time--aletter directed to him. It was from Mr. Ross, in answer to his questionabout Coombe Prior, entering readily into the subject, and advisinghim to write to the Bishop, altogether with a tone of friendly interestwhich, especially as coming from one so near Hollywell, was a greatpleasure, a real Christmas treat. There was the wonted wish of theseason--a happy Christmas--which he took gratefully, and lastly therewas a mention that Charles Edmonstone was better, the suffering over, though he was not yet allowed to move. 

It was a new light that Charles's silence had been occasioned byillness, and his immediate resolution was to write at once to Mr. Ross, to beg for further particulars. In the meantime, the perception thatthere had been no estrangement was such a ray as can hardly be imaginedwithout knowing the despondency it had enlivened. The truth was, perhaps, that the tone of mind was recovering, and after having fixedhimself in his resolution to endure, he was able to receive comfort andrefreshment from without as well as from within. 

He set to work to write at once to the Bishop, as Mr. Ross advised. Hesaid he could not bear to lose time, and therefore wrote at once. Heshould be of age on the 28th of March, and he hoped then to be able toarrange for a stipend for a curate, if the Bishop approved, and wouldkindly enter into communication on the appointment with Mr. Halroyd, theincumbent. After considering his letter a little while, and wishing hewas sufficiently intimate with Mr. Ashford to ask him if it would do, hewrote another to Mr. Ross, to inquire after Charles; then he worked foran hour at mathematics, till a message came from the gamekeeper toask whether he would go out shooting, whereat Bustle, evidentlyunderstanding, jumped about, and wagged his tail so imploringly, thatGuy could not resist, so he threw his books upon the top of the greatpile on the sofa, and, glad that at least he could gratify dog and man, he sent word that he should be ready in five minutes. 

He could not help enjoying the ecstasy of all the dogs, and, indeed hewas surprised to find himself fully alive to the delight of forcing hisway through a furze-brake, hearing the ice in the peaty bogs cracklebeneath his feet; getting a good shot, bringing down his bird, findingsnipe, and diving into the depths of the long, winding valleys anddingles, with the icicle-hung banks of their streamlets. He came homethrough the village at about half-past three o'clock, sending the keeperto leave some of his game at the parsonage, while he went himself to seehow the work was getting on at the school. Mr. And Mrs. Ashford and theboys were come on the same errand, in spite of the cloud of dust risingfrom the newly-demolished lath-and-plaster partition. The boys lookedwith longing eyes at the gun in his hand, and the half-frozen compoundof black and red mud on his gaiters; but they were shy, and their enmityadded to their shyness, so that even when he shook hands with them, andspoke good-naturedly, they did not get beyond a monosyllable. 

Mr. And Mrs. Ashford, feeling some compunction for having left him tohis solitude so long, asked him to dinner for one of the ensuing days, with some idea of getting some one to meet him, and named six o'clock. 

'Won't that put you out? Don't you always dine early?' said he. 'If youwould let me, I should like to join you at your tea-time. '

'If you will endure a host of children, ' said Mr. Ashford, 'I shouldlike it of all things, ' said Guy. 'I want to make acquaintance verymuch, ' and he put his hand on Robert's shoulder. 'Besides, I want totalk to you about the singing, and how we are to get rid of that fiddlewithout breaking James Robinson's heart. '

The appointment was made, and Guy went home to his hasty dinner, hisGreek, and a little refreshing return afterwards to the books which hadbeen the delight of younger days. There was no renewal of the burthen ofdespair that had so long haunted his evenings. Employments thickened onhis hands as the days passed on. There was further correspondence aboutCoombe Prior and the curate, and consultations with Markham about farmerTodd, who was as obstinate and troublesome as possible. Guy made Markhamcome to Coombe Prior with him, examine and calculate about the cottages, and fairly take up the subject, though without much apparent chance ofcoming to any satisfactory result. A letter came from Mr. Ross, tellinghim even more than he had ventured to hope, for it brought a messagefrom Charles himself. Charles had been delighted to hear of him, and hadbegged that he might be told how very sorry he had been not to write;and how incapable he had been, and still was; but that he hoped Guywould write to him, and believe him in the same mind. Mr. Ross added anaccount of Charles's illness, saying the suffering had been more severethan usual, and had totally disabled him for many weeks; that they hadsince called in a London surgeon, who had given him hope that he mightbe better now than ever before, but had prescribed absolute rest forat least six weeks longer, so that Charles was now flat on his back allday, beginning to be able to be amused, and very cheerful and patient. 

The pleasure of entering into communication with Hollywell again, andknowing that Charles at least would be glad to hear from him, was soexquisite, that he was almost surprised, considering that in essentialshe was where he was before, and even Charles could not be Amy. 

CHAPTER 23

 They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league, but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind grew loud, And gurly grew the sea. --SIR PATRICK SPENS. --(Old Ballad. )

Guy's evening with the Ashfords threw down many of the barriers in theway of intimacy. He soon made friends with the children, beginning withthe two years old baby, and ending with gaining even the shy and sturdyRobin, who could not hold out any longer, when it appeared that SirGuy could tell him the best place for finding sea-urchins, the presentobjects of his affections. 

'But we should have to go through the park, ' said Edward, disconsolately, when Guy had described the locality. 

'Well, why not?'

'We must not go into the park!' cried the children, in chorus. 

'Not go into the park!' exclaimed Guy, looking at Mrs. Ashford, inamazement; then, as it flashed on him that it was his part to giveleave, he added, --'I did not know I was such a dog in the manger. Ithought all the parish walked naturally in the park. I don't know whatelse it is good for. If Markham will lock it up, I must tell him to giveyou a key. '

The boys were to come the next day--to be shown the way to the bay ofurchins, and thenceforth they became his constant followers to such adegree, that their parents feared they were very troublesome, but heassured them to the contrary; and no mother in the world could havefound it in her heart to keep them away from so much happiness. Therewas continually a rushing home with a joyous outcry, --'Mamma! Sir Guygave me a ride on his horse!' 'Mamma! Sir Guy helped us to the top ofthat great rock!' 'Oh, papa! Sir Guy says we may come out shooting withhim to-morrow, if you will let us!' 'Mamma! papa! look! Do you see? Ishot this rabbit my own self with Sir Guy's gun!' 'Papa! papa! Sir Guyshowed us his boat, and he says he will take us out to the Shag Rock, ifyou will give us leave!'

This was beyond what papa, still further beyond what mamma, could like, since the sea was often very rough in parts near the Shag; there werea good many sunken rocks, and boys, water, and rocks, did not appear byany means a safe conjunction, so Mrs. Ashford put the matter off for thepresent by the unseasonableness of the weather; and Mr. Ashford askedone or two of the fishermen how far they thought landing on the Shag aprudent attempt. 

They did not profess to have often tried, they always avoided thoserocks; but it could hardly be very dangerous, they said, for when SirGuy was a boy, he used to be about there for ever, at first with anold boatman, and afterwards alone in his little boat. They had oftenwondered he was trusted there; but if any one knew the rocks, he did. 

Still, Mrs. Ashford could not make up her mind to like the idea, and theboys came to Sir Guy in a state of great discomposure. 

'Never mind' he said, 'perhaps we shall manage it in the summer. We willget your father to go out with us himself; and, in the meantime, wholikes to come with me after the rabbits in Cliffstone Copse? FarmerHolt will thank Robin for killing a dozen or so, for he makes grievouscomplaints of them. '

Guy conducted the boys out of sight of the sea, and, to console them, gave them so much more use of the gun than usual, that it might beconsidered as a wonder that he escaped being shot. Yet it did notprevent a few sighs being spent on the boating. 

'Can't you forget it?' said Guy, smiling. 'You have no loss, after all, for we are likely to have no boating weather this long time. Hark! don'tyou hear the ground-swell?'

'What's that?' said the boys, standing still to listen to the distantsurge, like a continuous low moan, or roar, far, far away, though therewas no wind, and the sea was calm. 

'It is the sound that comes before stormy weather, ' said Guy. 'It is asif the sea was gathering up its forces for the tempest. '

'But what?--how? Tell me what it really is, ' said Robin. 

'I suppose it is the wind on the sea before it has reached us, ' saidGuy. 'How solemn it is!'

Too solemn for the boys, who began all manner of antics and noises, byway of silencing the impression of awfulness. Guy laughed, and joined intheir fun; but as soon as they were gone home, he stood in silence fora long time, listening to the sound, and recalling the mysterious dreamsand fancies with which it was connected in his boyhood, and which he hadnever wished thus to drive away. 

The storm he had predicted came on; and by the evening of the followingday, sea and wind were thundering, in their might, against the foot ofthe crags. Guy looked from the window, the last thing at night, andsaw the stars twinkling overhead, with that extreme brilliancy whichis often seen in the intervals of fitful storms, and which suggestedthoughts that sent him to sleep in a vague, soothing dream. 

He was wakened by one tremendous continued roar of sea, wind, andthunder combined. Such was the darkness, that he could not see the formof the window, till a sheet of pale blue lightning brought it fully outfor the moment. He sat up, and listened to the 'glorious voice' thatfollowed it, thought what an awful night at sea, and remembered when heused to fancy it would be the height of felicity to have a shipwreck atRedclyffe, and shocked Mrs. Bernard by inhuman wishes that a ship wouldonly come and be wrecked. How often had he watched, through sounds likethese, for a minute gun! Nay, he had once actually called up poor Arnaudin the middle of the night for an imaginary signal. Redclyffe Bay wasa very dangerous one; a fine place for a wreck, with its precipitouscrags, its single safe landing-place, and the great Shag Stone, on theeastern side, with a whole progeny of nearly sunken rocks, dreadedin rough weather by the fishermen themselves; but it was out of theordinary track of vessels, and there were only a few traditions ofterrible wrecks long before his time. 

It seemed as if he had worked up his fancy again, for the sound of a gunwas for a moment in his ear. It was lost in the rush of hail against thewindow, and the moaning of the wind round the old house; but presentlyit returned too surely to be imaginary. He sprang to the window, and thebroad, flickering glare of lightning revealed the black cliff and palesea-line; then all was dark and still, while the storm was holdingits breath for the thunder-burst which in a few more seconds rolledoverhead, shaking door and window throughout the house. As the awfulsound died away, in a moment's lull, came the gun again. He threw up thewindow, and as the blast of wind and rain swept howling into the room, it brought another report. 

To close the window, light his candle, throw on his clothes, and hastendown-stairs, was the work of a very few seconds. Luckily, the key ofthe boat-house was lying on the table in the hall, where he had left it, after showing the boat to the Ashford boys; he seized it, caught up thepocket telescope, put on a rough coat, and proceeded to undo the endlessfastenings of the hall-door, a very patience-trying occupation; and, when completed, the gusts that were eddying round the house, ready toforce their way in everywhere, took advantage of the first opening toblow out his candle. 

However, they had in one way done good service, for the shower hadbeen as brief as it was violent, and the inky cloud was drifting awayfuriously towards the east, leaving the moon visible, near her setting, and allowing her white cold light to shine forth, contrasting with thedistant sheets of pale lightning, growing fainter and fainter. 

Guy ran across the court, round to the west side of the house, andstruggled up the slope in the face of the wind, which almost swept himdown again; and when at length he had gained the summit, came rushingagainst him with such force that he could hardly stand. He did, however, keep his ground, and gazed out over the sea. The swell was fearful;marked by the silver light on one side, where it caught the moonbeams, and the black shade on the other, ever alternating, so that the eyecould, not fix on them for a moment; the spray leapt high in itswhiteness, and the Shag stood up hard, bold, and black. The wavesthundered, bursting on the cliff and, high as he stood, the spray dashedalmost blinding in his face, while the wind howled round him, as ifgathering its might for the very purpose of wrenching him from thecliff; but he stood firm, and looked out again, to discern clearlywhat he thought he had seen. It was the mast of a vessel, seen plainlyagainst the light silvery distance of sea on the reef west of the Shag. It was in a slanting direction, and did not move; he could not doubtthat the ship had struck on the dangerous rocks at the entrance of thebay; and as his eyes became more accustomed to the unusual light, andmade out what objects were or were not familiar, he could perceive theship herself. He looked with the glass, but could see no one on board, nor were any boats in sight; but observing some of the lesser rocks, he beheld some moving figures on them. Help!--instant help!--was histhought; and he looked towards the Cove. Lights were in the cottagewindows, and a few sounds came up to him, as if the fishing populationwere astir. 

He hastened to the side of the cliff, which was partly clothed withbrushwood. There was a descent--it could hardly be called a path--whichno one ventured to attempt but himself and a few of the boldestbirds'-nesting boys of the village; but he could lose no time, andscrambling, leaping, swinging himself by the branches, he reached thefoot of the cliff in safety, and in five minutes more was on the littlequay at the end of the steep street of the Cove. 

The quay was crowded with the fisher-people, and there was a strangeconfusion of voices; some saying all was lost; some that the crew hadgot to the rock; others, that some one ought to put off and help them;others, that a boat would never live in such a sea; and an old telescopewas in great requisition. 

Ben Robinson, a tall, hardy young man, of five-and-twenty, wild, reckless, high-spirited and full of mischief and adventure, was standingon a pile at the extreme verge above the foaming water, daring theothers to go with him to the rescue; and, though Jonas Ledbury, a feebleold man, was declaring, in a piteous tone, it was a sin and a shame tolet so many poor creatures be lost in sight, without one man stirring tohelp them; yet all stood irresolute, watching the white breakers dashingon the Shag, and the high waves that swelled and rolled between. 

'Do you know where the crew are?' exclaimed Guy, shouting as loud as hecould, for the noise of the winds and waves was tremendous. 

'There, sir, on the flat black stone, ' said the fortunate possessorof the telescope. 'Some ten or eleven of them, I fancy, all huddledtogether. '

'Ay, ay!' said old Ledbury. 'Poor creatures! there they be; and whatis to be done, I can't say! I never saw a boat in such a sea, since thenight poor Jack, my brother, was lost, and Will Ray with him. '

'I see them, ' said Guy, who had in the meantime looked through hisglass. 'How soon is high water?'

It was an important question, for the rocks round the Shag were coveredbefore full tide, even when the water was still. There was a looking upat the moon, and then Guy and the fishermen simultaneously exclaimed, that it would be in three hours; which gave scarcely an hour to spare. 

Without another word, Guy sprang from the quay to the boat-house, unlocked it, and, by example, showed that the largest boat was to bebrought out. The men helped him vigorously, and it stood on the narrowpebbly beach, the only safe landing-place in the whole bay; hethrew into it a coil of rope, and called out in his clear commandingvoice--'Five to go with me!'

Hanging back was at an end. They were brave men, who had wanted nothingbut a leader, and with Sir Guy at their head, were ready for anything. Not five, but five-and-twenty were at his command; and even in the hurryof the moment, a strong, affectionate feeling filled his eyes with tearsas he saw these poor fellows ready to trust their lives in his hands. 

'Thank you--thank you!' he exclaimed. 'Not all, though; you, BenRobinson, Harry Ray, Charles Ray, Ben Ledbury, Wat Green. '

They were all young men, without families, such as could best be spared;and each, as his name was called, answered, 'Here, Sir Guy!' and cameforward with a resolute satisfied air. 

'It would be best to have a second boat, ' said Guy. 'Mr. Brown, ' to theowner of the telescope, 'will you lend yours? 'tis the strongest andlightest. Thank you. Martin had best steer it, he knows the rocks;' andhe went on to name the rest of the crew; but at the last there was amoment's pause, as if he doubted. 

A tall athletic young fisherman took advantage of it to press forward. 

'Please your honour, Sir Guy, may not I go?'

'Better not, Jem, ' answered Guy. 'Remember, ' in a lower voice, 'yourmother has no one but you. Here!' he called, cheerfully, 'Jack Horn, youpull a good oar! Now, then, are we ready?'

'All ready, --yes, sir!'

The boat was launched, not without great difficulty, in the face of sucha sea. The men stoutly took their oars, casting a look forward at therocks, then at the quay, and on the face of their young steersman. Little they guessed the intense emotion that swelled in his breast as hetook the helm, to save life or to lose it; enjoying the enterprise, yetwith the thought that his lot might be early death; glad it was rightthus to venture, earnest to save those who had freely trusted to him, and rapidly, though most earnestly, recalling his own repentance. All this was in his mind, though nothing was on his face but cheerfulresolution. 

Night though it was, tidings of the wreck had reached the upper partof the village; and Mr. Ashford, putting his head out of his window tolearn the cause of the sounds in the street, was informed by many voicesthat a ship was on the Shag reef, and that all were lost. To hastento the Cove to learn the truth, and see if any assistance could yetbe afforded, was his instant thought; and he had not taken many stepsbefore he was overtaken by a square, sturdy figure, wrapped in animmense great-coat. 

'So, Mr. Markham, you are on your way to see about this wreck. '

'Why, ay, ' said Markham, roughly, though not with the repellent mannerusual with him towards Mr. Ashford, 'I must be there, or that boy willbe in the thickest of it. Wherever is mischief, there is he. I onlywonder he has not broken his neck long ago. '

'By mischief, you mean danger?'

'Yes. I hope he has not heard of this wreck, for if he has, no power onearth would keep him back from it. '

Comparing the reports they had heard, the clergyman and steward walkedon, Markham's anxiety actually making him friendly. They reached the topof the steep street of the Cove; but though there was a good view of thesea from thence, they could distinguish nothing, for another cloud wasrising, and had obscured the moon. They were soon on the quay, now stillmore crowded, and heard the exclamations of those who were striving tokeep their eyes on the boats. 

'There's one!' 'No!' 'Yes, 'tis!' 'That's Sir Guy's!'

'Sir Guy!' exclaimed Markham. 'You don't mean he is gone? Then I am toolate! What could you be thinking of, you old fool, Jonas, to let thatboy go? You'll never see him again, I can tell you. Mercy! Here comesanother squall! There's an end of it, then!'

Markham seemed to derive some relief from railing at the fishermen, singly and collectively, while Mr. Ashford tried to learn the realfacts, and gather opinions as to the chance of safety. The old fishermenheld that there was frightful risk, though the attempt was far fromhopeless; they said the young men were all good at their oars, Sir Guyknew the rocks very well, and the chief fear was, that he might not knowhow to steer in such a sea; but they had seen that, though daring, he was not rash. They listened submissively to Mr. Markham, butcommunicated in an under-tone to the vicar, how vain it would have beento attempt to restrain Sir Guy. 

'Why, sir, ' said old James Robinson, 'he spoke just like the captain ofa man-of-war, and for all Mr. Markham says, I don't believe he'd havebeen able to gainsay him. '

'Your son is gone with him?'

'Ay, sir; and I would not say one word to stop him. I know Sir Guy won'trun him into risk for nothing; and I hope, please God, if Ben comes backsafe, it may be the steadying of him. '

''Twas he that volunteered to go before Sir Guy came, they say?'

'Yes, sir, ' said the old man, with a pleased yet melancholy look. 'Ben'sbrave enough; but there's the difference. He'd have done it for thelark, and to dare the rest; but Sir Guy does it with thought, andbecause it is right. I wish it may be the steadying of Ben!'

The shower rushed over them again, shorter and less violent than theformer one, but driving in most of the crowd, and only leaving on thequay the vicar, the steward, and a few of the most anxious fishermen. They could see nothing; for the dark slanting line of rain swept overthe waves, joining together the sea and thick low cloud; and the roaringof the sea and moaning of the wind were fearful. No one spoke, tillat last the black edges of the Shag loomed clearer, the moon began toglance through the skirts of the cloud, and the heaving and tossing ofthe sea, became more discernible. 

'There!--there!' shouted young Jem, the widow's son. 

'The boats?'

'One!'

'Where?--where?--for heaven's sake! That's nothing!' cried Markham. 

'Yes--yes! I see both, ' said Jem. 'The glass! Where's Mr. Brown'sglass!'

Markham was trying to fix his own, but neither hand nor eye weresteady enough; he muttered, --'Hang the glass!' and paced up and downin uncontrollable anxiety. Mr. Ashford turned with him, trying tospeak consolingly, and entirely liking the old man. Markham was notungrateful, but he was almost in despair. 

'It is the same over again!' said he. 'He is the age his father was, though Mr. Morville never was such as he--never--how should he? He isthe last of them--the best--he would have been--he was. Would to heavenI were with him, that, if he is lost, we might all go together. '

'There, sir, ' called Jem, who, being forbidden to do anything but watch, did so earnestly; 'they be as far now as opposite West Cove. Don't yousee them, in that light place?'

The moon had by this time gone down, but the first great light of dawnwas beginning to fall on the tall Shag, and show its fissures and darkshades, instead of leaving it one hard, unbroken mass. Now and then Jemthought he saw the boats; but never so distinctly as to convince thewatchers that they had not been swamped among the huge waves thattumbled and foamed in that dangerous tract. 

Mr. Ashford had borrowed Markham's telescope, and was looking towardsthe rock, where the shipwrecked crew had taken refuge. 

'There is some one out of the boat, climbing on the rocks. Can you makehim out, Jem?'

'I see--I see, ' said Mr. Brown; 'there are two of them. They areclimbing along the lee-side of the long ridge of rocks. '

'Ay, ay, ' said old Ledbury; 'they can't get in a boat close to the flatrocks, they must take out a line. Bold fellows!'

'Where are the boats?' asked Mr. Ashford. 

'I can tell that, ' said Ledbury; 'they must have got under the lee ofthe lesser Shag. There's a ring there that Sir Guy had put in to moorhis boat to. They'll be made fast there, and those two must be takingthe rope along that ledge, so as for the poor fellows on the rock tohave a hold of, as they creep along to where the boats are. '

'Those broken rocks!' said Mr. Ashford. 'Can there be a footing, and insuch a sea?'

'Can you give a guess who they be, sir?' asked Robinson, earnestly. 'Ifyou'd only let Jem have a look, maybe he could guess. '

Markham's glass was at his service. 

'Hullo! what a sea! I see them now. That's Ben going last--I know hisred cap. And the first--why, 'tis Sir Guy himself!'

'Don't be such a fool, Jem' cried Markham, angrily. 'Sir Guy knowsbetter. Give me the glass. '

But when it was restored, Markham went on spying in silence, whileBrown, keeping fast possession of his own telescope, communicated hisobservations. 

'Ay, I see them. Where are they? He's climbing now. There's a breakerjust there, will wash them off, as sure as they're alive! I don't see'em. Yes, I do--there's Redcap! There's something stirring on the rock!'

So they watched till, after an interval, in which the boatsdisappeared behind the rocks, they were seen advancing over the watersagain--one--yes--both, and loaded. They came fast, they were in sightof all, growing larger each moment, mounting on the crest of the hugerolling waves, then plunged in the trough so long as to seem as ifthey were lost, then rising--rising high as mountains. Over the roaringwaters came at length the sound of voices, a cheer, pitched in adifferent key from the thunder of wind and wave; they almost fanciedthey knew the voice that led the shout. Such a cheer as rose in answer, from all the Redclyffe villagers, densely crowded on quay, and beach, and every corner of standing ground!

The sun was just up, his beams gilded the crests of the leaping waves, and the spray danced up, white and gay, round the tall rocks, whoseshadow was reflected in deep green, broken by the ever-moving swell. TheShag and its attendant rocks, and the broken vessel, were bathed in theclear morning light; the sky was of a beautiful blue, with magnificentmasses of dark cloud, the edges, where touched by the sunbeams, of apearly white; and across the bay, tracing behind them glittering streamsof light, came up the two boats with their freight of rescued lives. Martin's boat was the first to touch the landing-place. 

'All saved, ' he said; 'all owing to him, ' pointing back to Sir Guy. 

There was no time for questions; the wan, drenched sailors had to behelped on shore, and the boat hauled up out of the way. In the meantime, Guy, as he steered in past the quay, smiled and nodded to Mr. Ashfordand Markham, and renewed the call, 'All safe!' Mr. Ashford thought thathe had never seen anything brighter than his face--the eyes radiant inthe morning sun, the damp hair hanging round it, and life, energy, andpromptitude in every feature and movement. 

The boat came in, the sailors were assisted out, partly by theirrescuers, partly by the spectators. Guy stood up, and, with one foot onthe seat, supported on his knee and against his arm a little boy, roundwhom his great-coat was wrapped. 

'Here, Jem!' he shouted, to his rejected volunteer, who had been veryactive in bringing in the boat, 'here's something for you to do. Thispoor little fellow has got a broken arm. Will you ask your mother totake him in? She's the best nurse in the parish. And send up for Mr. Gregson. '

Jem received the boy as tenderly as he was given; and, with one bound, Guy was by the side of his two friends. Mr. Ashford shook hands withheartfelt gratulation; Markham exclaimed, --

'There, Sir Guy, after the old fashion! Never was man so mad in thisworld! I've done talking! You'll never be content till you have got yourdeath. As if no one could do anything without you. '

'Was it you who carried out the line on the rock?' said Mr. Ashford. 

'Ben Robinson and I. I had often been there, after sea anemones andweeds, and I had a rope round me, so don't be angry, Markham. '

'I have no more to say, ' answered Markham, almost surly. 'I might aswell talk to a sea-gull at once. As if you had any right to throw awayyour life!'

'I enjoyed it too much to have anything to say for myself, ' said Guy;'besides, we must see after these poor men. There were two or threenearly drowned. Is no one gone for Mr. Gregson?'

Mr. Gregson, the doctor, was already present, and no one who hadany authority could do anything but attend to the disposal of theshipwrecked crew. Mr. Ashford went one way, Markham another, Guy athird; but, between one cottage and another, Mr. Ashford learnt someparticulars. The crew had been found on a flat rock and the fishermenhad at first thought all their perils in vain, for it was impossibleto bring the boats up, on account of the rocks, which ran out in a longreef. Sir Guy, who knew the place, steered to the sheltered spot wherehe had been used to make fast his own little boat, and undertook tomake his way from thence to the rock where the crew had taken refuge, carrying a rope to serve as a kind of hand-rail, when fastened from onerock to the other. Ben insisted on sharing his peril, and they hadcrept along the slippery, broken reefs, lashed by the surge, for sucha distance, that the fishermen shuddered as they spoke of the danger ofbeing torn off by the force of the waves, and dashed against the rocks. Nothing else could have saved the crew. They had hardly accomplished thepassage through the rising tide, even with the aid of the rope and theguidance of Sir Guy and Ben, and, before the boats had gone half a mileon their return, the surge was tumbling furiously over the stones wherethey had been found. 

The sailors were safely disposed of, in bed, or by the fireside, thefishers vying in services to them. Mr. Ashford went to the cottage ofCharity Ledbury, Jem's mother, to inquire for the boy with the brokenarm. As he entered the empty kitchen, the opposite door of the stairswas opened, and Guy appeared, stepping softly, and speaking low. 

'Poor little fellow!' he said; 'he is just going to sleep. He bore itfamously!'

'The setting his arm?'

'Yes. He was quite sensible, and very patient, and that old CharityLedbury is a capital old woman. She and Jem are delighted to have him, and will nurse him excellently. How are all the others? Has that poorman come to his senses?'

'Yes. I saw him safe in bed at old Robinson's. The captain is at theBrowns'. '

'I wonder what time of day it is?'

'Past eight. Ah! there is the bell beginning. I was thinking of goingto tell Master Ray we are not too much excited to remember church-goingthis morning; but I am glad he has found it out only ten minutes toolate. I must make haste. Good-bye!'

'May not I come, too, or am I too strange a figure?' said Guy, lookingat his dress, thrown on in haste, and saturated with sea-water. 

'May you?' said Mr. Ashford, smiling. 'Is it wise, with all your wetthings?'

'I am not given to colds, ' answered Guy, and they walked on quicklyfor some minutes; after which he said, in a low voice and hurriedmanner, --'would you make some mention of it in the Thanksgiving?'

'Of course I will' said Mr. Ashford, with much emotion. 'The danger musthave been great. '

'It was, ' said Guy, as if the strong feeling would show itself. 'It wasmost merciful. That little boat felt like a toy at the will of the windsand waves, till one recollected who held the storm in His hand. '

He spoke very simply, as if he could not help it, with his eye fixedon the clear eastern sky, and with a tone of grave awe and thankfulnesswhich greatly struck Mr. Ashford, from the complete absence ofself-consciousness, or from any attempt either to magnify or depreciatehis sense of the danger. 

'You thought the storm a more dangerous time than your expedition on therock?'

'It was not. The fishermen, who were used to such things, did not thinkmuch of it; but I am glad to have been out on such a night, if only forthe magnificent sensation it gives to realize one's own powerlessnessand His might. As for the rock, there was something to do to look toone's footing, and cling on; no time to think. '

'It was a desperate thing!'

'Not so bad as it looked. One step at a time is all one wants, you know, and that there always was. But what a fine fellow Ben Robinson is! Hebehaved like a regular hero--it was the thorough contempt and love ofdanger one reads of. There must be a great deal of good in him, if oneonly knew how to get hold of it. '

'Look there!' was Mr. Ashford's answer, as he turned his head at thechurch wicket; and, at a short distance behind, Guy saw Ben himselfwalking up the path, with his thankful, happy father, a sight that hadnot been seen for months, nay, for years. 

'Ay, ' he said, 'such a night as this, and such a good old man as thefather, could not fail to bring out all the good in a man. '

'Yes, ' thought Mr. Ashford, 'such a night, under such a leader! Thesight of so much courage based on that foundation is what may best touchand save that man. '

After church, Guy walked fast away; Mr. Ashford went home, made a longbreakfast, having the whole story to tell, and was on to the sceneof action again, where he found the master, quite restored, and waspresently joined by Markham. Of Sir Guy, there was no news, except thatJem Ledbury said he had looked in after church to know how the cabin boywas going on, and the master, understanding that he had been the leaderin the rescue, was very anxious to thank him, and walked up to the housewith Markham and Mr. Ashford. 

Markham conducted them straight to the library, the door of which wasopen. He crossed the room, smiled, and made a sign to Mr. Ashford, wholooked in some surprise and amusement. It has been already said thatthe room was so spacious that the inhabited part looked like a littleencampment by the fire, though the round table was large, and the greenleather sofa and arm chair were cumbrous. 

However, old Sir Guy's arm-chair was never used by his grandson; Markhammight sit there, and Bustle did sometimes, but Guy always used one ofthe unpretending, unluxurious chairs, which were the staple of the room. This, however, was vacant, and on the table before it stood the remainsof breakfast, a loaf reduced to half its dimensions, an empty plate andcoffee-cup. The fire was burnt down to a single log, and on the sofa, on all the various books with which it was strewed, lay Guy, in anythingbut a comfortable position, his head on a great dictionary, fairlyovercome with sleep, his very thick, black eyelashes resting on hisfresh, bright cheek, and the relaxation of the grave expression of hisfeatures making him look even younger than he really was. He was sosound asleep that it was not till some movement of Markham's that heawoke, and started up, exclaiming, --

'What a horrid shame! I am very sorry!'

'Sorry! what for?' said Markham. 'I am glad, at any rate, you have beenwise enough to change your things, and eat some breakfast. '

'I meant to have done so much, ' said Guy; 'but sea-wind makes one sosleepy!' Then, perceiving the captain, he came forward, hoping he wasquite recovered. 

The captain stood mystified, for he could not believe this slim youthcould be the Sir Guy of whose name he had heard so much, and, afteranswering the inquiry, he began, --

'If I could have the honour of seeing Sir Guy--'

'Well?' said Guy. 

'I beg your pardon, sir!' said the captain, while they all laughed, 'Idid not guess you could be so young a gentleman. I am sure, sir, 'tiswhat any man might be proud of having done, and--I never saw anythinglike it!' he added, with a fresh start, 'and it will do you honoureverywhere. All our lives are owing to you, sir. '

Guy did not cut him short, though very glad when it was over. He felt heshould not, in the captain's place, like to have his thanks shortened, and besides, if ever there was happiness or exultation, it was in theglistening eyes of old Markham, the first time he had ever been ableto be justly proud of one of the family, whom he loved with so muchfaithfulness and devotion. 

CHAPTER 24

 Is there a word, or jest, or game, But time encrusteth round With sad associate thoughts the same? --ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 

Among the persons who spent a forlorn autumn was Mr. Ross, though histroubles were not quite of the same description as those of his youngparishioners. He missed his daughter very much; all his householdaffairs got out of order; the school-girls were naughty, and neitherhe, nor Miss Edmonstone, nor the mistress, could discover the culprits;their inquiries produced nothing but a wild confusion of mutualaccusations, where the truth was undistinguishable. The cook never couldfind anything to make broth of, Mr. Ross could, never lay his hands onthe books he wanted for himself or anybody else; and, lastly, none ofhis shirts ever had their buttons on. 

Mary, meanwhile, had to remain through a whole course of measles, thento greet the arrival of a new nephew, and to attend his christening: butshe had made a vow that she would be at home by Christmas, and she keptit. 

Mr. Ross had the satisfaction of fetching her home from the station theday before Christmas Eve, and of seeing her opposite to him, on herown side of the table, in the evening, putting on the buttons, andconsidering it an especial favour and kindness, for which to be for evergrateful, that he had written all his Christmas sermons beforehand, so as to have a whole evening clear before her. He was never a greatletter-writer, and Mary had a great deal to hear, for all that had cometo her were the main facts, with very few details. 

'I have had very few letters, even from Hollywell, ' said she. 'I supposeit is on account of Charles's illness. You think him really better?'

'Yes, much better. I forgot to tell you, you are wanted for theirChristmas party to-morrow night. '

'Oh! he is well enough for them not to put it off! Is he able to be outof bed?'

'No, he lies perfectly flat, and looks very thin. It has been a verysevere illness. I don't think I ever knew him suffer so much; but, at the same time, I never knew him behave so well, or show so muchpatience, and consideration for other people, I was the more surprised, because at first he seemed to have relapsed into all the ways he thoughthe had shaken off; he was so irritable and fretful, that poor Mrs. Edmonstone looked worn out; but it seems to have been only the beginningof the illness; it was very different after he was laid up. '

'Has he had you to see him?'

'Yes, he asked for it, which he never did before, and Amabel reads tohim every morning. There is certainly much more that is satisfactoryabout those young Edmonstones than there once seemed reason to expect. '

'And now tell me about Sir Guy. What is the matter? Why does he not comehome this winter!'

'I cannot tell you the rights of it, Mary. Mr. Edmonstone is very muchoffended about something he is reported to have said, and suspectshim of having been in mischief at St. Mildred's; but I am not at allpersuaded that it is not one of Mr. Edmonstone's affronts. '

'Where is he?'

'At Redclyffe. I have a letter from him which I am going to answerto-night. I shall tell the Edmonstones about it, for I cannot believethat, if he had been guilty of anything very wrong, his mind would beoccupied in this manner;' and he gave Mary the letter. 

'Oh, no!' exclaimed Mary, as she read. 'I am sure he cannot be in anymischief. What an admirable person he is! I am very sorry this cloud hasarisen! I was thinking last summer how happy they all were together. '

'Either this or Charles's illness has cast a gloom over the whole house. The girls are both grown much graver. '

'Amy graver?' said Mary, quickly. 

'I think so. At least she did not seem to cheer up as I should haveexpected when her brother grew better. She looks as if she had beennursing him too closely, and yet I see her walking a good deal. '

'Poor little Amy!' said Mary, and she asked no more questions, but wasanxious to make her own observations. 

She did not see the Edmonstones till the next evening, as the day waswet, and she only received a little note telling her that one carriagewould be sent to fetch her and Mr. Ross. The whole of the family, exceptCharles, were in the drawing-room, but Mary looked chiefly at Amy. Shewas in white, with holly in her hair, and did not look sorrowful;but she was paler and thinner than last summer, and though she spoke, smiled, and laughed when she ought, it was without the gay, childishfreedom of former times. She was a small, pale, quiet girl now, not amerry, caressing kitten. Mary recollected what she had been in the woodlast summer, and was sure it was more than Charles's illness that hadaltered her; yet still Amy had not Laura's harassed look. 

Mary had not much talk with Amy, for it was a large party, with a goodmany young ladies and children, and Amy had a great deal of work in theway of amusing them. She had a wearied look, and was evidently exertingherself to the utmost. 

'You look tired, ' said Mary, kindly. 

'No, it is only stupidity, ' said Amy, smiling rather sadly. 'We can't beentertaining without Charlie. '

'It has been a melancholy winter, ' began Mary, but she was surprised, for Amy's face and neck coloured in a moment; then, recovering herself, with some hesitation, she said, --

'Oh! but Charlie is much better, and that is a great comfort. I am gladyou are come home, Mary. '

'We are going to have some magic music, ' was said at the other end ofthe room. 'Who will play?'

'Little Amy!' said Mr. Edmonstone. 'Where is she? She always does it toadmiration. Amy, come and be a performer. '

Amy rose, and came forward, but the colour had flushed into her cheeksagain, and the recollection occurred to Mary, that her fame as aperformer, in that way, arose from the very amusing manner in which sheand Sir Guy had conducted the game last year. At the same moment hermother met her, and whispered, --

'Had you rather not, my dear?'

'I can do it, mamma, thank you--never mind. '

'I should like to send you up to Charlie--he has been so long alone. '

'Oh! thank you, dear mamma, ' with a look of relief. 

'Here is Charlotte wild to be a musician, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'Perhaps you will see how she can manage; for I think Charles must wanta visit from his little nurse. '

Amy moved quietly away, and entered Charles's room, full of warmgratitude for the kindness which was always seeking how to spare her. 

Charles was asleep, and throwing a shawl round her, she sat down in thedim light of the lamp, relieved by the stillness, only broken by now andthen a louder note of the music down-stairs. It was very comfortable, after all that buzz of talk, and the jokes that seemed so nonsensicaland tiresome. There were but two people who could manage to make a partyentertaining, and that was the reason it was so different last year. Then Amy wondered if she was the only person who felt sick at heart anddreary; but she only wondered for a moment--she murmured half aloud toherself, 'I said I never would think of him except at my prayers! Here Iam doing it again, and on Christmas night. I won't hide my eyes and moanover my broken reed; for Christmas is come, and the circles of song arewidening round! Glory! good will, peace on earth! How he sang it lastyear, the last thing, when the people were gone, before we went up tobed. But I am breaking my resolution again. I must do something. '

She took up a book of sacred poetry, and began to learn a piece whichshe already nearly knew; but the light was bad, and it was dreamy work;and probably she was half asleep, for her thoughts wandered off toSintram and the castle on the Mondenfelsen, which seemed to her likewhat she had pictured the Redclyffe crags, and the castle itself wasconnected in her imagination with the deep, echoing porch, while Guy'sown voice seemed to be chanting--

 Who lives forlorn, On God's own word doth rest; His path is bright With heavenly light, His lot among the blest. 

'Are you there, Amy?' said Charles, waking. 'What are you staying herefor? Don't they want you?'

'Mamma was so kind as to send me up. '

'I am glad you are come, for I have something to tell you. Mr. Ross hasbeen up to see me, you know, and he has a letter from Guy. '

Amy's heart beat fast, and, with eyes fixed on the ground, she listenedas Charles continued to give an account of Guy's letter about CoombePrior. 'Mr. Ross is quite satisfied about him, Amy, ' he concluded. 'Iwish you could have heard the decided way in which he said, "He will_live_ it down. "'

Amy's answer was to stoop down and kiss her brother's forehead. 

Another week brought Guy's renewal of the correspondence. 

'Amy, here is something for you to read, ' said Charles, holding up theletter as she came into the room. 

She knew the writing. 'Wait one moment, Charlie, dear;' and she ran outof the room, found her mother fortunately alone, and said, averting herface, --'Mamma, dear, do you think I ought to let Charlie show me thatletter?'

Mrs. Edmonstone took hold of her hand, and drew her round so as to lookinto the face through its veiling curls. The hand shook, and the facewas in a glow of eagerness. 'Yes, dearest!' said she, for she could nothelp it; and then, as Amy ran back again, she asked herself whether itwas foolish, and bad for her sweet little daughter, then declared toherself that it must--it should--it would come right. 

There was not a word of Amy in the letter, but it, or something else, made her more bright and cheerful than she had been for some time past. It seemed as if the lengthening days of January were bringing renewedcomfort with them, when Charles, who ever since October had beenconfined to bed, was able to wear the Chinese dressing-gown, be liftedto a couch, and wheeled into the dressing-room, still prostrate, butmuch enjoying the change of scene, which he called coming into theworld. 

These were the events at quiet Hollywell, while Redclyffe was stillengrossed with the shipwreck, which seemed to have come on purpose toenliven and occupy this solitary winter. It perplexed the Ashfordsabout their baronet more than ever. Mr. Ashford said that no one whoseconscience was not clear could have confronted danger as he had done;and yet the certainty that he was under a cloud, and the sadness, soinconsistent with his age and temperament still puzzled them. Mrs. Ashford thought she had made a discovery. The second day after thewreck, the whole crew, except the little cabin-boy, were going to setoff to the nearest sea-port; and the evening preceding their departure, they were to meet their rescuers, the fishermen, at a supper in thegreat servants' hall at the park. Edward and Robert were in great glory, bringing in huge branches of evergreens to embellish the clean, coldplace; and Mr. And Mrs. Ashford and Grace were to come to see theentertainment, after having some coffee in the library. 

Guy prepared it for his company by tumbling his books headlong fromthe sofa to a more remote ottoman, sticking a bit of holly on themantel-shelf, putting out his beloved old friend, Strutt's 'Sports andPastimes, ' to amuse Grace, and making up an immense fire; and then, looking round, thought the room was uncommonly comfortable; but thefirst thing that struck Mrs. Ashford, when, with face beaming welcome, he ushered her in from the great hall, was how forlorn rooms looked thathad not a woman to inhabit them. 

The supper went off with great eclat. Arnaud at the head of the tablecarved with foreign courtesies, contrasted with the downright bluff wayof the sailors. As soon as Sir Guy brought Mrs. Ashford to look in onthem, old James Robinson proposed his health, with hopes he would sooncome and live among them for good, and Jonas Ledbury added anotherwish, that 'Lady Morville' might soon be there too. At these words, anexpression of pain came upon Guy's face; his lips were rigidly pressedtogether; he turned hastily away, and paced up and down before he couldcommand his countenance. All were so busy cheering, that no one heededhis change of demeanour save Mrs. Ashford; and though, when he returnedto the place where he had been standing, his complexion was deepened, his lip quivered, and his voice trembled in returning thanks, Mr. Ashford only saw the emotion naturally excited by his people'sattachment. 

The lady understood it better; and when she talked it over with herhusband in the evening, they were convinced the cause of his troublemust be some unfortunate attachment, which he might think it his dutyto overcome; and having settled this, they became very fond of him, andanxious to make Redclyffe agreeable to him. 

Captain and crew departed; the little boy was better, and his hosts, Charity and Jem Ledbury, only wished to keep him for ever; the sensationat Redclyffe was subsiding, when one morning Markham came, in a state ofextreme satisfaction and importance, to exhibit the county paper, witha full account of the gallant conduct of the youthful baronet. Two orthree days after, on coming home from a ride to Coombe Prior, Guy foundLord Thorndale's card, and heard from Arnaud that 'my lord had madeparticular inquiries how long he would be in the country, and had beento the cliff to see where the wreck was. '

Markham likewise attached great importance to this visit, and wentoff into a long story about his influence, and the representationof Moorworth, or even of the county. As soon as Guy knew what he wastalking about, he exclaimed, 'Oh, I hope all that is not coming on meyet! Till I can manage Todd and Coombe Prior, I am sure I am not fit tomanage the country!'

A few mornings after, he found on the table an envelope, whichhe studied, as if playing with his eagerness. It had an East-hillpost-mark, and a general air of Hollywell writing, but it was not in thehand of either of the gentlemen, nor was the tail of the y such as Mrs. Edmonstone was wont to make. It had even a resemblance to Amabel's ownwriting that startled him. He opened it at last, and within found thehand he could not doubt--Charles's, namely--much more crooked thanusual, and the words shortened and blotted:--

'DEAR G. , --I ought not to do this, but I must; I have tyrannized overCharlotte, and obtained the wherewithal. Write me a full account of yourgallant conduct. I saw it first in A. 's face. It has done you great goodwith my father. I will write more when I can. I can't get on now. 'C. M. E. '

He might well say he had first seen it in his sister's face. She hadbrought him the paper, and was looking for something he wanted her toread to him, when 'Redclyffe Bay' met her eye, and then came the wholeat one delightful glance. He saw the heightened colour, the exquisitesmile, the tear-drop on the eyelash. 

'Amy! what have you there?'

She pointed to the place, gave the paper into his hand, and burst intotears, the gush of triumphant feeling. Not one was shed because she wasdivided from the hero of the shipwreck; they were pure unselfish tearsof joy, exultation, and thankfulness. Charles read the history, and shelistened in silence; then looked it over again with him, and betrayedhow thoroughly she had been taught the whole geography of Redclyffe Bay. The next person who came in was Charlotte; and as soon as she understoodwhat occupied them, she went into an ecstasy, and flew away with thepaper, rushing with it straight into her father's room, where she brokeinto the middle of his letter-writing, by reading it in a voice oftriumph. 

Mr. Edmonstone was delighted. He was just the person who would be farmore taken with an exploit of this kind, such as would make a figure inthe world, than by steady perseverance in well-doing, and his heart waswon directly. His wrath at the hasty words had long been diminishing, and now was absolutely lost in his admiration. 'Fine fellow! noblefellow!' he said. 'He is the bravest boy I ever heard of, but I knewwhat was in him from the first. I wish from my heart there was not thiscloud over him. I am sure the whole story has not a word of truth in it, but he won't say a word to clear himself, or else we would have him hereagain to-morrow. '

This was the first time Mr. Edmonstone had expressed anything of realdesire to recall Guy, and it was what Charles meant in his letter. 

The tyranny over Charlotte was exercised while the rest were at dinner, and they were alone together. They talked over the adventure for thetenth time that day, and Charles grew so excited that he vowed that hemust at once write to Guy, ordered her to give him the materials, andwhen she hesitated, forced her into it, by declaring that he should getup and reach the things himself, which would be a great deal worse. Shewanted to write from his dictation, but he would not consent, thinkingthat his mother might not consider it proper, and he began vigorously;but though long used to writing in a recumbent posture, he found himselfless capable now than he had expected, and went on soliloquizing thus:'What a pen you've given me, Charlotte. There goes a blot! Here, anotherdip, will you! and take up that with the blotting paper before itbecomes more like a spider. '

'Won't you make a fresh beginning?'

'No, that has cost me too much already. I've got no more command over myfingers. Here we go into the further corner of the paper. Well! C. M. E. There 'tis--do it up, will you? If he can read it he'll be lucky. How myarms ache!'

'I hope it has not hurt you, Charlie; but I am sure he will be very gladof it. Oh! I am glad you said that about Amy. '

'Who told you to read it, Puss?'

'I could not help it, 'tis so large. '

'I believe I _didn't_ _ought_ to have said it. Don't tell her I did, 'said Charles; 'but I couldn't for the life of me--or what is more to thepurpose, for the trouble of it--help putting it. He is too true a knightnot to hear that his lady, not exactly smiled, but cried. '

'He is a true knight, ' said Charlotte, emphatically, as with her bestpen, and with infinite satisfaction, she indited the 'Sir Guy Morville, Bart. , Redclyffe Park, Moorworth, ' only wishing she could lengthen outthe words infinitely. 

'Do you remember, Charlie, how we sat here the first evening he came, and you took me in about the deadly feud?'

'It was no take-in, ' said Charles; 'only the feud is all on one side. '

'Oh, dear! it has been such a stupid winter without Guy, ' sighedCharlotte; 'if this won't make papa forgive him, I don't know whatwill. '

'I wish it would, with all my heart, ' said Charles; 'but logically, ifyou understand the word, Charlotte, it does not make much difference tothe accusation. It would not exactly be received as exculpatory evidencein a court of justice. '

'You don't believe the horrid stories?'

'I believe that Guy has gamed quite as much as I have myself; but I wantto see him cleared beyond the power of Philip to gainsay or disbelieveit. I should like to have such a force of proof as would annihilatePhilip, and if I was anything but what I am, I would have it. If youcould but lend me a leg for two days, Charlotte. '

'I wish I could. '

'One thing shall be done, ' proceeded Charles: 'my father shall go andmeet him in person when he comes of age. Now Don Philip is out of theway, I trust I can bring that about. '

'If he would but come here!'

'No, that must not be, as mamma says, till there is some explanation;but if I was but in my usual state, I would go with papa and meet himin London. I wonder if there is any chance of it. The 28th of March--tenweeks off! If I can but get hold of those trusty crutches of mine bythat time I'll do, and I'll do, and I'll do. We will bring back Amy'sknight with flying colours. '

'Oh how happy we should be!'

'If I only knew what sort of sense that Markham of his may have, I wouldgive him a hint, and set him to ferret out at St. Mildred's. Or shall Iget Dr. Mayerne to order me there for change of air?'

So schemed Charles; while Guy, on his side, busied himself at Redclyffeas usual; took care and thought for the cabin-boy--returned LordThorndale's call without finding him at home--saw the school finished, and opened--and became more intimate with the Ashfords. 

He said he should not come home at Easter, as he should be very busyreading for his degree; and as his birthday this year fell in HolyWeek, there could be no rejoicings; besides, as he was not to have hisproperty in his own hands till he was five-and-twenty, it would makeno difference to the people. The Ashfords agreed they had rather he wassafe at home for the vacation, and were somewhat anxious when he spokeof coming home to settle, after he had taken his degree. 

For his own part he was glad the season would prevent any rejoicings, for he was in no frame of mind to enter into them and his birthday hadbeen so sad a day for his grandfather, that he had no associations ofpleasure connected with it. 

Markham understood the feeling, liked it, and shared it, only sayingthat they would have their day of rejoicing when he married. Guy couldnot answer, and the old steward remarked the look of pain. 

'Sir Guy, ' said he, 'is it that which is wrong with you? Don't be angrywith an old man for asking the question, but I only would hope and trustyou are not getting into any scrape. '

'Thank you, Markham, ' said Guy, after an effort; 'I cannot tell youabout it. I will only set you at rest by saying it is nothing you couldthink I ought to be ashamed of. '

'Then why--what has come between? What could man or woman object to inyou?' said Markham, regarding him proudly. 

'These unhappy suspicions, ' said Guy. 

I can't make it out, ' said Markham. 'You must have been doing somethingfoolish to give rise to them. '

Guy told nearly what he had said on the first day of his return, butnothing could be done towards clearing up the mystery, and he returnedto Oxford as usual. 

March commenced, and Charles, though no longer absolutely recumbent, andable to write letters again, could not yet attempt to use his crutches, so that all his designs vanished, except that of persuading his fatherto go to London to meet Guy and Markham there, and transact the businessconsequent on his ward's attaining his majority. He trusted much toGuy's personal influence, and said to his father, 'You know no one hasseen him yet but Philip, and he would tell things to you that he mightnot to him. '

It was an argument that delighted Mr. Edmonstone. 

'Of course I have more weight and experience, and--and poor Guy is veryfond of us. Eh, Charlie?'

So Charles wrote to make an appointment for Guy to meet his guardian andMarkham in London on Easter Tuesday. 'If you will clear up the gamblingstory, ' he wrote, 'all may yet be well. '

Guy sighed as he laid aside the letter. 'All in vain, kind Charlie, 'said he to himself, 'vain as are my attempts to keep my poor unclefrom sinking himself further! Is it fair, though, ' continued he, withvehemence, 'that the happiness of at least one life should be sacrificedto hide one step in the ruin of a man who will not let himself be saved?Is it not a waste of self-devotion? Have I any right to sacrifice hers?Ought I not rather'--and a flash of joy came over him--'to make my unclegive me back my promise of concealment? I can make it up to him. Itcannot injure him, since only the Edmonstones will know it! But'--andhe pressed his lips firmly together--'is this the spirit I have beenstruggling for this whole winter? Did I not see that patient waiting andyielding is fit penance for my violence. It would be ungenerous. I willwait and bear, contented that Heaven knows my innocence at least inthis. For her, when at my best I dreaded that my love might bring sorrowon her--how much more now, when I have seen my doom face to face, and when the first step towards her would be what I cannot openly andabsolutely declare to be right? That would be the very means of bringingthe suffering on her, and I should deserve it. '

Guy quitted these thoughts to write to Markham to make the appointment, finishing his letter with a request that Markham would stop at St. Mildred's on his way to London, and pay Miss Wellwood, the lady withwhom his uncle's daughter was placed, for her quarter's board. 'I hopethis will not be a very troublesome request, ' wrote Guy; 'but I knowyou had rather I did it in this way, than disobey your maxims, as to notsending money by the post. '

The time before the day of meeting was spent in strengthening himselfagainst the pain it would be to refuse his confidence to Mr. Edmonstone, and thus to throw away the last chance of reconciliation, and of Amy. This would be the bitterest pang of all--to see them ready to receivehim, and he forced to reject their kindness. 

So passed the preceding week, and with it his twenty-first birthday, spent very differently from the way in which it would ordinarily bepassed by a youth in his position. It went by in hard study and sadmusings, in bracing himself to a resolution that would cost him all heheld dear, and, as the only means of so bracing himself, in trying tofix his gaze more steadily beyond the earth. 

Easter day steadied the gaze once more for him, and as the past week hadnerved him in the spirit of self-sacrifice, the feast day brought himtrue unchanging joy, shining out of sadness, and enlightening the paththat would lead him to keep his resolution to the utmost, and endure thewant of earthly hope. 

CHAPTER 25

 Already in thy spirit thus divine, Whatever weal or woe betide, Be that high sense of duty still thy guide, And all good powers will aid a soul like thine. --SOUTHEY

'Now for it!' thought Guy, as he dismissed his cab, and was shownup-stairs in the hotel. 'Give me the strength to withstand!'

The door was opened, and he beheld Mr. Edmonstone, Markham, andanother--it surely was Sebastian Dixon! All sprung up to receive him;and Mr. Edmonstone, seizing him by both hands, exclaimed--

'Here he is himself! Guy, my boy, my dear boy, you are the most generousfellow in the world! You have been used abominably. I wish my two handshad been cut off before I was persuaded to write that letter, but it isall right now. Forget and forgive--eh, Guy? You'll come home with me, and we will write this very day for Deloraine. '

Guy was almost giddy with surprise. He held one of Mr. Edmonstone'shands, and pressed it hard; his other hand he passed over his eyes, asif in a dream. 'All right?' he repeated. 

'All right!' said Mr. Edmonstone. 'I know where your money went, and Ihonour you for it, and there stands the man who told me the whole story. I said, from the first, it was a confounded slander. It was all owing tothe little girl. '

Guy turned his face in amazement towards his uncle, who was only waitingto explain. 'Never till this morning had I the least suspicion that Ihad been the means of bringing you under any imputation. How could youkeep me in ignorance?'

'You have told--'

'Of the cheque, ' broke in Mr. Edmonstone, 'and of all the rest, andof your providing for the little girl. How could you do it with thatpittance of an allowance of yours? And Master Philip saying you neverhad any money! No wonder, indeed!'

'If I had known you were pinching yourself, ' said Dixon, 'my mind wouldhave revolted--'

'Let me understand it, ' said Guy, grasping the back of a chair. 'Tellme, Markham. Is it really so? Am I cleared? Has Mr. Edmonstone a rightto be satisfied?'

'Yes, Sir Guy, ' was Markham's direct answer. 'Mr. Dixon has accountedfor your disposal of the thirty pound cheque, and there is an end of thematter. '

Guy drew a long breath, and the convulsive grasp of his fingers relaxed. 

'I cannot thank you enough!' said he to his uncle; then to Mr. Edmonstone, 'how is Charles?'

'Better--much better, you shall see him to-morrow--eh, Guy?'

'But I cannot explain about the one thousand pounds. '

'Never mind--you never had it, so you can't have misspent it. That'sneither here nor there. '

'And you forgive my language respecting you?'

'Nonsense about that! If you never said anything worse than that Philipwas a meddling coxcomb, you haven't much to repent of; and I am sure Iwas ten old fools when I let him bore me into writing that letter. '

'No, no; you did right under your belief; and circumstances were strongagainst me. And is it clear? Are we where we were before?'

'We are--we are in everything, only we know better what you are worth, Guy. Shake hands once more. There's an end of all misunderstanding andvexation, and we shall be all right at home again!'

The shake was a mighty one. Guy shaded his face for a moment or two, andthen said--

'It is too much. I don't understand it. How did you know this matterwanted explanation?' said he, turning to his uncle. 

'I learnt it from Mr. Markham, and you will do me the justice tobelieve, that I was greatly shocked to find that your generosity--'

'The truth of the matter is this, ' said Markham. 'You sent me to MissWellwood's, at St. Mildred's. The principal was not within, and whilewaiting for her to make the payment, I got into conversation with hersister, Miss Jane. She told me that the child, Mr. Dixon's daughter, was always talking of your kindness, especially of a morning at St. Mildred's, when you helped him in some difficulty. I thought this threwsome light on the matter, found out Mr. Dixon this morning, and you seethe result. '

'I do, indeed, ' said Guy; 'I wish I could attempt to thank you all. '

'Thanks enough for me to see you look like yourself, ' said Markham. 'Didyou think I was going to sit still and leave you in the mess you had gotyourself into, with your irregularity about keeping your accounts?'

'And to you, ' said Guy, looking at his uncle, as if it was especiallypleasant to be obliged to him. 'You never can guess what I owe to you!'

'Nay, I deserve no thanks at all, ' said Sebastian, 'since I was themeans of bringing the imputation on you; and I am sure it is enough fora wretch like me, not to have brought only misery wherever I turn--tohave done something to repair the evil I have caused. Oh, could I butbring back your father to what he was when first I saw him as you arenow!'

He was getting into one of those violent fits of self-reproach, at oncegenuine and theatrical, of which Guy had a sort of horror, and it waswell Mr. Edmonstone broke in, like comedy into tragedy. 

'Come, what's past can't be helped, and I have no end of work to bedone, so there's speechifying enough for once. Mr. Dixon, you must notbe going. Sit down and look over the newspaper, while we sign thesepapers. You must dine with us, and drink your nephew's health, though itis not his real birthday. '

Guy was much pleased that Mr. Edmonstone should have given thisinvitation, as well as with the consideration Markham had shown forDixon in his narration. Mr. Dixon, who had learnt to consider parentsand guardians as foes and tyrants, stammered and looked confusedand enraptured; but it appeared that he could not stay, for he had aprofessional engagement. He gave them an exhortation to come to theconcert where he was employed, and grew so ardent in his description ofit, that Guy could have wished to go; but his companions were in hasteto say there was far too much to do. And the next moment Guy toldhimself, that Mr. Edmonstone's good-natured face and joyous 'eh, Guy?'were more to him than any music he could hear nearer than Hollywell. 

He went down-stairs with his uncle, who all the way raved about themusic, satisfied to find ears that could comprehend, and was too full ofit even to attend or respond to the parting thanks, for his last wordswere something about a magnificent counter-tenor. 

Guy walked up slowly, trying to gather his thoughts: but when it cameback to him that Amy was his again, his brain seemed to reel withecstasy, and it would have taken far more time than he could spare torecall his sober senses, so he opened the door, to convince himself atleast of Mr. Edmonstone's presence, and was received with another shakeof the hand. 

'So here you are again. I was afraid he was carrying you off to hisconcert after all! I believe you have half a mind for it. Do you liketo stay in London for the next? Eh, Guy?' and it was good to hear Mr. Edmonstone's hearty laugh, as he patted his ward on the shoulder, sawhis blushing, smiling shake of the head, and gave a knowing look, whichlet in a fresh light on Markham, and luckily was unseen by Guy. 

'Well, ' continued Mr. Edmonstone, 'the man is more gentlemanlike than Iexpected. A good sort of fellow at the bottom, I dare say. He was prettyconsiderably shocked to find he had brought you into such a scrape. '

'He is very generous, ' said Guy. 'Oh, there is much of a noble characterin him. '

'Noble! humph!' put in Markham. 'He has gone down-hill fast enough, since I used to see him in your father's time; but I am glad he had thedecency not to be the undoing of you. '

'His feeling is his great point, ' said Guy, 'when you can once get atit. I wish--' But breaking off short, 'I can't make it out. What didlittle Marianne tell you? Or was it Miss Wellwood?'

'It was first the youngest sister, ' said Markham. 'I sat there talkingto her some little time; she said you had been very kind to the family, and the child was very grateful to you--was always talking of somemorning when you and your dog came, and helped her mother. Her fatherhad been out all night, and her mother was crying, she said, anddeclaring he would be sent to prison, till you came and helped them. '

'Yes, that's it, ' said Guy. 

'Well, I remembered what you had told me of the mystery of the draft, and guessed that this might be the clue to it. I begged to see thechild, and in she came, the very image of your mother, and a sharplittle thing that knew what she meant, but had not much idea of theshame, poor child, about her father. She told me the story of his cominghome in the morning, and her mother being in great distress, and sayingthey were ruined, till you came and talked to her mother, and gave hersomething. I asked if it was money, and she said it was paper. I showedher a draft, and she knew it was like that. So then I made her tell mewhere to find her father, whom I used to know in old times, and had towrite to, now and then. I hunted him up, and a creditable figure he was, to be sure; but I got the truth out of him at last, and when he heardyou had got into disgrace on his account, he raved like a tragedy hero, and swore he would come and tell your guardian the whole story. I puthim into a cab for fear he should repent, and he had just got to the endof it when you came in. '

'It is of no use to thank you again, Markham!'

'Why, I have been getting your family out of scrapes these forty yearsor thereabouts, ' said Markham; ''tis all I am good for; and if they hadbeen no worse than this one it would be better for all of us. But timeis getting on, and there is enough to do. '

To the accounts they went at once. There was a good deal to be settled;and though Guy had as yet no legal power, according to his grandfather'swill, he was of course consulted about everything. He was glad that, since he could not be alone to bring himself to the realization of hisnewly-recovered happiness, he should have this sobering and engrossingoccupation. There he sat, coolly discussing leases and repairs, and onlynow and then allowing himself a sort of glimpse at the treasury ofjoy awaiting him whenever he had time to dwell on it. The Coombe Priormatters were set in a better train, the preliminary arrangements aboutthe curacy were made, and Guy had hopes it would be his friend Mr. Wellwood's title for Orders. 

There was no time to write to Hollywell, or rather Mr. Edmonstone forgotto do so till it was too late, and then consoled himself by observingthat it did not signify if his family were taken by surprise, since joykilled no one. 

His family were by no means of opinion that it did not signify when thenext morning's post brought them no letter. Mrs Edmonstone and Charleshad hoped much, and Amy did not know how much she hoped until themelancholy words, 'no letter, ' passed from one to the other. 

To make it worse, by some of those mismanagements of Mr. Edmonstone'swhich used to run counter to his wife's arrangements, a dinner-party hadbeen fixed for this identical Wednesday, and the prospect was agreeableto no one, especially when the four o'clock train did not bring Mr. Edmonstone, who, therefore, was not to be expected till seven, when allthe world would be arrived. 

Laura helped Amy to dress, put the flowers in her hair, kissed her, andtold her it was a trying day; and Amy sighed wearily, thanked her, andwent down with arms twined in hers, whispering, 'If I could help beingso foolish as to let myself have a little hope!'

Laura thought the case so hopeless, that she was sorry Amy could notcease from the foolishness, and did not answer. Amy sat down at the footof the sofa, whither Charles was now carried down every day, and withoutventuring to look at him, worked at her netting. A carriage--hercolour came and went, but it was only some of the guests; another--theBrownlows. Amy was speaking to Miss Brownlow when she heard moregreetings; she looked up, caught by the arm of the sofa, and lookedagain. Her father was pouring out apologies and welcomes, and her motherwas shaking hands with Guy. 

Was it a dream? She shut her eyes, then looked again. He was close toher by this time, she felt his fingers close on her white glove forone moment, but she only heard his voice in the earnest 'How are you, Charlie?' Her father came to her, gave her first his usual kiss ofgreeting, then, not letting her go, looked at her for a moment, and, asif he could not help it, kissed her on both cheeks, and said, 'How d'yedo, my little Amy?' in a voice that meant unutterable things. All theroom was swimming round; there was nothing for it but to run away, andshe ran, but from the ante-room she heard the call outside, 'Sir Guy'sbag to his room, ' and she could not rush out among the servants. At thatmoment, however, she spied Mary Ross and her father; she darted up tothem, said something incoherent about Mary's bonnet, and took her up toher own room. 

'Amy, my dear, you look wild. What has come to you?'

'Papa is come home, and--' the rest failed, and Amy was as red as thecamellia in her hair. 

'And?' repeated Mary, 'and the mystery is explained?'

'Oh! I don't know; they are only just come, and I was so silly, I ranaway, --I did not know what to do. '

'_They_ are come, are they?' thought Mary. 'My little Amy, I see itall. '

She made the taking off her bonnet and the settling her lace aselaborate an operation as she could, and Amy flitted about as if she didnot by any means know what she was doing. A springy, running step washeard on the stairs and in the passage, and Mary, though she could notsee her little friend's face, perceived her neck turn red for a moment, after which Amy took her arm, pressed it affectionately, and they wentdown. 

Mrs. Edmonstone was very glad to see Amabel looking tolerably natural. 'Mamma' was of course burning to hear all, but she was so confident thatthe essentials were safe, that her present care was to see how her twoyoung lovers would be able to comport themselves, and to be on her guardagainst attending to them more than to her guests. 

Amy, after passing by Charles, and getting a squeeze from hisever-sympathizing hand, put herself away behind Mary, while Laura talkedto every one, hoping to show that there was some self-possession in thefamily. Guy reappeared, but, after one glance to see if Amy was present, he did not look at her again, but went and leant over the lower end ofCharles's sofa, just as he used to do; and Charles lay gazing at him, and entirely forgetting what he had been trying to say just before toMrs. Brownlow, professing to have come from London that morning, and making the absent mistakes likely to be attributed to the loversthemselves. 

Mr. Edmonstone came, and dinner followed. As Mrs. Edmonstone paired offher company, she considered what to do with her new arrival. 

'If you had come two hours ago, ' said she, within herself, 'I would havelet you be at home. Now you must be a great man, and be content with me. It will be better for Amy. '

Accordingly Guy was between her and Mrs. Gresham. She did not tryto speak to him, and was amused by his fitful attempts at makingconversation with Mrs. Gresham, when it struck him that he ought to betaking notice of her. Amy (very fortunately, in her own opinion) was outof sight of him, on the same side of the table, next to Mr. Ross, who, like his daughter, guessed enough about the state of things to let heralone. 

Charles was enjoying all manner of delightful conjectures withCharlotte, till the ladies returned to the drawing-room, and then hesaid as much as he dared to Mary Ross, far more than she had gained fromLaura, who, as they came out of the dining-room, had said, --

'Don't ask me any questions, for I know nothing at all about it. '

Amy was talked to by Mrs. Gresham about club-books, and new flowers, towhich she was by this time able to attend very well, satisfied thathis happiness had returned, and content to wait till the good time forknowing how. She could even be composed when the gentlemen came in, Guytalking to Mr. Ross about Coombe Prior, and then going to Charles; butpresently she saw no more, for a request for music was made, and she wasobliged to go and play a duet with Laura. She did not dislike this, butthere followed a persecution for some singing. Laura would have sparedher, but could not; and while she was turning over the book to try tofind something that was not impossible to begin, and Laura whisperingencouragingly, 'This--try this--your part is almost nothing; or can'tyou do this?' another hand turned over the leaves, as if perfectly athome in them, and, without speaking, as if it was natural for him tospare Amy, found a song which they had often sung together, where shemight join as much or as little as she chose, under cover of his voice. She had not a thought or sensation beyond the joy of hearing it again, and she stood, motionless, as if in a trance. When it was over, he saidto Laura, 'I beg your pardon for making such bad work. I am so much outof practice. '

Mrs. Brownlow was seen advancing on them; Amy retreated, leaving Guyand Laura to fulfil all that was required of them, which they did witha very good grace, and Laura's old familiar feeling began to revive, so much that she whispered while he was finding the place, 'Don't youdislike all this excessively?'

'It does as well as anything else, thank you, ' was the answer. 'I can doit better than talking. '

At last they were released, and the world was going away. Mary could nothelp whispering to Mrs. Edmonstone, 'How glad you must be to get rid ofus!' and, as Mrs. Edmonstone answered with a smile, she ventured furtherto say, --'How beautifully Amy has behaved!'

Little Amy, as soon as she had heard the last carriage roll off, wishedevery one good night, shook hands with Guy, holding up the lightedcandle between him and her face as a veil, and ran away to her own room. The others remained in a sort of embarrassed silence, Mr. Edmonstonerubbing his hands; Laura lighted the candles, Charlotte asked afterBustle, and was answered that he was at Oxford, and Charles, laying holdof the side of the sofa, pulled himself by it into a sitting posture. 

'Shall I help you?' said Guy. 

'Thank you, but I am not ready yet; besides, I am an actual log now, andam carried as such, so it is of no use to wait for me. Mamma shall havethe first turn, and I won't even leave my door open. '

'Yes, yes, yes; go and have it out with mamma, next best to Amy herself, as she is run away--eh, Guy?' said Mr. Edmonstone. 

Guy and Mrs. Edmonstone had not hitherto trusted themselves to speakto each other, but they looked and smiled; then, wishing the rest goodnight, they disappeared. Then there was a simultaneous outbreak of'Well?'

'All right!' said Mr. Edmonstone. 'Every word was untrue. He is thenoblest fellow in the world, as I knew all the time, and I was an oldfool for listening to a pack of stories against him. '

'Hurrah!' cried Charles, drumming on the back of his sofa. 'Let us hearhow the truth came out, and what it was. '

'It was that Dixon. There has he been helping that man for ever, sendinghis child to school, giving him sums upon sums, paying his gaming debtswith that cheque!'

'Oh, oh!' cried Charles. 

'Yes that was it! The child told Markham of it, and Markham broughtthe father to tell me. It puts me in a rage to think of the monstrousstories Philip has made me believe!'

'I was sure of it!' cried Charles. 'I knew it would come out that he hadonly been so much better than other people that nobody could believe it. Cleared! cleared! Why, Charlotte, Mr. Ready-to-halt will be for footingit cleverly enough!' as she was wildly curvetting round him. 

'I was always sure, ' said Mr. Edmonstone. 'I knew it was not in him togo wrong. It was only Philip, who would persuade me black was white. '

'I never believed one word of it, ' said Charles; 'still less after I sawPhilip's animosity. '

'"Les absens ont toujours tort, "' interrupted Laura; then, afraid ofsaying too much, she added, --'Come, Charlotte, it is very late. '

'And I shall be the first to tell Amy!' cried Charlotte. 'Good night, papa!--good night, Charlie!'

She rushed up-stairs, afraid of being forestalled. Laura lingered, putting some books away in the ante-room, trying to overcome the wearypain at her heart. She did not know how to be confident. Her father'sjudgment was worthless in her eyes, and Philip had predicted that Amywould be sacrificed after all. To see them happy made her sigh at thedistance of her own hopes, and worse than all was self-reproachfor unkindness in not rejoicing with the rest, in spite of her realaffection for Guy himself. When she thought of him, she could notbelieve him guilty; when she thought of Philip's belief, she could notsuppose him innocent, and she pitied her sister for enjoying a delusivehappiness. With effort, however, she went to her room, and, finding hera little overpowered by Charlotte's tumultuous joy, saw that peaceand solitude were best for her till she could have more certainintelligence, and, after very tender good-nights, carried off Charlotte. 

It would be hard to describe Mrs. Edmonstone's emotion, as she precededGuy to the dressing-room, and sat down, looking up to him as he stood inhis old place by the fire. She thought he did not look well, though itmight be only that the sun-burnt colour had given place to his naturalfairness; his eyes, though bright as ever, did not dance and sparkle;a graver expression sat on his brow; and although he still looked veryyoung, a change there certainly was, which made him man instead ofboy--a look of having suffered, and conquered suffering. She felt evenmore motherly affection for him now than when he last stood there in thefull tide of his first outburst of his love for her daughter, and herheart was almost too full for speech; but he seemed to be waiting forher, and at last she said, --'I am very glad to have you here again. '

He smiled a little, then said, 'May I tell you all about it?'

'Sit down here. I want very much to hear it. I am sure you have gonethrough a good deal. '

 I have, indeed, ' said he, simply and gravely; and there was a silence, while she was certain that, whatever he might have endured, he did notfeel it to have been in vain. 

'But it is at an end, ' said she. 'I have scarcely seen Mr. Edmonstone, but he tells me he is perfectly satisfied. '

'He is so kind as to be satisfied, though you know I still cannotexplain about the large sum I asked him for. '

'We will trust you, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling, 'but I am veryanxious to hear how you came to an understanding. '

Guy went over the story in detail, and very much affected she was tohear how entirely unfounded had been the suspicion, and how thankful hewas for Mr. Edmonstone's forgiveness. 

'You had rather to forgive us!' said she. 

'You forget how ill I behaved, ' said Guy, colouring. 'If you knew themadness of those first moments of provocation, you would think that thepenance of a lifetime, instead of only one winter, would scarce havebeen sufficient. '

'You would not say, as Charles does, that the suspicion justified youranger?'

'No, indeed!' He paused, and spoke again. 'Thank Heaven, it did not lastlong; but the insight it gave me into the unsubdued evil about me was afearful thing. '

'But you conquered it. They were the unguarded exclamations of the firstshock. Your whole conduct since, especially the interview with Philip, has shown that your anger has not been abiding, and that you have learntto subdue it. '

'It could not abide, for there was no just cause of offence. Of coursesuch a dreadful outburst warned me to be on my guard; and you know thevery sight of Philip is a warning that there is danger in that way! Imean, ' said Guy, becoming conscious that he had been very severe, 'Imean that I know of old that I am apt to be worried by his manner, andthat ought to make me doubly cautious. '

Mrs. Edmonstone was struck by the soberer manner in which he spokeof his faults. He was as ready to take full blame, but without thevehemence which he used to expend in raving at himself instead of at theoffender. It seemed as if he had brought himself to the tone he used todesire so earnestly. 

'I am very glad to be able to explain all to Philip, ' he said. 

'I will write as soon as possible. Oh, Mrs. Edmonstone! if you knew whatit is to be brought back to such unhoped-for happiness, to sit hereonce more, with you, '--his voice trembled, and the tears were in hereyes, --'to have seen _her_, to have all overlooked, and return to all Ihoped last year. I want to look at you all, to believe that it is true, 'he finished, smiling. 

'You both behaved very well this evening, ' said she, laughing, becauseshe could do so better than anything else at that moment. 

'You both!' murmured Guy to himself. 

'Ah! little Amy has been very good this winter. '

He answered her with a beautiful expression of his eyes, was silent alittle while, and suddenly exclaimed, in a candid, expostulating tone, 'But now, seriously, don't you think it a very bad thing for her?'

'My dear Guy, ' said she, scarcely repressing a disposition to laugh, 'Itold you last summer what I thought of it, and you must settle the restwith Amy to-morrow. I hear the drawing-room bell, which is a sign I mustsend you to bed. Good night!'

'Good night!' repeated Guy, as he held her hand. 'It is so long since Ihave had any one to wish me good night! Good night, mamma!'

She pressed his hand, then as he ran down to lend a helping hand incarrying Charles, she, the tears in her eyes, crossed the passage to seehow it was with her little Amy, and to set her at rest for the night. Amy's candle was out, and she was in bed, lying full in the light of theEaster moon, which poured in glorious whiteness through her window. Shestarted up as the door opened. 'Oh, mamma! how kind of you to come!'

'I can only stay a moment, my dear; your papa is coming up; but I mustjust tell you that I have been having such a nice talk with dear Guy. He has behaved beautifully, and papa is quite satisfied. Now, darling, I hope you will not lie awake all night, or you won't be fit to talk tohim to-morrow. '

Amy sat up in bed, and put her arms round her mother's neck. 'Then he ishappy again, ' she whispered. 'I should like to hear all. '

'He shall tell you himself to-morrow, my dear. Now, good night! you havebeen a very good child. Now, go to sleep, my dear one. '

Amy lay down obediently. 'Thank you for coming to tell me, dear mamma, 'she said. 'I am very glad; good night. '

She shut her eyes, and there was something in the sweet, obedient, placid look of her face, as the white moonlight shone upon it, that madeher mother pause and gaze again with the feeling, only tenderer, leftby a beautiful poem. Amy looked up to see why she delayed; she gave heranother kiss, and left her in the moonlight. 

Little Amy's instinct was to believe the best and do as she was bidden, and there was a quietness and confidence in the tone of her mind whichgave a sort of serenity of its own even to suspense. A thankful, happysensation that all was well, mamma said so, and Guy was there, had takenpossession of her, and she did not agitate herself to know how or why, for mamma, had told her to put herself to sleep; so she thought of allthe most thanksgiving verses of her store of poetry, and before themoon had passed away from her window, Amabel Edmonstone was wrapped in asleep dreamless and tranquil as an infant's. 

CHAPTER 26

 Hence, bashful cunning, And prompt me, plain and holy innocence. I am your wife if you will marry me. --TEMPEST

Amabel awoke to such a sense of relief and repose that she scarcelyliked to ask herself the cause, lest it might ruffle her complete peace. Those words 'all right, ' seemed to be enough to assure her that thecloud was gone. 

Her mother came in, told her one or two of the main facts, and took herdown under her wing, only stopping by the way for a greeting to Charles, who could not rise till after breakfast. He held her fast, and gazed upin her face, but she coloured so deeply, cast down her eyes, and lookedso meek and submissive, that he let her go, and said nothing. 

The breakfast party were for the most part quiet, silent, and happy. Even Charlotte was hushed by the subdued feeling of the rest, and Mr. Edmonstone's hilarity, though replied to in turn by each, failed to wakethem into mirth. Guy ran up and down-stairs continually, to wait uponCharles; and thus the conversation was always interrupted as fast as itbegan, so that the only fact that came out was the cause of the latenessof their arrival yesterday. Mr. Edmonstone had taken it for granted thatGuy, like Philip, would watch for the right time, and warn him, whileGuy, being excessively impatient, had been so much afraid of lettinghimself fidget, as to have suffered the right moment to pass, and thenborne all the blame. 

'How you must have wanted to play the Harmonious Blacksmith, ' saidCharlotte. 

'I caught myself going through the motions twice, ' said Guy. 

Mrs. Edmonstone said to herself that he might contest the palm of temperwith Amy even; the difference being, that hers was naturally sweet, hisa hasty one, so governed that the result was the same. When breakfastwas over, as they were rising, Guy made two steps towards Amabel, at whom he had hitherto scarcely looked, and said, very low, in hisstraightforward way: 'Can I speak to you a little while?'

Amy's face glowed as she moved towards him, and her mother saidsomething about the drawing-room, where the next moment she foundherself. She did not use any little restless arts to play with herembarrassment; she did not torment the flowers or the chimney ornaments, nor even her own rings, she stood with her hands folded and her head alittle bent down, like a pendant blossom, ready to listen to whatevermight be said to her. 

He did not speak at first, but moved uneasily about. At last he camenearer, and began speaking fast and nervously. 

'Amabel, I want you to consider--you really ought to think whether thisis not a very bad thing for you. '

The drooping head was raised, the downcast lids lifted up, and theblue eyes fixed on him with a look at once confiding and wondering. Heproceeded--

'I have brought you nothing but unhappiness already. So far as you havetaken any interest in me, it could cause you only pain, and the more Ithink of it, the more unfit it seems that one so formed for light, andjoy, and innocent mirth, should have anything to do with the darknessthat is round me. Think well of it. I feel as if I had done a selfishthing by you, and now, you know, you are not bound. You are quite free!No one knows anything about it, or if they did, the blame would restentirely with me. I would take care it should. So, Amy, think, and thinkwell, before you risk your happiness. '

'As to that, ' replied Amy, in a soft, low voice, with _such_ a look oftruth in her clear eyes, 'I must care for whatever happens to you, andI had rather it was with you, than without you, ' she said, casting themdown again. 

'My Amy!--my own!--my Verena!'--and he held fast one of her hands, asthey sat together on the sofa--'I had a feeling that so it might bethrough the very worst, yet I can hardly believe it now. '

'Guy, ' said Amy, looking up, with the gentle resolution that had latelygrown on her, 'you must not take me for more than I am worth, and Ishould like to tell you fairly. I did not speak last time, becauseit was all so strange and so delightful, and I had no time to think, because I was so confused. But that is a long time ago, and this hasbeen a very sad winter, and I have thought a great deal. I know, and youknow, too, that I am a foolish little thing; I have been silly littleAmy always; you and Charlie have helped me to all the sense I have, andI don't think I could ever be a clever, strong-minded woman, such as oneadmires. '

'Heaven forbid!' ejaculated Guy; moved, perhaps, by a certainremembrance of St. Mildred's. 

'But, ' continued Amy, 'I believe I do really wish to be good, and I knowyou have helped me to wish it much more, and I have been trying to learnto bear things, and so'--out came something, very like a sunny smile, though some tears followed--'so if you do like such a silly littlething, it can't be helped, and we will try to make the best of her. Onlydon't say any more about my being happier without you, for one thing Iam very sure of, Guy, I had rather bear anything with you, than know youwere bearing it alone. I am only afraid of being foolish and weak, andmaking things worse for you. '

'So much worse! But still, ' he added, 'speak as you may, my Amy, Icannot, must not, feel that I have a right to think of you as my own, till you have heard all. You ought to know what my temper is before yourisk yourself in its power. Amy, my first thought towards Philip wasnothing short of murder. '

She raised her eyes, and saw how far entirely he meant what he said. 

'The first--not the second, ' she murmured. 

'Yes, the second--the third. There was a moment when I could have givenmy soul for my revenge!'

'Only a moment!'

'Only a moment, thank Heaven! and I have not done quite so badly since. I hope I have not suffered quite in vain; but if that shock couldoverthrow all my wonted guards, it might, though I pray Heaven it maynot, it might happen again. '

'I think you conquered yourself then, and that you will again, ' saidAmy. 

'And suppose I was ever to be mad enough to be angry with you?'

Amy smiled outright here. 'Of course, I should deserve it; but I thinkthe trouble would be the comforting you afterwards. Mamma said'--sheadded, after a long silence, during which Guy's feeling would not lethim speak--'mamma said, and I think, that you are much safer and betterwith such a quick temper as yours, because you are always struggling andfighting with it, on the real true religious ground, than a person moreeven tempered by nature, but not so much in earnest in doing right. '

'Yes, if I did not believe myself to be in earnest about that, I couldnever dare to speak to you at all. '

'We will help each other, ' said Amy; 'you have always helped me, longbefore we knew we cared for each other!'

'And, Amy, if you knew how the thought of you helped me last winter, even when I thought I had forfeited you for ever. '

Their talk only ceased when, at one o'clock, Mrs. Edmonstone, who hadpronounced in the dressing-room that three hours was enough for themat once, came in, and asked Guy to go and help to carry Charlesdown-stairs. 

He went, and Amy nestled up to her mother, raising her face to bekissed. 

'It is very nice!' she whispered; and then arranged her brother's sofa, as she heard his progress down-stairs beginning. He was so light andthin as to be very easily carried, and was brought in between Guyand one of the servants. When he was settled on the sofa, he beganthus, --'There was a grand opportunity lost last winter. I wascontinually rehearsing the scene, and thinking what waste it was to gothrough such a variety of torture without the dignity of danger. If Icould but have got up ever so small an alarm, I would have conjured myfather to send for Guy, entreated pathetically that the reconciliationmight be effected, and have drawn my last breath clasping their hands, thus! The curtain falls!'

He made a feint of joining their hands, put his head back, and shut hiseyes with an air and a grace that put Charlotte into an ecstasy, andmade even Amy laugh, as she quitted the room, blushing. 

'But if it had been your last breath, ' said Charlotte, 'you would nothave been much the wiser. '

'I would have come to life again in time to enjoy the "coup de theatre". I had some thoughts of trying an overdose of opium; but I thought Dr. Mayerne would have found me out. I tell you, because it is fair Ishould have the credit; for, Guy, if you knew what she was to me all thewinter, you would perceive my superhuman generosity in not receiving youas my greatest enemy. '

'I shall soon cease to be surprised at any superhuman generosity, ' saidGuy. 'But how thin you are, Charlie; you are a very feather to carry; Ihad no notion it had been such a severe business. '

'Most uncommon!' said Charles, shaking his head, with a mock solemnity. 

'It was the worst of all, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'six weeks of constantpain. '

'How very sorry Philip must have been!' exclaimed Guy. 

'Philip?' said Charlotte. 

'Why, was it not owing to him? Surely, your father told me so. Did nothe let you fall on the stairs?'

'My dear father!' exclaimed Charles, laughing; 'every disaster thathappens for the next twelvemonth will be imputed to Philip. '

'How was it, then?' said Guy. 

'The fact was this, ' said Charles; 'it was in the thick of thepersecution of you, and I was obliged to let Philip drag me upstairs, because I was in a hurry. He took the opportunity of giving me someimpertinent advice which I could not stand. I let go his arm, forgettingwhat a dependent mortal I am, and down I should assuredly have gone, ifhe had not caught me, and carried me off, as a fox does a goose, soit was his fault, as one may say, in a moral, though not in a physicalsense. '

'Then, ' said his mother, 'you do think your illness was owing to thataccident?'

'I suppose the damage was brewing, and that the shake brought it into anactive state. There's a medical opinion for you!'

'Well, I never knew what you thought of it before, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

'Why, when I had a condor to pick on Guy's account with Philip, I wasnot going to pick a crow on my own, ' said Charles. 'Oh! is luncheonready; and you all going? I never see anybody now. I want the story ofthe shipwreck, though, of course, Ben What's-his-name was the hero, andSir Guy Morville not a bit of it. '

Laura wanted to walk to East Hill, and the other young people agreed togo thither, too. 

'It will be nice to go to church there to-day' said Amy, in ahalf-whisper, heard only by Guy, and answered by a look that showed howwell he understood and sympathized. 

'Another thing, ' said Amy, colouring a good deal; 'shall you mind mytelling Mary? I behaved so oddly last night, and she was so kind to methat I think I ought. '

Mary had seen enough last night to be very curious to-day, though hardlyexpecting her curiosity to be gratified. However, as she was putting onher bonnet for church, she looked out of her window, and saw the fourcoming across the fields from Hollywell. Guy and Amy did not walk intothe village arm-in-arm; but, as they came under the church porch, Guy, unseen by all held out his hand, sought hers, and, for one moment, pressed it fervently. Amy knew he felt this like their betrothal. 

After the service, they stood talking with Mr. Ross and Mary, for somelittle time. Amy held apart, and Mary saw how it was. As they were aboutto turn homewards, Amy said quickly, 'Come and walk a little way homewith me. '

She went on with Mary before the rest, and when out of sight of themall, said, 'Mary!' and then stopped short. 

'I guess something, Amy, ' said Mary. 

'Don't tell any one but Mr. Ross. '

'Then I have guessed right. My dear little Amy, I am very glad! So thatwas the reason you flew out of the room last evening, and looked sobright and glowing!'

'It was so good of you to ask no questions!'

'I don't think I need ask any now, Amy; for I see in your face how rightand happy it all is. '

'I can't tell you all, Mary, but I must one thing, --that the wholeterrible story arose from his helping a person in distress. I like youto know that. '

'Papa was always sure that he had not been to blame, ' said Mary. 

'Yes; so Charlie told me, and that is the reason I wanted you to know. '

'Then, Amy, something of this had begun last summer?'

'Yes; but not as it is now. I did not half know what it was then. '

'Poor dear little Amy, ' said Mary; 'what a very sad winter it must havebeen for you!'

'Oh, very!' said Amy; 'but it was worse for him, because he was quitealone; and here every one was so kind to me. Mamma and Laura, and poorCharlie, through all his illness and pain, he was so very kind. And doyou know, Mary, now it is all over, I am very glad of this dismal time;for I think that it has taught me how to bear things better. '

She looked very happy. Yet it struck Mary that it was strange to hearthat the first thought of a newly-betrothed maiden was how to braceherself in endurance. She wondered, however, whether it was not a moretruly happy and safe frame than that of most girls, looking forward to alife of unclouded happiness, such as could never be realized. At least, so it struck Mary, though she owned to herself that her experience oflovers was limited. 

Mary walked with Amy almost to the borders of Hollywell garden; and whenthe rest came up with them, though no word passed, there was a greatdeal of congratulation in her warm shake of Guy's hand, and no lack ofreply in his proud smile and reddening cheek. Charlotte could not helpturning and going back with her a little way, to say, 'Are not youdelighted, Mary? Is not Amy the dearest thing in the world? And youdon't know, for it is a secret, and I know it, how very noble Guy hasbeen, while they would suspect him. '

'I am very, very glad, indeed! It is everything delightful. '

'I never was so happy in my life, ' said Charlotte; 'nor Charlie, either. Only think of having Guy for our brother; and he is going to send forBustle to-morrow. '

Mary laughed, and parted with Charlotte, speculating on the cause ofLaura's graver looks. Were they caused by the fear of losing her sister, or by a want of confidence in Guy?

That evening, how happy was the party at Hollywell, when Charles putGuy through a cross-examination on the shipwreck, from the first puff ofwind to the last drop of rain; and Guy submitted very patiently, sincehe was allowed the solace of praising his Redclyffe fishermen. 

Indeed, this time was full of tranquil, serene happiness. It was likethe lovely weather only to be met with in the spring, and then butrarely, when the sky is cloudless, and intensely blue, --the sunshineone glow of clearness without burning, --not a breath of wind checks thesilent growth of the expanding buds of light exquisite green. Such daysas these shone on Guy and Amabel, looking little to the future, or ifthey did so at all, with a grave, peaceful awe, reposing in the present, and resuming old habits, --singing, reading, gardening, walking as ofold, and that intercourse with each other that was so much more thanever before. 

It was more, but it was not quite the same; for Guy was a verychivalrous lover; the polish and courtesy that sat so well on his frank, truthful manners, were even more remarkable in his courtship. Hisways with Amy had less of easy familiarity than in the time of theirbrother-and-sister-like intimacy, so that a stranger might have imaginedher wooed, not won. It was as if he hardly dared to believe that shecould really be his own, and treated her with a sort of reverential loveand gentleness, while she looked up to him with ever-increasing honour. She was better able to understand him now than in her more childish dayslast summer; and she did not merely see, as before, that she was lookingat the upper surface of a mystery. He had, at the same time, grown incharacter, his excitability and over-sensitiveness seemed to have beensmoothed away, and to have given place to a calmness of tone, that wasby no means impassibility. 

When alone with Amy, he was generally very grave, often silent andmeditative, or else their talk was deep and serious; and even with thefamily he was less merry and more thoughtful than of old, though verybright and animated, and showing full, free affection to them all, asentirely accepted and owned as one of them. 

So, indeed, he was. Mr. Edmonstone, with his intense delight in lovers, patronized them, and made commonplace jokes, which they soon learntto bear without much discomposure. Mrs. Edmonstone was all that herconstant appellation of 'mamma' betokened, delighting in Guy's havinglearnt to call her so. Charles enjoyed the restoration of his friend, the sight of Amy's happiness, and the victory over Philip, and wasgrowing better every day. Charlotte was supremely happy, watching thefirst love affair ever conducted in her sight, and little less so in thereturn of Bustle, who resumed his old habits as regularly as if he hadonly left Hollywell yesterday. 

Laura alone was unhappy. She did not understand her own feelings; butsad at heart she was; with only one who could sympathize with her, andhe far away, and the current of feeling setting against him. She couldnot conceal her depression, and was obliged to allow it to be attributedto the grief that one sister must feel in parting with another; and asher compassion for her little Amy, coupled with her dread of her latentjealousy, made her particularly tender and affectionate, it gave evenmore probability to the supposition. This made Guy, who felt as if hewas committing a robbery on them all, particularly kind to her, as ifhe wished to atone for the injury of taking away her sister; and hiskindness gave her additional pain at entertaining such hard thoughts ofhim. 

How false she felt when she was pitied! and how she hated thecongratulations, of which she had the full share! She thought, however, that she should be able to rejoice when she had heard Philip's opinion;and how delightful it would be for him to declare himself satisfied withGuy's exculpation. 

CHAPTER 27

 I forgave thee all the blame, I could not forgive the praise. --TENNYSON

'If ever there was a meddlesome coxcomb on this earth!' Such was theexclamation that greeted the ears of Guy as he supported Charles intothe breakfast-room; and, at the same time, Mr. Edmonstone tossed aletter into Guy's plate, saying, --

'There's something for you to read. '

Guy began; his lips were tightly pressed together; his brows made oneblack line across his forehead, and his eye sparkled even through hisbent-down eyelashes; but this lasted only a few moments; the foreheadsmoothed, again, and there was a kind of deliberate restraint and forceupon himself, which had so much power, that no one spoke till he hadfinished, folded it up with a sort of extra care, and returned it, onlysaying, 'You should not show one such letters, Mr. Edmonstone. '

'Does not it beat everything?' cried Mr. Edmonstone. 'If that is notimpertinence, I should like to know what is! But he has played myLord Paramount rather too long, as I can tell him! I ask his consent, forsooth! Probation, indeed! You might marry her to-morrow, and welcome. There, give it to mamma. See if she does not say the same. Mere spiteand malice all along. '

Poor Laura! would no one refute such cruel injustice? Yes, Guy spoke, eagerly, --

'No no; that it never was. He was quite right under his belief. '

'Don't tell me! Not a word in his favour will I hear!' stormed on Mr. Edmonstone. 'Mere envy and ill-will. '

'I always told him so, ' said Charles. 'Pure malignity!'

'Nonsense, Charlie!' said Guy, sharply; 'there is no such thing abouthim. '

'Come, Guy; I can't stand this, ' said Mr. Edmonstone. 'I won't have himdefended; I never thought to be so deceived; but you all worshipped theboy as if every word that came out of his mouth was Gospel truth, andyou've set him up till he would not condescend to take an advice of hisown father, who little thought what an upstart sprig he was rearing; butI tell him he has come to the wrong shop for domineering--eh, mamma?'

'Well!' cried Mrs. Edmonstone, who had read till near the end withtolerable equanimity; this really is too bad!'

'Mamma and all!' thought poor Laura, while her mother continued, --'Itis wilful prejudice, to say the least, --I never could have believed himcapable of it!'

Charles next had the letter, and was commenting on it in a style ofmingled sarcasm and fury; while Laura longed to see it justify itself, as she was sure it would. 

'Read it, all of you--every bit, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, 'that you may seethis paragon of yours!'

'I had rather not, ' said Amy, shrinking as it came towards her. 

'I should like you to do so, if you don't dislike it very much, ' saidGuy. 

She read in silence; and then came the turn of Laura, who marvelled atthe general injustice as she read. 

 'CORK, April 8th. 'MY DEAR UNCLE, --I am much obliged to you for the communication of yourintention with regard to Amabel; but, indeed, I must say I am a gooddeal surprised that you should have so hastily resolved on so importanta step, and have been satisfied with so incomplete an explanation ofcircumstances which appeared to you, as well as to myself, to show thatGuy's character was yet quite unsettled, and his conduct such as tocreate considerable apprehension that he was habitually extremelyimprudent, to say the least of it, in the management of his own affairs. How much more unfit, therefore, to have the happiness of anotherintrusted to him? I believe--indeed, I understood you to have declaredto me that you were resolved never to allow the engagement to berenewed, unless he should, with the deference which is only due toyou as his guardian, consent to clear up the mystery with which hehas thought fit to invest all his pecuniary transactions, and this, itappears, he refuses, as he persists in denying all explanation of hisdemand for that large sum of money. As to the cheque, which certainlywas applied to discreditable uses, though I will not suffer myself tosuppose that Guy was in collusion with his uncle, yet it is not atall improbable that Dixon, not being a very scrupulous person, may, onhearing of the difficulties in which his nephew has been placed, comeforward to relieve him from his embarrassment, in the hope of furtherprofit, by thus establishing a claim on his gratitude. In fact, thisproof of secretly renewed intercourse with Dixon rather tends toincrease the presumption that there is something wrong. I am not writingthis in the expectation that the connection should be entirely brokenoff, for that, indeed, would be out of the question as things stand atpresent, but for my little cousin's sake, as well as his own, I entreatof you to pause. They are both extremely young--so young, that if therewas no other ground, many persons would think it advisable to wait a fewyears; and why not wait until the time fixed by his grandfather forhis coming into possession of his property? If the character of hisattachment to Amabel is firm and true, the probation may be of infiniteservice to him, as keeping before him, during the most critical periodof his life, a powerful motive for restraining the natural impetuosityof his disposition; while, on the other hand, if this should proveto have been a mere passing fancy for the first young lady into whosesociety he has been thrown on terms of easy familiar intercourse, youwill then have the satisfaction of reflecting that your care and cautionhave preserved your daughter from a life of misery. My opinion hasnever altered respecting him, that he is brave and generous, with goodfeelings and impulses, manners peculiarly attractive, and altogether acharacter calculated to inspire affection, but impetuous and unsteady, easily led into temptation, yet obstinate in reserve, and his temper ofunchecked violence. I wish him happiness of every kind; and, as you wellknow, would, do my utmost for his welfare; but my affection for yourwhole family, and my own conscientious conviction, make me feel it myduty to offer this remonstrance, which I hope will be regarded as by nomeans the result of any ill-will, but simply of a sincere desire for thegood of all parties, such as can only be evinced by plain speaking. 

 'Yours affectionately, 'P. MORVILLE. '

All the time Laura was reading, Guy was defending Philip against theexaggerated abuse that Mr. Edmonstone and Charles were pouring out, tillat last, Mrs. Edmonstone, getting out of patience, said, --

'My dear Guy, if we did not know you so well, we should almost accuseyou of affectation. '

'Then I shall go away, ' said Guy, laughing as he rose. 'Can you comeout with me?' said he, in a lower tone, leaning over the back of Amy'schair. 

'No; wait a bit, ' interposed Mr. Edmonstone; 'don't take her out, oryou won't be to be found, anywhere, and I want to speak to you beforeI write my letter, and go to the Union Meeting. I want to tell MasterPhilip, on the spot, that the day is fixed, and we snap our fingers athim and his probation. Wait till twenty-five! I dare say!'

At 'I want to speak to you, ' the ladies had made the first move towardsdeparture, but they were not out of hearing at the conclusion. Guylooked after Amy, but she would not look round, and Charles lay twistingBustle's curls round his fingers, and smiling to himself at the mannerin which the letter was working by contraries. The overthrow of Philip'sinfluence was a great triumph for him, apart from the way in which itaffected his friend and his sister. 

Mr. Edmonstone was disappointed that Guy would not set about fixing theday, in time for him to announce it in a letter to be written in thecourse of an hour. Guy said he had not begun on the subject with Amy, and it would never do to hurry her. Indeed, it was a new light tohimself that Mr. Edmonstone would like it to take place so soon. 

'Pray, when did you think it was to be?' said Mr. Edmonstone. 'Upon myword, I never in all my days saw a lover like you, Guy!'

'I was too happy to think about the future; besides, I did not knowwhether you had sufficient confidence in me. '

'Confidence, nonsense! I tell you if I had a dozen daughters, I wouldtrust them all to you. '

Guy smiled, and was infected by Charles's burst of laughing, but Mr. Edmonstone went on unheeding--'I have the most absolute confidencein you! I am going to write to Philip this minute, to tell him he hasplayed three-tailed Bashaw rather too long. I shall tell him it is tobe very soon, at any rate; and that if he wishes to see how I value hispragmatical advice, he may come and dance at the wedding. I declare, your mamma and that colonel of his have perfectly spoilt him with theirflattery! I knew what would come of it; you all would make a prodigy ofhim, till he is so puffed up, that he entirely forgets who he is!'

'Not I' said Charles; 'that can't be laid to my door. '

'But I'll write him such a letter this instant as shall make himremember what he is, and show him who he has to deal with. Eh, Charlie?'

'Don't you think, ' said Guy, preparing to go, 'that it might be betterto wait a day or two, till we see our way clearer, and are a littlecooler?'

'I tell you, Guy, there is no one that puts me out of patience now, butyourself. You are as bad as Philip himself. Cool? I am coolness itself, all but what's proper spirit for a man to show when his family isaffronted, and himself dictated to, by a meddling young jackanapes. I'llserve him out properly!'

A message called him away. Guy stood looking perplexed and sorrowful. 

'Never mind, ' said Charles, 'I'll take care the letter is moderate. Besides, it is only Philip, and he knows that letter-writing is not hisforte. '

'I am afraid things will be said in irritation, which you will bothregret. There are justice and reason in the letter. '

'There shall be more in the answer, as you will see. '

'No, I will not see. It is Mr. Edmonstone's concern, not mine. I am thelast person who should have anything to do with it. '

'Just what the individual in question would not have said. '

'Would you do one thing to oblige me, Charlie?'

'Anything but not speaking my mind to, or of, the captain. '

'That is the very thing, unluckily. Try to get the answer put off tillto-morrow, and that will give time to look at this letter candidly. '

'All the candour in the world will not make me think otherwise than thathe is disappointed at being no longer able to make us the puppets of hismalevolence. Don't answer, or if you do, tell me what you say in favourof that delicate insinuation of his. '

Guy made a step towards the window, and a step back again. ''Tis notfair to ask such questions, ' he replied, after a moment. 'It is throwingoil on the fire. I was trying to forget it. He neither knows my unclenor the circumstances. '

'Well, I am glad there is a point on which you can't even pretend tostand up for him, or I should have thought you crazed with Quixotism. But I am keeping you when you want to be off to Amy. Never mind Mr. Ready-to-halt; I shall wait till my father comes back. If you want theletter put off you had better give some hopes of--Oh! he is gone, anddisinterested advice it is of mine, for what is to become of me withoutAmy remains to be proved. Laura, poor thing, looks like Patience on amonument. I wonder whether Philip's disgrace has anything to do with it. Hum! If mamma's old idea was right, the captain has been more like mothand candle than consistent with his prudence, unless he thought it "atoute epreuve". I wonder what came to pass last autumn, when I was ill, and mamma's head full of me. He may not intend it, and she may not knowit, but I would by no means answer for Cupid's being guiltless of thatharassed look she has had ever since that ball-going summer. Oh! therego that pretty study, Amy and her true knight. As to Guy, he is moreincomprehensible than ever; yet there is no avoiding obeying him, on theprinciple on which that child in the "Moorland cottage" said she shouldobey Don Quixote. '

So when his father came in, Charles wiled him into deferring the lettertill the next day, by giving him an indistinct hope that some notionwhen the marriage would be, might be arrived at by that time. Heconsented the more readily, because he was in haste to investigate acomplaint that had just been made of the union doctor; but his lastwords to his wife and son before he went, were--'Of course, they mustmarry directly, there is nothing on earth to wait for. Live at Redclyffealone? Not to be thought of. No, I'll see little Amy my Lady Morville, before Philip goes abroad, if only to show him I am not a man to bedictated to. '

Mrs. Edmonstone sighed; but when he was gone, she agreed with Charlesthat there was nothing to wait for, and that it would be better for Guyto take his wife at once with him, when he settled at Redclyffe. So itmust be whenever Amy could make up her mind to it; and thereupon theymade plans for future meetings, Charles announcing that the Prince ofthe Black Isles would become locomotive, and Charlotte forming granddesigns upon Shag Island. 

In the meantime, Guy and Amy were walking in the path through the wood, where he began: 'I would not have asked you to do anything so unpleasantas reading that letter, but I thought you ought to consider of it. '

'It was just like himself! How could he?' said Amy, indignantly. 

'I wonder whether he will ever see his own harshness?' said Guy. 'Itis very strange, that with all his excellence and real kindness, thereshould be some distortion in his view of all that concerns me. I cannotunderstand it. '

'You must let me call it prejudice, Guy, in spite of your protest. It isa relief to say something against him. '

'Amy, don't be venomous!' said Guy, in a playful tone of reproach. 

'Yes; but you know it is not _me_ whom he has been abusing. '

'Well, ' said Guy, musingly, 'I suppose it is right there should be thiscloud, or it would be too bright for earth. It has been one of my chiefwishes to have things straight with Philip, ever since the time hestayed at Redclyffe as a boy. I saw his superiority then; but it frettedme, and I never could make a companion of him. Ever since, I havelooked to his approval as one of the best things to be won. It showshis ascendancy of character; yet, do what I will, the mist has gone onthickening between us; and with reason, for I have never been able togive him the confidence he required, and his conduct about my uncle hasso tried my patience, that I never have been quite sure whether I oughtto avoid him or not. '

'And now you are the only person who will speak for him. I don't wonderpapa is provoked with you, ' said she, pretending to be wilful. 'I onlyhope you don't want to make me do the same. I could bear anything betterthan his old saying about your attractive manners and good impulses, and his opinion that has never altered. O Guy, he is the most provokingperson in all the world. Don't try to make me admire him, nor be sorryfor him. '

'Not when you remember how he was looked on here? and how, withoutdoing anything worthy of blame, nay, from his acting unsparingly, as hethought right, every one has turned against him? even mamma, who used tobe so fond of him?'

'Not Laura. '

'No, not Laura, and I am thankful to her for it; for all this makes mefeel as if I had supplanted him. '

'Yes, yes, yes, it is like you; but don't ask me to feel that yet, ' saidAmy, with tears in her eyes, ' or I shall be obliged to tell you what youwon't like to hear, about his tone of triumph that terrible time lastyear. It was so very different, I don't think I could ever forgive him, if it had not made me so miserable too. '

Guy pressed her arm. 'Yes; but he thought himself right. He meant to dothe kindest thing by you, ' said he, so entirely without effort, that noone could doubt it came straight from his heart. 'So he thinks still, Amy; there is fairness, justice, good sense in his letter, and wemust not blind our eyes to it, though there is injustice, at least, harshness. I did fail egregiously in my first trial. '

'Fail!'

'In temper. '

'Oh!'

'And, Amy, I wanted to ask what you think about the four years hespeaks of. Do you think, as he says, my habits might be more fixed, andaltogether you might have more confidence?'

'I don't look on you quite as he does now, ' said Amy, with a very prettysmile. 'Do you think his opinion of you will ever alter?'

'But what do you think? Is there not some reason in what he says?'

'The only use I can see is, that perhaps I should be wiser attwenty-four, and fitter to take care of such a great house; but then youhave been always helping me to grow wiser, and I am not much afraid butthat you will be patient with me. Indeed, Guy, I don't know whether itis a thing I ought to say, ' she added, blushing, 'but I think it wouldbe dismal for you to go and live all alone at Redclyffe. '

'Honestly, Amy, ' replied he, after a little pause, 'if you feel so, andyour father approves, I don't think it will be better to wait. I knowyour presence is a safeguard, and if the right motives did not sufficeto keep me straight, and I was only apparently so from hopes of you, whythen I should be so utterly good for nothing at the bottom, if not onthe surface, that you had better have nothing to say to me. '

Amy laughed incredulously. 

'That being settled, ' proceeded Guy, 'did you hear what your father saidas you left the breakfast-room?'

She coloured all over, and there was silence. 'What did you answer?'said she, at length. 

'I said, whatever happened, you must not be taken by surprise in havingto decide quickly. Do you wish to have time to think? I'll go in andleave you to consider, if you like. '

'I only want to know what you wish, ' said Amy, not parting with his arm. 

'I had rather you did just as suits you best. Of course, you know whatmy wish must be. '

Amy walked on a little way in silence. 'Very well, ' said she, presently, 'I think you and mamma had better settle it. The worst'--she had tearsin her eyes--'the going away--mamma--Charlie--all that will be as bad atone time as at another. ' The tears flowed faster. 'It had better be asyou all like best. '

'O Amy! I wonder at myself for daring to ask you to exchange your brightcheerful home for my gloomy old house. '

'No, your home, ' said Amy, softly. 

'I used to wonder why it was called gloomy; but it will be so no morewhen you are there. Yet there is a shadow hanging over it, whichmakes it sometimes seem too strange that you and it should be broughttogether. '

'I have read somewhere that there is no real gloom but what people raisefor themselves. '

'True. Gloom is in sin, not sorrow. Yes, there would be no comfort if Iwere not sure that if aught of grief or pain should come to you throughme, it will not, cannot really hurt you, my Amy. '

'No, unless by my own fault, and you will help me to meet it. Hark! wasthat a nightingale?'

'Yes, the first! How beautiful! There--don't you see it? Look on thathazel, you may see its throat moving. Well!' when they had listened fora long time, --'after all, that creature and the sea will hardly let onespeak of gloom, even in this world, to say nothing of other things. 

'The sea! I am glad I have never seen it, because now you will show itto me for the first time. '

'You will never, can never imagine it, Amy! and he sung, --

 'With all tones of waters blending, Glorious is the breaking deep, Glorious, beauteous, without ending, Songs of ocean never sleep. '

A silence followed, only broken by the notes of the birds, and presentlyby the strokes of the great clock. Guy looked at his watch. 

'Eleven, Amy! I must go to my reading, or you will have to be very muchashamed of me. '

For, after the first few days, Guy had returned to study regularly everyday. He said it was a matter of necessity, not at all of merit, forthough he did not mean to try for honours, Amy must not marry a pluckedman. His whole career at Oxford had been such a struggle with thedisadvantages of his education, that all his diligence had, he thought, hardly raised him to a level with his contemporaries. Moreover, courtship was not the best preparation for the schools, so thatthough he knew he had done his best, he expected no more than to passrespectably, and told Amy it was very good of her to be contented with adunce, whereat she laughed merrily. But she knew him too well to try tokeep him lingering in the April sunshine, and in they went, Guy to hisGreek, and Amy to her mother. Charlotte's lessons had been inabeyance, or turned over to Laura of late, and Mrs. Edmonstone and herdressing-room were always ready for the confidences of the family, whosought her there in turn--all but one, and that the one whose need wasthe sorest. 

Amy and her mother comforted themselves with a good quiet cry, that wasnot exactly sorrowful, and came to the conclusion that Guy was the mostconsiderate person in the world, and they would do whatever best suitedhim and papa. So, when Mr. Edmonstone came home, he was rewarded forputting off the letter by finding every one willing to let the marriagetake place whenever he pleased. There were various conferences in thedressing-room, and Guy and Amy both had burning faces when they camedown to dinner. Laura beheld them with a throbbing heart, while shemechanically talked to Dr. Mayerne, as if nothing was going on. Shewas glad there was no singing that evening, for she felt incapable ofjoining; and when at night Charles and his father talked of sitting upto write to Philip, the misery was such that she had no relief till shehad shut herself in her room, to bear or to crush the suffering as bestshe might. 

She was still sitting helpless in her wretchedness when Amy knockedat the door, and came in glowing with blushes and smiles, though hereyelashes were dewy with tears. 

'Laura, dearest! if you would not be so very unhappy! I wish I knew whatto do for you. '

Laura laid her head on her shoulder, and cried. It was a great comfort, little as Amy could understand her trouble. Amy kissed her, soothed hercaressingly, cried too, and said, in broken sentences, how often theywould be together, and how comfortable it was that Charlie was so muchbetter, and Charlotte quite a companion. 

'Then you have fixed the day?' whispered Laura, at last. 

'The Tuesday in Whitsun-week, ' returned Amy, resting her forehead onLaura's shoulder. 'They all thought it right. '

Laura flung her arms round her, and wept too much to speak. 

'Dear, dear Laura!' said Amy, after a time, 'it is very kind of you, but--'

'Oh, Amy! you don't know. You must not think so much better of me thanI deserve. It is not only--No, I would not be so selfish, if but--but--'Never had her self-command so given way. 

'Ah! you are unhappy about Philip, ' said Amy; and Laura, alarmed lestshe might have betrayed him, started, and tried to recover herself;but she saw Amy was quite unsuspicious, and the relief from this frighthelped her through what her sister was saying, --'Yes, you, who were sofond of him, must be vexed at this unkindness on his part. '

'I am sure it is his real wish for your good, ' murmured Laura. 

'I dare say!' said Amy, with displeasure. Then changing her tone, 'I begyour pardon, dear Laura, but I don't think I can quite bear to hear anyone but Guy defend him. '

'It is very generous. '

'Oh, is not it, Laura? and he says he is so grieved to see us turnedagainst Philip, after being so fond of him; he says it makes him feelas if he had supplanted him, and that he is quite thankful to you fortaking his part still. '

'How shall I bear it?' sighed Laura, to herself. 

'I wonder whether he will come?' said Amy, thoughtfully. 

'He will, ' said Laura. 

'You think so?' said Amy. 'Well, Guy would be glad. Yes. O Laura, ifPhilip would learn to do Guy justice, I don't think there would be anymore to wish!'

'He will in time, ' said Laura. 'He is too generous not to be won bysuch generosity as Guy's; and when all this is forgotten, and all theseaccusations have been lived down, he will be the warmest of friends. '

'Yes, ' said Amy, as if she wished to be convinced; 'but if he would onlyleave off saying his opinion has never altered, I think I could bringmyself to look on him as Guy wants me to do. Good night! dear Laura, and don't be unhappy. Oh! one thing I must tell you; Guy made Charlespromise to do all he could not to let it be a hasty letter. Now, goodnight!'

Poor Laura, she knew not whether gratitude to Guy was not one of hermost painful sensations. She wished much to know what had been said inthe letter; but only one sentence transpired, and that was, that Mr. Edmonstone had never heard it was necessary to apply to a nephew forconsent to a daughter's marriage. It seemed as if it must have beenas cutting as Charles could make it; but Laura trusted to Philip'sknowledge of the family, and desire for their good, to make him forgiveit, and the expectation of seeing him again at the wedding, cheered her. Indeed, a hope of still greater consequences began to rise in her mind, after Charles one day said to her, 'I think you ought to be much obligedto Guy. This morning, he suddenly exclaimed, "I say, Charlie, I wish youwould take care Amy's fortune is not settled on her so that it can't begot rid of. " I asked how he meant to make ducks and drakes of it; and heexplained, that if either of you two did not happen to marry for money, like Amy, it might do you no harm. '

'We are very much obliged to him, ' said Laura, more earnestly thanCharles had expected. 'Do you know what it is, Charlie?'

'Oh! you want to calculate the amount of your obligation! Somewhereabout five thousand pounds, I believe. '

Charles watched Laura, and the former idea recurred, as he wonderedwhether there was any particular meaning in her inquiry. 

Meaning, indeed, there was. Laura knew nothing about the value of money;she did not know what Philip had of his own; how far five, or even ten, thousand would go in enabling them to marry, or whether it was availablein her father's lifetime; but she thought this prospect might smooth theway to the avowal of their attachment, as effectually as his promotion;she reckoned on relief from the weary oppression of secrecy, and fullyexpected that it would all be told in the favourable juncture, when herparents were full of satisfaction in Amy's marriage. Gratitude to Guywould put an end to all doubt, dislike, and prejudice, and Philip wouldreceive him as a brother. 

These hopes supported Laura, and enabled her to take part with moreappearance of interest in the consultations and arrangements for themarriage, which were carried on speedily, as the time was short, and Mr. Edmonstone's ideas were on a grand scale. It seemed as if he meantto invite all the world, and there were no limits to his views ofbreakfast, carriages, and splendours. His wife let him run on withoutcontradiction, leaving the plans either to evaporate or condense, astime might prove best. Guy took Amy out walking, and asked what shethought of it. 

'Do you dislike it very much?' she said. 

'I can hardly tell. Of course, as a general rule, the less parade andnonsense the better; but if your father wishes it, and if people do findenjoyment in that way, it seems hard they should not have all they canout of it. '

'Oh, yes; the school children and poor people, ' said Amy. 

'How happy the Ashford children will be, feasting the poor people atRedclyffe! Old Jonas Ledbury will be in high glory. '

'To be sure it does not seem like merit to feast one's poor neighboursrather than the rich. It is so much pleasanter. '

'However, since the poor will be feasted, I don't think the rich oneswill do us much harm. '

'I am sure I shall know very little about them, ' said Amy. 

'The realities are so great to us, that they will swallow up theaccessories. There must be the church, and all that; and for the rest, Amy, I don't think I shall find out whether you wear lace or grogram. '

'There's encouragement for me!' said Amy, laughing. 'However, what Imean is, that I don't care about it, if I am not obliged to attend, andgive my mind, to those kind of things just then, and that mamma willtake care of. '

'Is it not a great trouble for her? I forgot that. It was selfish; forwe slip out of the fuss, and it all falls on her. '

'Yes, ' said Amy; 'but don't you think it would tease her more to have topersuade papa out of what he likes, and alter every little matter? Thatwould be worry, the rest only exertion; and, do you know, I think, ' saidshe, with a rising tear, 'that it will be better for her, to keep herfrom thinking about losing me. '

'I see. Very well, we will take the finery quietly. Only one thing, Amy, we will not be put out of, --we will not miss the full holy-day service. '

'Oh, yes; that will be the comfort. '

'One other thing, Amy. You know I have hardly a friend of my own; butthere is one person I should like to ask, --Markham. He has been sokind, and so much attached to me; he loved my father so devotedly, andsuffered so much at his death, that it is a pity he should not be madehappy; and very happy he will be. '

'And there is one person I should like to ask, Guy, if mamma thinks wecan do it. I am sure little Marianne ought to be one of my bridesmaids. Charlotte would take care of her, and it would be very nice to haveher. '

CHAPTER 28

 But no kind influence deign they shower, Till pride be quelled and love be free. --SCOTT

Kilcoran was about twenty miles from Cork, and Captain Morville wasengaged to go and spend a day or two there. Maurice de Courcy drove himthither, wishing all the way for some other companion, since no one everventured to smoke a cigar in the proximity of 'Morville'; and, besides, Maurice's conversational powers were obliged to be entirely bestowedon his horse and dog, for the captain, instead of, as usual, devotinghimself to suit his talk to his audience, was wrapped in the deepestmeditation, now and then taking out a letter and referring to it. 

This letter was the reply jointly compounded by Mr. Edmonstone andCharles, and the subject of his consideration was, whether he shouldaccept the invitation to the wedding. Charles had taken care fully toexplain how the truth respecting the cheque had come out, and Philipcould no longer suspect that it had been a fabrication of Dixon's; butwhile Guy persisted in denial of any answer about the thousand pounds, he thought the renewal of the engagement extremely imprudent. He wasvery sorry for poor little Amy, for her comfort and happiness were, hethought, placed in the utmost jeopardy, with such a hot temper, underthe most favourable circumstances; and there was the further peril, thatwhen the novelty of the life with her at Redclyffe had passed off, Guymight seek for excitement in the dissipation to which his uncle hadprobably already introduced him. In the four years' probation, hesaw the only hope of steadying Guy, or of saving Amy, and he was muchconcerned at the rejection of his advice, entirely for their sakes, forhe could not condescend to be affronted at the scornful, satirical tonetowards himself, in which Charles's little spitefulness was so fullyapparent. 

The wedding was a regular sacrifice, and Amabel was nothing but avictim; but an invitation to Hollywell had a charm for him that hescarcely could resist. To see Laura again, after having parted, as hethought, for so many years, delighted him in anticipation; and it wouldmanifest his real interest in his young cousins, and show that he wassuperior to taking offence at the folly of Charles or his father. 

These were his first thoughts and inclinations; his second were, thatit was contrary to his principles to sanction so foolish and hasty amarriage by his presence; that he should thus be affording a triumph toGuy, and to one who would use it less moderately--to Charles. It wouldbe more worthy of himself, more consistent with his whole course ofconduct, to refuse his presence, instead of going amongst them when theywere all infatuated, and unable to listen to sober counsel. If he stayedaway now, when Guy should have justified his opinion, they would allown how wisely he had acted, and would see the true dignity which hadrefused, unlike common minds, to let his complaisance draw him intogiving any sanction to what he so strongly disapproved. Laura, too, would pass through this trying time better if she was not distractedby watching him; she would understand the cause of his absence, and hecould trust her to love and comprehend him at a distance, better thanhe could trust her to hear the marriage-service in his presence withoutbetraying herself. Nor did he wish to hear her again plead for theconfession of their engagement; and, supposing any misadventure shouldlead to its betrayal, what could be more unpleasant than for it to berevealed at such a time, when Charles would so turn it against him, thatall his influence and usefulness would be for ever at an end?

Love drew him one way, and consistency another. Captain Morville hadnever been so much in the condition of Mahomet's coffin in his life; andhe grew more angry with his uncle, Charles, and Guy, for having put himin so unpleasant a predicament. So the self-debate lasted all the wayto Kilcoran and he only had two comforts--one, that he had sent thefollower who was always amenable to good advice, safe out of the wayof Lady Eveleen, to spend his leave of absence at Thorndale--the other, that Maurice de Courcy was, as yet, ignorant of the Hollywell news, anddid not torment him by talking about it. 

This satisfaction, however, lasted no longer than till their arrival atKilcoran; for, the instant they entered the drawing-room, Lady Eveleenexclaimed, 'O Maurice, I have been so longing for you to come! CaptainMorville, I hope you have not told him, for I can't flatter myself to bebeforehand with you, now at least. '

'He has told me nothing, ' said Maurice; 'indeed, such bad company hasseldom been seen as he has been all the way. '

'You don't mean that you don't know it? How delightful! O, mamma! thinkof knowing something Captain Morville does not!'

'I am afraid I cannot flatter you so far, ' said Philip, knowing this wasno place for allowing his real opinion to be guessed. 

'Then you do know?' said Lady Kilcoran, sleepily; 'I am sure it is asubject of great rejoicing. '

'But what is it, Eva? Make haste and tell, ' said Maurice. 

'No; you must guess!'

'Why, you would not be in such a way about it if it was not a wedding. '

'Right, Maurice; now, who is it?'

'One of the Edmonstones, I suppose. 'Tis Laura?'

'Wrong!'

'What, not Laura! I thought she would have been off first. Somebody'sgot no taste, then, for Laura is the prettiest girl I know. '

'Ah! your heart has escaped breaking this time, Maurice. It is thatlittle puss, Amy, that has made a great conquest. Now guess. '

'Oh! young Morville, of course. But what possessed him to take Amy, andleave Laura?'

'Perhaps Laura was not to be had. Men are so self-sufficient, that theyalways think they may pick and choose. Is it not so, Captain Morville?I like Sir Guy better than most men, but Laura is too good for any oneI know. If I could make a perfect hero, I would at once, only Charleswould tell me all the perfect heroes in books are bores. How long haveyou known of it, Captain Morville?'

'For the last ten days. '

'And you never mentioned it?'

'I did not know whether they intended to publish it. '

'Now, Captain Morville, I hope to make some progress in your goodopinion. Of course, you believe I can't keep a secret; but what do youthink of my having known it ever since last summer, and held my tongueall that time?'

'A great effort, indeed, ' said Philip, smiling. 'It would havebeen greater, I suppose, if the engagement had been positive, notconditional. '

'Oh! every one knew what it must come to. No one could have the leastfear of Sir Guy. Yes; I saw it all. I gave my little aid, and I amsure I have a right to be bridesmaid, as I am to be. Oh! won't it becharming? It is to be the grandest wedding that ever was seen. It is tobe on Whit-Tuesday; and papa is going to take me and Aunt Charlotte;for old Aunt Mabel says Aunt Charlotte must go. There are to be sixbridesmaids, and a great party at the breakfast; everything as splendidas possible; and I made Mrs. Edmonstone promise from the first that weshould have a ball. You must go, Maurice. '

'I shall be on the high seas!'

'Oh yes, that is horrid! But you don't sail with the regiment, I think, Captain Morville. You surely go?'

'I am not certain, ' said Philip; especially disgusted by hearing of thesplendour, and thinking that he had supposed Guy would have had moresense; and it showed how silly Amy really was, since she was evidentlyonly anxious to enjoy the full paraphernalia of a bride. 

'Not certain!' exclaimed Maurice and Eveleen, in a breath. 

'I am not sure that I shall have time. You know I have been intending tomake a walking tour through Switzerland before joining at Corfu. '

'And you really would prefer going by yourself--"apart, unfriended, melancholy, slow. "'

'Very slow, indeed, ' said Maurice. 

'A wedding is a confused melancholy affair, ' said Philip. 'You know I amno dancing man, Lady Eveleen; one individual like myself can make littledifference to persons engrossed with their own affairs; I can wish mycousins well from a distance as well as at hand; and though theyhave been kind enough to ask me, I think that while their house isoverflowing with guests of more mark, my room will be preferred to mycompany. '

'Then you do not mean to go?' said Lady Kilcoran. 'I do not, ' shecontinued, 'for my health is never equal to so much excitement, and itwould only be giving poor Mrs. Edmonstone additional trouble to have toattend to me. '

'So you really mean to stay away?' said Eveleen. 

'I have not entirely decided. '

'At any rate you must go and tell old Aunt Mabel all about them, ' saidEveleen. 'She is so delighted. You will be quite worshipped, atthe cottage, for the very name of Morville. I spend whole hours indiscoursing on Sir Guy's perfections. '

Philip could not refuse; but his feelings towards Guy were not warmedby the work he had to go through, when conducted to the cottage, wherelived old Lady Mabel Edmonstone and her daughter, and there requiredto dilate on Guy's excellence. He was not wanted to speak of any of thepoints where his conscience would not let him give a favourable report;it was quite enough for him to tell of Guy's agreeable manners andmusical talents, and to describe the beauty and extent of Redclyffe. Lady Mabel and Miss Edmonstone were transported; and the more Philip sawof the light and superficial way in which the marriage was considered, the more unwilling he became to confound himself with such people byeagerness to be present at it, and to join in the festivities. Yet heexercised great forbearance in not allowing one word of his disapprovalor misgivings to escape him; no censure was uttered, and Lady Eveleenherself could not make out whether he rejoiced or not. He was grave andphilosophical, superior to nonsensical mirth, that was all that shesaw; and he made himself very agreeable throughout his visit, by takingcondescending interest in all that was going on, and especially to LadyEveleen, by showing that he thought her worthy of rational converse. 

He made himself useful, as usual. Lord Kilcoran wanted a tutor forhis two youngest boys, and it had been proposed to send them to Mr. Wellwood, at his curacy at Coombe Prior. He wished to know what CaptainMorville thought of the plan; and Philip, thinking that Mr. Wellwood hadbeen very inattentive to Guy's proceedings at St. Mildred's, thoughhe would not blame him, considered it very fortunate that he had adifferent plan to recommend. One of the officers of his regiment hadlately had staying with him a brother who had just left Oxford, and waslooking out for a tutorship, a very clever and agreeable young man, whomhe liked particularly, and he strongly advised Lord Kilcoran to keep hissons under his own eye, and place them under the care of this gentleman. His advice, especially when enforced by his presence, was almost sure toprevail, and thus it was in the present case. 

The upshot of his visit was, that he thought worse and worse of thesense of the whole Edmonstone connection, --considered that it would beof no use for him to go to Hollywell, --adhered to his second resolution, and wrote to his uncle a calm and lofty letter, free from all token ofoffence, expressing every wish for the happiness of Guy and Amabel, andthanking his uncle for the invitation, which, however, he thought itbest to decline, much as he regretted losing the opportunity of seeingHollywell and its inhabitants again. His regiment would sail for Corfueither in May or June; but he intended, himself, to travel on footthrough Germany and Italy, and would write again before quittingIreland. 

'So, ' said Charles, 'there were at the marriage the Picanninies, and theJoblillies, and the Garryulies, but not the grand Panjandrum himself. '

'Nor the little round button at top!' rejoined Charlotte. 

'Well, it's his own look out, ' said Mr. Edmonstone. 'It is of a piecewith all the rest. '

'I am sure we don't want him, ' said Charlotte. 

'Not in this humour, ' said her mother. 

Amy said nothing; and if she did not allow herself to avow thathis absence was a relief, it was because she saw it was a grief anddisappointment to Guy. 

Laura was, of course, very much mortified, --almost beyond the power ofconcealment. She thought he would have come for the sake of seeingher, and she had reckoned so much on this meeting that it was doublevexation. He did not know what he was missing by not coming; and shecould not inform him, for writing to him was impossible, without theunderhand dealings to which they would never, either of them, haverecourse. So much for herself; and his perseverance in disapproval, inspite of renewed explanation, made her more anxious and sorry on Amy'saccount. Very mournful were poor Laura's sensations; but there wasno remedy but to try to bewilder and drive them away in the bustle ofpreparation. 

Guy had to go and take his degree, and then return to make his ownpreparations at Redclyffe. Amy begged him, as she knew he would like, to leave things alone as much as possible; for she could not bear oldplaces to be pulled to pieces to suit new-comers; and she should like tofind it just as he had been used to it. 

He smiled, and said, 'It should only be made habitable. ' She must havea morning-room, about which he would consult Mrs. Ashford: and he wouldchoose her piano himself. The great drawing-room had never been unpackedsince his grandmother's time, so that must be in repair; and, as for agarden, they would lay it out together. There could not be much done;for though they did not talk of it publicly, lest they should shock Mr. Edmonstone, they meant to go home directly after their marriage. 

To Oxford, then, went Guy; his second letter announced that he had donetolerably well on his examination; and it came round to the Edmonstones, that it was a great pity he had not gone up for honours, as he wouldcertainly have distinguished himself. 

Redclyffe was, of course, in a state of great excitement at the newsthat Sir Guy was going to be married. Markham was very grand with theletter that announced it, and could find nothing to grumble about butthat the lad was very young, and it was lucky it was no worse. 

Mrs. Ashford was glad it was so good a connection, and obtained all theintelligence she could from James Thorndale, who spoke warmly of theHollywell family in general; and, in particular, said that the youngladies looked after schools and poor people, --that Miss Edmonstone wasvery handsome and clever--a very superior person; but as to Miss Amabel, he did not know that there was anything to say about her. She was justlike other young ladies, and very attentive to her invalid brother. 

Markham's enmity to Mr. Ashford had subsided at the bidding of hismaster; and he informed him one day, with great cordiality, that Sir Guywould be at home the next. He was to sleep that night at Coombe Prior, and ride to Redclyffe in the morning; and, to the great delight of theboys, it was at the parsonage door that he dismounted. 

Mrs. Ashford looked up in his bright face, and saw no more of the shadethat had perplexed her last winter. His cheeks were deeper red as shewarmly shook hands with him; and then the children sprung upon him fortheir old games, --the boys claiming his promise, with all their might, to take them out to the Shag. She wondered when she should venture totalk to him about Miss Amabel. He next went to find Markham, and methim before he reached his house. Markham was too happy not to grant andgrumble more than ever. 

'Well, Sir Guy; so here you are! You've lost no time about it, however. A fine pair of young housekeepers, and a pretty example of earlymarriages for the parish!'

Guy laughed. 'You must come and see the example, Markham. I have amessage from Mr. And Mrs. Edmonstone, to ask you to come to Hollywell atWhitsuntide. '

Grunt! 'You are making a fool of me, Sir Guy. What's a plain old manlike me to do among all your lords and ladies, and finery and flummery?I'll do no such thing. '

'Not to oblige me?'

'Oblige you? Nonsense! Much you'll care for me!'

'Nay, Markham, you must not stay away. You, my oldest and bestfriend, --my only home friend. I owe all my present happiness to you, andit would really be a great disappointment to me if you did not come. Shewishes it, too. '

'Well, Sir Guy, ' and the grunt was of softer tone, 'if you do choose tomake a fool of me, I can't help it. You must have your own way; thoughyou might have found a friend that would do you more credit. '

'Then I may say that you will come?'

'Say I am very much obliged to Mr. And Mrs. Edmonstone for theirinvitation. It is very handsome of them. '

'Then you will have the settlements ready by that time. You must, Markham. '

'I'll see about it. '

'And the house must be ready to come home to at once. '

'You don't know what you are talking of, Sir Guy!' exclaimed Markham, atonce aghast and angry. 

'Yes, I do. We don't intend to turn the house upside down with newfurniture. '

'You may talk as you please, Sir Guy, but I know what's what; and it ismere nonsense to talk of bringing a lady to a house in this condition. A pretty notion you have of what is fit for your bride! I hope she knowswhat sort of care you mean to take of her!'

'She will be satisfied, ' said Guy. 'She particularly wishes not to haveeverything disarranged, I only must have two rooms furnished for her. '

'But the place wants painting from head to foot, and the roof is in sucha state--'

'The roof? That's serious!'

'Serious; I believe so. You'll have it about your ears in no time, ifyou don't look sharp. '

'I'll look this minute, ' said Guy, jumping up. 'Will you come with me?'

Up he went, climbing about in the forest of ancient timbers, where hecould not but be convinced that there was more reason than he could wishin what Markham said, and that his roof was in no condition to bringhis bride to. Indeed it was probable that it had never been thoroughlyrepaired since the time of old Sir Hugh, for the Morvilles had not beenwont to lay out money on what did not make a display. Guy was in dismay, he sent for the builder from Moorworth; calculated times and costs;but, do what he would, he could not persuade himself that when once theworkmen were in Redclyffe, they would be out again before the autumn. 

Guy was very busy during the fortnight he spent at home. There were thebuilder and his plans, and Markham and the marriage settlements, andthere were orders to be given about the furniture. He came to Mrs. Ashford about this, conducted her to the park, and begged her to be sokind as to be his counsellor, and to superintend the arrangement. Heshowed her what was to be Amy's morning-room--now bare and empty, butwith the advantages of a window looking south, upon the green woodedslope of the park, with a view of the church tower, and of the moors, which were of very fine form. He owned himself to be profoundly ignorantabout upholstery matters, and his ideas of furniture seemed to consistin prints for the walls, a piano, a bookcase, and a couch for Charles. 

'You have heard about Charles?' said he, raising his bright face fromthe list of needful articles which he was writing, using the window-seatas a table. 

'Not much, ' said Mrs. Ashford. 'Is he entirely confined to the sofa?'

'He cannot move without crutches; but no one could guess what he iswithout seeing him. He is so patient, his spirits never flag; and it isbeautiful to see how considerate he is, and what interest he takesin all the things he never can share, poor fellow. I don't know whatHollywell would be without Charlie! I wonder how soon he will be able tocome here! Hardly this year, I am afraid, for things must be comfortablefor him, and I shall never get them so without Amy, and then it will beautumn. Well, what next? Oh, you said window-curtains. Some blue sortof stuff, I suppose, like the drawing-room ones at Hollywell. What's thename of it?'

In fact, Mrs. Ashford was much of his opinion, that he never would makethings comfortable without Amy, though he gave his best attention to theinquiries that were continually made of him; and where he had an idea, carried it out to the utmost. He knew much better what he was about inthe arrangements for Coombe Prior, where he had installed his friend, Mr. Wellwood, and set on foot many plans for improvements, giving themas much attention as if he had nothing else to occupy his mind. Both thecurate and Markham were surprised that he did not leave these detailstill his return home; but he answered, --

'Better do things while we may. The thought of this unhappy place isenough to poison everything; and I don't think I could rest withoutknowing that the utmost was being done for it. '

He was very happy making arrangements for a village feast on thewedding-day. The Ashfords asked if he would not put it off till hisreturn, and preside himself. 

'It won't hurt them to have one first. Let them make sure of all thefun they can, ' he answered; and the sentiment was greatly applauded byEdward and Robert, who followed him about more than ever, and grew sofond of him, that it made them very angry to be reminded of the spiritof defiance in which their acquaintance had begun. Nevertheless theyseemed to be preparing the same spirit for his wife, for when theirmother told them they must not expect to monopolize him thus when he wasmarried, they declared, that they did not want a Lady Morville at all, and could not think why he was so stupid as to want a wife. 

Their father predicted that he would never have time to fulfil his oldengagement of taking them out to the Shag Rock, but the prediction wasnot verified, for he rowed both them and Mr. Ashford thither one fineMay afternoon, showed them all they wanted to see, and let them scrambleto their heart's content. He laughed at their hoard of scraps of thewood of the wreck, which they said their mamma had desired them to fetchfor her. 

So many avocations came upon Guy at once, --so many of the neighbourscame to call on him, --such varieties of people wanted to speakto him, --the boys followed him so constantly, --and he had so manyinvitations from Mr. Wellwood and the Ashfords, that he never had anytime for himself, except what must be spent in writing to Amabel. Therewas a feeling upon him, that he must have time to commune with himself, and rest from this turmoil of occupation, in the solitude of whichRedclyffe had hitherto been so full. He wanted to be alone with his oldhome, and take leave of it, and of the feelings of his boyhood, beforebeginning on this new era of his life; but whenever he set out for asolitary walk, before he could even get to the top of the crag, eitherMarkham marched up to talk over some important question, --a farmerwaylaid him to make some request, --some cottager met him, to tell of agrievance, --Mr. Wellwood rode over, --or the Ashford boys rushed up, andfollowed like his shadow. 

At length, on Ascension day, the last before he was to leave Redclyffe, with a determination that he would escape for once from his pursuers, hewalked to the Cove as soon as he returned from morning service, launchedhis little boat and pushed off into the rippling whispering waters. Itwas a resumption of the ways of his boyhood; it seemed like a holiday tohave left all these cares behind him, just as it used to be when all hislessons were prepared, and he had leave to disport himself, by land orwater, the whole afternoon, provided he did not go out beyond the ShagRock. He took up his sculls and rowed merrily, singing and whistling tokeep time with their dash, the return to the old pleasure quite enoughat first, the salt breeze, the dashing waves, the motion of the boat. So he went on till he had come as far as his former boundary, thenhe turned and gazed back on the precipitous rocks, cleft with deepfissures, marbled with veins of different shades of red, and tufted hereand therewith clumps of samphire, grass, and a little brushwood, brightwith the early green of spring. The white foam and spray were leapingagainst their base, and roaring in their hollows; the tract of waveletsbetween glittered in light, or heaved green under the shadow of thepassing clouds; the sea-birds floated smoothly in sweeping undulatinglines, As though life's only call and care Were graceful motion;

the hawks poised themselves high in air near the rocks. The Cove lay insunshine, its rough stone chimneys and rude slate roofs overgrownwith moss and fern, rising rapidly, one above the other, in thefast descending hollow, through which a little stream rushed to thesea, --more quietly than its brother, which, at some space distant, fellsheer down over the crag in a white line of foam, brawling with a toneof its own, distinguishable among all the voices of the sea contendingwith the rocks. Above the village, in the space where the outline of twohills met and crossed, rose the pinnacled tower of the village church, the unusual height of which was explained by the old custom of lightinga beacon-fire on its summit, to serve as a guide to the boats at sea. Still higher, apparently on the very brow of the beetling crag thatfrowned above, stood the old Gothic hall, crumbling and lofty, a fiteyrie for the eagles of Morville. The sunshine was indeed full uponit; but it served to show how many of the dark windows were without thelining of blinds and curtains, that alone gives the look of life andhabitation to a house. How crumbled by sea-wind were the old walls, andthe aspect altogether full of a dreary haughtiness, suiting with thewhole of the stories connected with its name, from the time when itwas said the very dogs crouched and fled from the presence of thesacrilegious murderer of the Archbishop, to the evening when the heir ofthe line lay stretched a corpse before his father's gate. 

Guy sat resting on his oars, gazing at the scene, full of happiness, yet with a sense that it might be too bright to last, as if it scarcelybefitted one like himself. The bliss before him, though it was surely abeam from heaven, was so much above him, that he hardly dared to believeit real: like a child repeating, 'Is it my own, my very own?' andpausing before it will venture to grasp at a prize beyond its hopes. Hefeared to trust himself fully, lest it should carry him away from hisself-discipline, and dazzle him too much to let him keep his gaze on thelight beyond; and he rejoiced in this time of quiet, to enable himto strive for power over his mind, to prevent himself from losing ingladness the balance he had gained in adversity. 

It was such a check as he might have wished for, to look at that grimold castle, recollect who he was, and think of the frail tenure of allearthly joy, especially for one of the house of Morville. Could thatabode ever be a home for a creature like Amy, with the bright innocentmirth that seemed too soft and sweet ever to be overshadowed by gloomand sorrow? Perhaps she might be early taken from him in the undimmedbeauty of her happiness and innocence, and he might have to strugglethrough a long lonely life with only the remembrance of a short-livedjoy to lighten it; and when he reflected that this was only a melancholyfancy, the answer came from within, that there was nothing peculiar tohim in the perception that earthly happiness was fleeting. It wasbest that so it should be, and that he should rest in the trust thatbrightened on him through all, --that neither life nor death, sorrow norpain, could separate, for ever, him and his Amy. 

And he looked up into the deep blue sky overhead, murmuring to himself, 'In heart and mind thither ascend, and with Him continually dwell, ' andgazed long and intently as he rocked on the green waters, till he againspoke to himself, --'Why stand ye here gazing up into heaven?' thenpulled vigorously back to the shore, leaving a shining wake far behindhim. 

CHAPTER 29

 Hark, how the birds do sing, And woods do ring! All creatures have their joy, and man hath his; Yet if we rightly measure, Man's joy and pleasure Rather hereafter than in present is:

 Not that he may not here Taste of the cheer, But as birds drink and straight lift up the head, So must he sip and think Of better drink He may attain to after he is dead. --HERBERT

Guy returned to Hollywell on the Friday, there to spend a quiet weekwith them all, for it was a special delight to Amy that Hollywell andher family were as precious to him for their own sakes as for hers. Itwas said that it was to be a quiet week--but with all the best effortsof Mrs. Edmonstone and Laura to preserve quiet, there was an amount, ofconfusion that would have been very disturbing, but for Amy's propensitynever to be ruffled or fluttered. 

What was to be done in the honeymoon was the question for consideration. Guy and Amy would have liked to make a tour among the Englishcathedrals, pay a visit at Hollywell, and then go home and live in acorner of the house till the rest was ready; for Amy could not see whyshe should take up so much more room than old Sir Guy, and Guy declaredhe could not see that happiness was a reason for going pleasure-hunting;but Charles pronounced this very stupid, and Mr. Edmonstone thought ajourney on the Continent was the only proper thing for them to do. Mrs. Edmonstone wished Amy to see a little of the world. Amy was known tohave always desired to see Switzerland; it occurred to Guy that it wouldbe a capital opportunity of taking Arnaud to see the relations hehad been talking for the last twenty years of visiting, and so theyacquiesced; for as Guy said, when they talked it over together, it didnot seem to him to come under the denomination of pleasure-hunting, since they had not devised it for themselves; they had no house togo to; they should do Arnaud a service, and perhaps they should meetPhilip. 

'That will not be pleasure-hunting, certainly, ' said Amy; then, remembering that he could not bear to hear Philip under-rated, sheadded, 'I mean, unless you could convince him, and then it would be morethan pleasure. '

'It would be my first of unattained wishes, ' said Guy. 'Then we willenjoy the journey. '

'No fear on that score, '

'And for fear we should get too much into the stream of enjoyment, aspeople abroad forget home-duties, let us stick to some fixed time forcoming back. '

'You said Redclyffe would be ready by Michaelmas. '

'I have told the builder it must be. So, Amy, as far as it depends onourselves, we are determined to be at home by Michaelmas. '

All seemed surprised to find the time for the wedding so near at hand. Charles's spirits began to flag, Amy was a greater loss to him than toanybody else; she could never again be to him what she had been, andunable as he was to take part in the general bustle and occupation, hehad more time for feeling this, much more than his mother and Laura, whowere employed all day. He and Guy were exemplary in their civilities toeach other in not engrossing Amy, and one who had only known him threeyears ago, when he was all exaction and selfishness, could have hardlybelieved him to be the same person who was now only striving to avoidgiving pain, by showing how much it cost him to yield up his sister. Hecould contrive to be merry, but the difficulty was to be cheerful; hecould make them all laugh in spite of themselves, but when alone withAmy, or when hearing her devolve on her sisters the services she hadbeen wont to perform for him, it was almost more than he could endure;but then he dreaded setting Amy off into one of her silent crying-fits, for which the only remedy was the planning a grand visit to Redclyffe, and talking overall the facilities of railroads and carriages. 

The last day had come, and a long strange one it was; not exactly joyfulto any, and very sad to some, though Amy, with her sweet pensive face, seemed to have a serenity of her own that soothed them whenever theylooked at her. Charlotte, though inclined to be wild and flighty, was checked and subdued in her presence; Laura could not be entirelywretched about her; Charles lay and looked at her without speaking; herfather never met her without kissing her on each side of her face, andcalling her his little jewel; her mother--but who could describe Mrs. Edmonstone on that day, so full of the present pain, contending with theunselfish gladness. 

Guy kept out of the way, thinking Amy ought to be left to them. He satin his own room a good while, afterwards rode to Broadstone, in cominghome made a long visit to Mr. Ross; and when he returned, he foundCharles in his wheeled chair on the lawn, with Amy sitting on the grassby his side. He sat down by her and there followed a long silence, --oneof those pauses full of meaning. 

'When shall we three meet again?' at length said Charles, in a would-belively tone. 

'And where?' said Amy. 

'Here, ' said Charles; 'you will come here to tell your adventures, andtake up Bustle. '

'I hope so, ' said Guy. 'We could not help it. The telling you about itwill be a treat to look forward to all the time. '

'Yes; your sight-seeing is a public benefit. You have seen many a thingfor me. '

'That is the pleasure of seeing and hearing, the thing that is notfleeting, ' said Guy. 

'The unselfish part, you mean, ' said Charles; and mused again, till Guy, starting up, exclaimed--

'There are the people!' as a carriage came in view in the lane. 'Shall Iwheel you home, Charlie?'

'Yes, do. '

Guy leant over the back, and pushed him along; and as he did so murmuredin a low tremulous tone, 'Wherever or whenever we may be destined tomeet, Charlie, or if never again, I must thank you for a great part ofmy happiness here--for a great deal of kindness and sympathy. '

Charles looked straight before him, and answered--'The kindness wasall on your part. I had nothing to give in return but ill-temper andexactions. But, Guy, you must not think I have not felt all you havedone for me. You have made a new man of me, instead of a wretched stick, laughing at my misery, to persuade myself and others that I did not feelit. I hope you are proud of it. '

'As if I had anything to do with it!'

'Hadn't, you, that's all! I know what you won't deny, at any rate--whata capital man-of-all-work you have been to me, when I had no right toask it, as now we have, ' he added, smiling, because Amy was looking athim, but not making a very successful matter of the smile. 'When youcome back, you'll see me treat you as indeed "a man and a brother. "'

This talk retarded them a little, and they did not reach the house tillthe guests were arriving. The first sight that met the eyes of AuntCharlotte and Lady Eveleen as they entered, was, in the frame of theopen window, Guy's light agile figure, assisting Charles up the step, his brilliant hazel eyes and glowing healthy complexion contrasting withCharles's pale, fair, delicate face, and features sharpened and refinedby suffering. Amy, her deep blushes and downcast eyes almost hidden byher glossy curls, stood just behind, carrying her brother's crutch. 

'There they are, ' cried Miss Edmonstone, springing forward from herbrother and his wife, and throwing her arms round Amy in a warm embrace. 'My dear, dear little niece, I congratulate you with all my heart, andthat I do. '

'I'll spare your hot cheeks, Amy dearest!' whispered Eveleen, as Amypassed to her embrace, while Aunt Charlotte hastily kissed Charles, and proceeded--'I don't wait for an introduction;' and vehemently shookhands with Guy. 

'Ay, did I say a word too much in his praise?' said Mr. Edmonstone. 'Isn't he all out as fine a fellow as I told you?'

Guy was glad to turn away to shake hands with Lord Kilcoran, and thenext moment he drew Amy out of the group eagerly talking round Charles'ssofa, and holding her hand, led her up to a sturdy, ruddy-brown, elderlyman, who had come in at the same time, but after the first reception hadno share in the family greetings. 'You know him, already, ' said Guy; andAmy held out her hand, saying--

'Yes, I am sure I do. '

Markham was taken by surprise, he gave a most satisfied grunt, and shookhands as heartily as if she had been his favourite niece. 

'And the little girl?' said Amy. 

'O yes. --I picked her up at St. Mildred's: one of the servants tookcharge of her in the hall. '

'I'll fetch her, ' cried Charlotte, as Amy was turning to the door, andthe next moment she led in little Marianne Dixon, clinging to her hand. Amy kissed her, and held her fast in her arms, and Marianne looked up, consoled in her bewilderment, by the greeting of her dear old friend, Sir Guy. 

Mr. Edmonstone patted her head; and when the others had spoken kindly toher, Charlotte, under whose especial charge Guy and Amy had placed her, carried her off to the regions up-stairs. 

The rest of the evening was hurry and confusion. Mrs. Edmonstone wasvery busy, and glad to be so, as she must otherwise have given way; andthere was Aunt Charlotte to be talked to, whom they had not seen sinceCharles's illness. She was a short, bustling, active person, with ajoyous face, inexhaustible good-humour, a considerable touch of Irish, and referring everything to her mother, --her one thought. Everything wasto be told to her, and the only drawback to her complete pleasure wasthe anxiety lest she should be missed at home. 

Mrs. Edmonstone was occupied with her, telling her the history of theengagement, and praising Guy; Amy went up as soon as dinner was over, to take leave of old nurse, and to see little Marianne; and Eveleen satbetween Laura and Charlotte, asking many eager questions, which were notall convenient to answer. 

Why Sir Guy had not been at home at Christmas was a query to which itseemed as if she should never gain a reply; for that Charles had beenill, and Guy at Redclyffe, was no real answer; and finding she shouldnot be told, she wisely held her tongue. Again she made an awkwardinquiry--

'Now tell me, is Captain Morville pleased about this or not?'

Laura would have been silent, trusting to Eveleen's propensity fortalking, for bringing her to some speech that it might be easier toanswer, but Charlotte exclaimed, 'What has he been saying about it?'

'Saying? O nothing. But why does not he come?'

'You have seen him more lately than we have, ' said Laura. 

'That is an evasion, ' said Eveleen; 'as if you did not know more of hismind than I could ever get at, if I saw him every day of my life. '

'He is provoking, that is all, ' answered Charlotte. 'I am sure we don'twant him; but Laura and Guy will both of them take his part. '

A call came at that moment, --the box of white gloves was come, and Lauramust come and count them. She would fain have taken Charlotte with her;but neither Charlotte nor Eveleen appeared disposed to move, and shewas obliged to leave them. Eva had already guessed that there was morechance of hearing the facts from Charlotte, and presently she knew agood deal. Charlotte had some prudence, but she thought she mighttell her own cousin what half the neighbourhood knew--that Philip hadsuspected Guy falsely, and had made papa very angry with him, that theengagement had been broken off, and Guy had been banished, while all thetime he was behaving most gloriously. Now it was all explained; butin spite of the fullest certainty, Philip would not be convinced, andwanted them to have waited five years. 

Eveleen agreed with Charlotte that this was a great deal too bad, admired Guy, and pitied Amy to her heart's content. 

'So, he was banished, regularly banished!' said she. 'However of courseAmy never gave him up. '

'Oh, she never mistrusted him one minute. '

'And while he had her fast, it was little he would care for the rest. '

'Yes, if he had known it, but she could not tell him. '

Eveleen looked arch. 

'But I am sure she did not, ' said Charlotte, rather angrily. 

'You know nothing about it, my dear. '

'Yes, but I do; for mamma said to Charlie how beautifully she didbehave, and he too, --never attempting any intercourse. '

'Very good of you to believe it. '

'I am sure of it, certain sure, ' said Charlotte. 'How could you ventureto think they would either of them do anything wrong?'

'I did not say they would. '

'What, not to write to each other when papa had forbidden it, and do itin secret, too?'

'My dear, don't look so innocently irate. Goodness has nothing to dowith it, it would be only a moderate constancy. You know nothing at allof lovers. '

'If I know nothing of lovers, I know a great deal of Amy and Guy, and Iam quite sure that nothing on earth would tempt them to do anything insecret that they were forbidden. '

'Wait till you are in love, and you'll change your mind. '

'I never mean to be in love, ' said Charlotte indignantly. Eveleenlaughed the more, Charlotte grew more angry and uncomfortable at thetone of the conversation, and was heartily glad that it was broken offby the entrance of the gentlemen. Guy helped Charles to the sofa, andthen turned away to continue his endless talk on Redclyffe business withMarkham. Charlotte flew up to the sofa, seized an interval when no onewas in hearing, and kneeling down to bring her face on a level with herbrother's whispered--'Charlie, Eva won't believe but that Guy and Amykept up some intercourse last winter. '

'I can't help it, Charlotte. '

'When I tell her they did not, she only laughs at me. Do tell her theydid not. '

'I have too much self-respect to lay myself open to ridicule. '

'Charlie, you don't think it possible yourself?' exclaimed Charlotte, inconsternation. 

'Possible--no indeed. '

'She _will_ say it is not wrong, and that I know nothing of lovers. '

'You should have told her that ours are not commonplace lovers, but farbeyond her small experience. '

'I wish I had! Tell her so, Charlie; she will believe you. '

'I sha'n't say one word about it. '

'Why not?'

'Because she is not worthy. If she can't appreciate them, I would lether alone. I once thought better of Eva, but it is very bad company shekeeps when she is not here. '

Charles, however, was not sorry when Eveleen came to sit by him, for abantering conversation with her was the occupation of which he was moatcapable. Amy, returning, came and sat in her old place beside him, withher hand in his, and her quiet eyes fixed on the ground. 

The last evening for many weeks that she would thus sit with him, --thelast that she would ever be a part of his home. She had already ceasedto belong entirely to him; she who had always been the most precious tohim, except his mother. 

Only his mother could have been a greater loss, --he could not dwellon the anticipation; and still holding her hand, he roused himself tolisten, and answer gaily to Eveleen's description of the tutor, Mr. Fielder, 'a thorough gentleman, very clever and agreeable, who had readall the books in the world; the ugliest, yes, without exaggeration, themost quaintly ugly man living, --little, and looking just as if he wasmade of gutta percha, Eveleen said, 'always moving by jerks, --so Mauriceadvised the boys not to put him near the fire, lest he should melt. '

'Only when he gives them some formidable lesson, and they want tomelt his heart, ' said Charles, talking at random, in hopes of sayingsomething laughable. 

'Then his eyes--'tis not exactly a squint, but a cast there is, and oneset of eyelashes are black and the other light, and that gives him justthe air of a little frightful terrier of Maurice's named Venus, with ablack spot over one eye. The boys never call him anything but Venus. '

'And you encourage them in respect for their tutor?'

'Oh, he holds his own at lessons, I trow; but he pretends to have sucha horror of us wild Irish, and to wonder not to find us eating potatoeswith our fingers, and that I don't wear a petticoat over my head insteadof a bonnet, in what he calls the classical Carthaginian Celto-Hibernianfashion. '

'Dear me, ' said Charlotte, 'no wonder Philip recommended him. '

'O, I assure you he has the gift, no one else but Captain Morville talksnear as well. '

So talked on Eveleen, and Charles answered her as much in her ownfashion as he could, and when at last the evening came to an end, everyone felt relieved. 

Laura lingered long in Amy's room, perceiving that hitherto she hadknown only half the value of her sister her sweet sister. It wouldbe worse than ever now, when left with the others, all so much lesssympathizing, all saying sharp things of Philip, none to cling to herwith those winsome ways that had been unnoted till the time when theywere no more to console her, and she felt them to have been the onlycharm that had softened her late dreary desolation. 

So full was her heart, that she must have told Amy all her grief but forthe part that Philip had acted towards Guy, and her doubts of Guy wouldnot allow her the consolation of dwelling on Amy's happiness, whichcheered the rest. She could only hang about her in speechless grief, andcaress her fondly, while Amy cried, and tried to comfort her, till hermother came to wish her good night. 

Mrs. Edmonstone did not stay long, because she wished Amy, if possibleto rest. 

'Mamma' said Amy, as she received her last kiss, 'I can't think why I amnot more unhappy. '

'It is all as it should be, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 

Amabel slept, and awakened to the knowledge that it was her wedding-day. She was not to appear at the first breakfast, but she came to meetCharles in the dressing-room; and as they sat together on the sofa, where she had watched and amused so many of his hours of helplessness, he clasped round her arm his gift, --a bracelet of his mother's hair. Hisfingers trembled and his eyes were hazy, but he would not let her helphim. Her thanks were obliged to be all kisses, no words would come but'Charlie; Charlie! how could I ever have promised to leave you?'

'Nonsense! who ever dreamt that my sisters were to be three monkeys tiedto a dog?'

It was impossible not to smile, though it was but for amoment, --Charles's mirth was melancholy. 

'And, dear Charlie, you will not miss me so very much; do pray letCharlotte wait upon you. '

'After the first, perhaps, I may not hate her. Oh, Amy, I little knewwhat I was doing when I tried to get him back again for you. I wassawing off the bough I was sitting on. But there! I will not flatteryou, you've had enough to turn that head of yours. Stand up, and letme take a survey. Very pretty, I declare, --you do my education credit. There, if it will be for your peace, I'll do my best to wear on withoutyou. I've wanted a brother all my life, and you are giving me the veryone I would have picked out of a thousand--the only one I could forgivefor presuming to steal you, Amy. Here he is. Come in, ' he added, as Guyknocked at his door, to offer to help him down-stairs. 

Guy hardly spoke, and Amy could not look in his face. It was late, andhe took down Charles at once. After this, she had very little quiet, every one was buzzing about her, and putting the last touches to herdress; at last, just as she was quite finished, Charlotte exclaimed, 'Oh, there is Guy's step; may I call him in to have one look?'

Mrs. Edmonstone did not say no; and Charlotte, opening the dressing-roomdoor, called to him. He stood opposite to Amy for some moments, thensaid, with a smile, 'I was wrong about the grogram. I would not foranything see you look otherwise than you do. '

It seemed to Mrs. Edmonstone and Laura that these words made them losesight of the details of lace and silk that had been occupying them, sothat they only saw the radiance, purity, and innocence of Amy's bridalappearance. No more was said, for Mr. Edmonstone ran up to call Guy, whowas to drive Charles in the pony-carriage. 

Amabel, of course, went with her parents. Poor child! her tears flowedfreely on the way, and Mr. Edmonstone, now that it had really come tothe point of parting with his little Amy, was very much overcome, whilehis wife, hardly refraining from tears, could only hold her daughter'shand very close. 

The regular morning service was a great comfort, by restoring theirtranquillity, and by the time it was ended, Amabel's countenance hadsettled into its own calm expression of trust and serenity. She scarcelyeven trembled when her father led her forward; her hand did not shake, and her voice, though very low, was firm and audible, while Guy's deep, sweet tones had a sort of thrill and quiver of intense feeling. 

No one could help observing that Laura was the most agitated personpresent; she trembled so much that she was obliged to lean on Charlotte, and her tears gave the infection to the other bridesmaids--all but MaryRoss, who could never cry when other people did, and little Marianne, who did nothing but look and wonder. 

Mary was feeling a great deal, both of compassion for the bereavedfamily and of affectionate admiring joy for the young pair who kneltbefore the altar. It was a showery day, with gleams of vivid sunshine, and one of these suddenly broke forth, casting a stream of colour from amartyr's figure in the south window, so as to shed a golden glory on thewave of brown hair over Guy's forehead, then passing on and tinting thebride's white veil with a deep glowing shade of crimson and purple. 

Either that golden light, or the expression of the face on which itbeamed, made Mary think of the lines--

 Where is the brow to wear in mortal's sight, The crown of pure angelic light?

Charles stood with his head leaning against a pillar as if he could notbear to look up; Mr. Edmonstone was restless and almost sobbing; Mrs. Edmonstone alone collected, though much flushed and somewhat trembling, while the only person apparently free from excitement was the littlebride, as there she knelt, her hand clasped in his, her head bent down, her modest, steadfast face looking as if she was only conscious ofthe vow she exchanged, the blessing she received, and was, as it were, lifted out of herself. 

It was over now. The feast, in its fullest sense, was held, and therichest of blessings had been called down on them. 

The procession came out of the vestry in full order, and very pretty itwas; the bride and bridegroom in the fresh bright graciousness oftheir extreme youth, and the six bridesmaids following; Laura and LadyEveleen, two strikingly handsome and elegant girls; Charlotte, with thepretty little fair Marianne; Mary Ross, and Grace Harper. The villagepeople who stood round might well say that such a sight as that wasworth coming twenty miles to see. 

The first care, after the bridal pair had driven off, was to put Charlesinto his pony-carriage. Charlotte, who had just pinned on his favour, begged to drive him, for she meant to make him her especial charge, and to succeed to all Amy's rights. Mrs. Edmonstone asked whether Laurawould not prefer going with him, but she hastily answered, 'No, thank you, let Charlotte;' for with her troubled feelings, shecould better answer talking girls than parry the remarks of her shrewd, observant brother. 

Some one said it would rain, but Charlotte still pleaded earnestly. 

'Come, then, puss, ' said Charles, rallying his spirits, 'only don'tupset me, or it will spoil their tour. '

Charlotte drove off with elaborate care, --then came a deep sigh, and sheexclaimed, 'Well! he is our brother, and all is safe. '

'Yes, ' said Charles; 'no more fears for them. '

'Had you any? I am very glad if you had. '

'Why?'

'Because it was so like a book. I had a sort of feeling, all the time, that Philip would come in quite grand and terrible. '

'As if he must act Ogre. I am not sure that I had not something ofthe same notion, --that he might appear suddenly, and forbid the banns, entirely for Amy's sake, and as the greatest kindness to her. '

'Oh!'

'However, he can't separate them now; let him do his worst, and whileAmy is Guy's wife, I don't think we shall easily be made to quarrel. Iam glad the knot is tied, for I had a fatality notion that the feud wasso strong, that it was nearly a case of the mountains bending and thestreams ascending, ere she was to be our foeman's bride. '

'No, ' said Charlotte, 'it ought to be like that story of Rosaura andher kindred, don't you remember? The fate would not be appeased by themarriage, till Count Julius had saved the life of one of the hostilerace. That would be _it_, --perhaps they will meet abroad, and Guy will_do_ _it_. '

'That won't do. Philip will never endanger his precious life, nor everforgive Guy the obligation. Well, I suppose there never was a prettierwedding--how silly of me to say so, I shall be sick of hearing it beforenight. '

'I do wish all these people were gone; I did not know it would be sohorrid. I should like to shut myself up and cry, and think what I couldever do to wait on you. Indeed, Charlie, I know I never can be like Amybut if you--'

'Be anything but sentimental; I don't want to make a fool of myself'said Charles, with a smile and tone as if he was keeping sorrow at bay. 'Depend upon it if we were left to ourselves this evening, we should beso desperately savage that we should quarrel furiously, and there wouldbe no Amy to set us to rights. '

'How Aunt Charlotte did cry! What a funny little woman she is. '

'Yes, I see now who you take after, puss. You'll be just like her whenyou are her age. '

'So I mean to be, --I mean to stay and take care of you all my life, asshe does of grandmamma. '

'You do, do you?'

'Yes. I never mean to marry, it is so disagreeable. O dear! But howlovely dear Amy did look. '

'Here's the rain!' exclaimed Charles, as some large drops began to fallin good time to prevent them from being either savage or sentimental, though at the expense of Charlotte's pink and white; for they had noumbrella, and she would not accept a share of Charles's carriage-cloak. She laughed, and drove on fast through the short cut, and arrived at thehouse-door, just as the pelting hail was over, having battered her thinsleeves, and made her white bonnet look very deplorable. The first thingthey saw was Guy, with Bustle close to him, for Bustle had found outthat something was going on that concerned his master, and followed himabout more assiduously than ever, as if sensible of the decree, that hewas to be left behind to Charlotte's care. 

'Charlotte, how wet you are. '

'Never mind, Charlie is not. ' She sprung out, holding his hand, andfelt as if she could never forget that moment when her new brother firstkissed her brow. 

'Where's Amy?'

'Here!' and while Guy lifted Charles out, Charlotte was clasped in hersister's arms. 

'Are you wet, Charlie?'

'No, Charlotte would not be wise, and made me keep the cloak to myself. '

'You are wet through, poor child; come up at once, and change, ' saidAmy, flying nimbly up the stairs, --up even to Charlotte's own room, theold nursery, and there she was unfastening the drenched finery. 

'O Amy, don't do all this. Let me ring. '

'No, the servants are either not come home or are too busy. Charleswon't want me, he has Guy. Can I find your white frock?'

'Oh, but Amy--let me see!' Charlotte made prisoner the left hand, andlooked up with an arch smile at the face where she had called up ablush. 'Lady Morville must not begin by being lady's-maid. '

'Let me--let me, Charlotte, dear, I sha'n't be able to do anything foryou this long time. ' Amy's voice trembled, and Charlotte held her fastto kiss her again. 

'We must make haste, ' said Amy, recovering herself. 'There are thecarriages. '

While the frock was being fastened, Charlotte looked into thePrayer-book Amy had laid down. There was the name, Amabel FrancesMorville, and the date. 

'Has he just written it?' said Charlotte. 

'Yes; when we came home. '

'O Amy! dear, dear Amy; I don't know whether I am glad or sorry!'

'I believe I am both, ' said Amy. 

At that moment Mrs. Edmonstone and Laura hastened in. Then was the timefor broken words, tears and smiles, as Amy leant against her mother, wholocked her in a close embrace, and gazed on her in a sort of trance, atonce of maternal pride and of pain, at giving up her cherished nestling. Poor Laura! how bitter were her tears, and how forced her smiles, --farunlike the rest!

No one would care to hear the details of the breakfast, and thesplendours of the cake; how Charlotte recovered her spirits whiledistributing the favours: and Lady Eveleen set up a flirtation withMarkham, and forced him into wearing one, though he protested, with manya grunt, that she was making a queer fool of him; how often Charles wasobliged to hear it had been a pretty wedding; and how well Lord Kilcoranmade his speech proposing the health of Sir Guy and Lady Morville. Allthe time, Laura was active and useful, --feeling as if she was acting aplay, sustaining the character of Miss Edmonstone, the bridesmaid ather sister's happy marriage; while the true Laura, Philip's Laura, waslonely, dejected, wretched; half fearing for her sister, half jealousof her happiness, forced into pageantry with an aching heart, --with onlyone wish, that it was over, and that she might be again alone with herburden. 

She was glad when her mother rose, and the ladies moved into thedrawing-room, --glad to escape from Eveleen's quick eye, and to avoidMary's clear sense, --glad to talk to comparative strangers, --glad ofthe occupation of going to prepare Amabel for her journey. This lasteda long time, --there was so much to be said, and hearts were so full, and Amy over again explained to Charlotte how to perform all the littleservices to Charles which she relinquished; while her mother had so manyaffectionate last words, and every now and then stopped short to look ather little daughter, saying, she did not know if it was not a dream. 

At length Amabel was dressed in her purple and white shot silk, hermuslin mantle, and white bonnet. Mrs. Edmonstone left her and Laurato have a few words together, and went to the dressing-room. There shefound Guy, leaning on the mantelshelf, as he used to do when he broughthis troubles to her. He started as she entered. 

'Ought I not to be here? he said. 'I could not help coming once more. This room has always been the kernel of my home, my happiness here. '

'Indeed, it has been a very great pleasure to have you here. '

'You have been very kind to me, ' he proceeded, in a low, reflectingtone. 'You have helped me very much, very often; even when--Do youremember the day I begged you to keep me in order, as if I were Charles?I did not think then--'

He was silent; and Mrs. Edmonstone little able to find words, smiling, tried to say, --'I little thought how truly and how gladly I should beable to call you my son;' and ended by giving him a mother's kiss. 

'I wish I could tell you half, ' said Guy, --'half what I feel for thekindness that made a home to one who had no right to any. Coming as astranger, I found--'

'We found one to love with all our hearts, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'Ihave often looked back, and seen that you brought a brightness to usall--especially to poor Charles. Yes, it dates from your coming; and Ican only wish and trust, Guy, that the same brightness will rest on yourown home. '

'There must be brightness where she is, ' said Guy. 

'I need not tell you to take care of her, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling. 'I think I can trust you; but I feel rather as I did when firstI sent her and Laura to a party of pleasure by themselves. '

Laura at this moment, came in. Alone with Amy, she could not speak, shecould only cry; and fearful of distressing her sister, she came away;but here, with Guy, it was worse, for it was unkind not to speak onewarm word to him. Yet what could she say! He spoke first--

'Laura, you must get up your looks again, now this turmoil is over. Don't do too much mathematics, and wear yourself down to a shadow. '

Laura gave her sad, forced smile. 

'Will you do one thing for me, Laura? I should like to have one ofyour perspective views of the inside of the church. Would it be tootroublesome to do?'

'Oh, no; I shall be very glad. '

'Don't set about it till you quite like it, and have plenty of time. Thank you. I shall think it is a proof that you can forgive me for allthe pain I am causing you. I am very sorry. 

'You are so very kind, ' said Laura, bursting into tears; and, as hermother was gone, she could not help adding, 'but don't try to comfortme, Guy; don't blame yourself, --'tisn't only that, --but I am so very, very unhappy. '

'Amy told me you were grieved for Philip. I wish I could help it, Laura. I want to try to meet him in Switzerland, and, if we can, perhaps it maybe set right. At any rate he will be glad to know you see the rights ofit. '

Laura wept still more; but she could never again lose the sisterlyfeeling those kind words had awakened. If Philip had but known what hemissed!

Charlotte ran in. 'Oh, I am glad to find you here, Guy; I wanted to putyou in mind of your promise. You must write me the first letter you sign"Your affectionate brother!"'

'I won't forget, Charlotte. '

'Guy! Where's Guy?' called Mr. Edmonstone. 'The rain's going off. Youmust come down, both of you, or you'll be too late. '

Mrs. Edmonstone hastened to call Amabel. Those moments that she hadbeen alone, Amabel had been kneeling in an earnest supplication that allmight be forgiven that she had done amiss in the home of her childhood, that the blessings might be sealed on her and her husband, and that shemight go forth from her father's house in strength sent from above. Hermother summoned her; she rose, came calmly forth, met Guy at the head ofthe stairs, put her arm in his, and they went down. 

Charles was on the sofa in the ante-room, talking fast, and striving forhigh spirits. 

'Amy, woman, you do us credit! Well, write soon, and don't break yourheart for want of me. '

There was a confusion of good-byes, and then all came out to the halldoor; even Charles, with Charlotte's arm. One more of those fast-lockedembraces between the brother and sister, and Mr. Edmonstone put Amabelinto the carriage. 

'Good-bye, good-bye, my own dearest little one! Bless you, bless you!and may you be as happy as a Mayflower! Guy, goodbye. I've given youthe best I had to give, --and 'tis you that are welcome to her. Take carewhat you do with her, for she's a precious little jewel! Good-bye, myboy!'

Guy's face and grasping hand were the reply. As he was about to springinto the carriage, he turned again. 'Charlotte, I have shut Bustle up inmy room. Will you let him out in half an hour? I've explained it all tohim, and he will be very good. Good-bye. '

'I'll take care of him. I'll mention him in every letter. '

'And, Markham, mind, if our house is not ready by Michaelmas, we shallbe obliged to come and stay with you. '

Grunt!

Lastly, as if he could not help it, Guy dashed up the step once more, pressed Charles's hand, and said, 'God bless you, Charlie!'

In an instant he was beside Amabel, and they drove off, --Amabel leaningforward, and gazing wistfully at her mother and Charles, till she wasstartled by a long cluster of laburnums, their yellow bloom bent downand heavy with wet, so that the ends dashed against her bonnet, and thecrystal drops fell on her lap. 

'Why, Amy, the Hollywell flowers are weeping for the loss of you!

She gave a sweet, sunny smile through her tears. At that moment theycame beyond the thick embowering shrubs, while full before them was thedark receding cloud, on which the sunbeams were painting a wide-spannedrainbow. The semicircle was perfect, and full before them, like an archof triumph under which they were to pass. 

'How beautiful!' broke from them both. 

'Guy, ' said the bride, after a few minutes had faded the rainbow, andturned them from its sight, 'shall I tell you what I was thinking? Iwas thinking, that if there is a doom on us, I am not afraid, if it willonly bring a rainbow. '

'The rainbow will come after, if not with it, ' said Guy. 

CHAPTER 30

 She's a winsome wee thing, She's a handsome wee thing, She's a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wifie of mine. --BURNS

'Look here, Amy, ' said Guy, pointing to a name in the traveller's bookat Altdorf. 

'Captain Morville!' she exclaimed, 'July 14th. That was only the daybefore yesterday. '

'I wonder whether we shall overtake him! Do you know what was thisgentleman's route?' inquired Guy, in French that was daily becoming moreproducible. 

The gentleman having come on foot, with nothing but his knapsack, hadnot made much sensation. There was a vague idea that he had gone onto the St. Gothard; but the guide who was likely to know, was notforthcoming, and all Guy's inquiries only resulted in, 'I dare say weshall hear of him elsewhere. '

To tell the truth, Amabel was not much disappointed, and she could see, though he said nothing, that Guy was not very sorry. These two monthshad been so very happy, there had been such full enjoyment, such freedomfrom care and vexation, or aught that could for a moment ruffle thestream of delight. Scenery, cathedrals music, paintings, historicalassociation, had in turn given unceasing interest and pleasure; and, above all, Amabel had been growing more and more into the depths of herhusband's mind, and entering into the grave, noble thoughts inspired bythe scenes they were visiting. It had been a sort of ideal happiness, so exquisite, that she could hardly believe it real. A taste of society, which they had at Munich, though very pleasant, had only made themmore glad to be alone together again; any companion would have been aninterruption, and Philip, so intimate, yet with his carping, persecutingspirit towards Guy, was one of the last persons she could wish tomeet; but knowing that this was by no means a disposition Guy wished toencourage, she held her peace. 

For the present, no more was said about Philip; and they proceeded toInterlachen, where they spent a day or two, while Arnaud was with hisrelations; and they visited the two beautiful lakes of Thun and Brientz. On first coming among mountains, Amabel had been greatly afraid ofthe precipices, and had been very much alarmed at the way in which Guyclambered about, with a sureness of foot and steadiness of head acquiredlong ago on the crags of Redclyffe, and on which the guides were alwayscomplimenting him; but from seeing him always come down safe, and fromhaving been enticed by him to several heights, which had at first seemedto her most dizzy and dangerous, she had gradually laid aside her fears, and even become slightly, very slightly, adventurous herself. 

One beautiful evening, they were wandering on the side of theBeatenberg, in the little narrow paths traced by the tread of the goatsand their herdsmen. Amabel sat down to try to sketch the outline of thewhite-capped Jung Frau and her attendant mountains, wishing she coulddraw as well as Laura, but intending her outline to aid in describingthe scene to those whose eyes she longed to have with her. While she wasdrawing, Guy began to climb higher, and was soon out of sight, thoughshe still heard him whistling. The mountains were not easy to draw, or rather she grew discontented with her black lines and white paper, compared with the dazzling snow against the blue sky, tinged by theroseate tints of the setting sun, and the dark fissures on the rockysides, still blacker from the contrast. 

She put up her sketching materials, and began to gather some of thedelightful treasury of mountain flowers. A gentle slope of grass wasclose to her, and on it grew, at some little distance from her, a tuftof deep purple, the beautiful Alpine saxifrage, which she well knew bydescription. She went to gather it, but the turf was slippery, and whenonce descending, she could not stop herself; and what was the horror offinding herself half slipping, half running down a slope, which becamesteeper every moment, till it was suddenly broken off into a sheerprecipice! She screamed, and grasped with both hands at some low bushes, that grew under a rock at the side of the treacherous turf. She caughta branch, and found herself supported, by clinging to it with her hands, while she rested on the slope, now so nearly perpendicular, that to loseher hold would send her instantly down the precipice. Her whole weightseemed to depend on that slender bough, and those little hands thatclenched it convulsively, --her feet felt in vain for some hold. 'Guy!Guy!' she shrieked again. Oh, where was he? His whistle ceased, --heheard her, --he called, 'Here!'

'Oh, help me!' she answered. But with that moment's joy came the horror, he could not help her--he would only fall himself. 'Take care! don'tcome on the grass!' she cried. She must let go the branch in a short, time then a slip, the precipice, --and what would become of him? Thosemoments were hours. 

'I am coming--hold fast!' She heard his voice above her, very near. To find him so close made the agony of dread and of prayer even moreintense. To be lost, with her husband scarcely a step from her! Yet howcould he stand on the slippery turf, and so as to be steady enough toraise her up?

'Now, then!' he said, speaking from the rock under which the brushwoodgrew, 'I cannot reach you unless you raise up your hand to me--your lefthand--straight up. Let go. Now!'

It was a fearful moment. Amabel could not see him, and felt as ifrelinquishing her grasp of the tree was certain destruction. Theinstinct of self-preservation had been making her cling desperately withthat left hand, especially as it held by the thicker part of the bough. But the habit of implicit confidence and obedience was stronger still;she did not hesitate, and tightening her hold with the other hand, sheunclasped the left and stretched it upwards. 

Joy unspeakable to feel his fingers close over her wrist, like iron, even while the bush to which she had trusted was detaching itself, almost uprooted by her weight! If she had waited a second she would havebeen lost, but her confidence had been her safety. A moment or two more, and with closed eyes she was leaning against him; his arm was roundher, and he guided her steps, till, breathless, she found herself on thebroad well-trodden path, out of sight of the precipice. 

'Thank heaven!' he said, in a very low voice, as he stood still. 'ThankGod! my Amy, I have you still. '

She looked up and saw how pale he was, though his voice had been sosteady throughout. She leant on his breast, and rested her head onhis shoulder again in silence, for her heart was too full of awe andthankfulness for words, even had she not been without breath or power tospeak, and needing his support in her giddiness and trembling. 

More than a minute passed thus. Then, beginning to recover, she lookedup to him again, and said, 'Oh, it was dreadful! I did not think youcould have saved me. '

'I thought so too for a moment!' said Guy, in a stifled voice. 'You arebetter now? You are not hurt? are you sure?'

'Quite sure! I did not fall, you know, only slipped. No, I have nothingthe matter with me, thank you. '

She tried to stand alone, but the trembling returned. He made her sitdown, and she rested against him, while he still made her assure himthat she was unhurt. 'Yes, quite unhurt--quite well; only this wrist isa little strained, and no wonder. Oh, I am sure it was Providence thatmade those bushes grow just there!'

'How did it happen?'

'It was my fault. I went after a flower; my foot slipped on the turf, and I could not stop myself. I thought I should have run right down theprecipice. '

She shut her eyes and shuddered again. 'It was frightful!' he said, holding her fast. 'It was a great mercy, indeed. Thank heaven, it isover! You are not giddy now. '

'Oh, no; not at all!'

'And your wrist?'

'Oh, that's nothing. I only told you to show you what was the worst, 'said Amy, smiling with recovered playfulness, the most re-assuring ofall. 

'What flower was it?'

'A piece of purple saxifrage. I thought there was no danger, for it didnot seem steep at first. '

'No, it was not your fault. You had better not move just yet; sit stilla little while. '

'O Guy, where are you going?'

'Only for your sketching tools and my stick. I shall not be gone aninstant. Sit still and recover. '

In a few seconds he came back with her basket, and in it a few of theflowers. 

'Oh, I am sorry, ' she said, coming to meet him; 'I wish I had told you Idid not care for them. Why did you?'

'I did not put myself in any peril about them. I had my trusty staff, you know. '

'I am glad I did not guess what you were doing. I thought it soimpossible, that I did not think of begging you not. I shall keep themalways. It is a good thing for us to be put in mind how frail all ourjoy is. '

'All?' asked Guy, scarcely as if replying to her, while, though his armpressed hers, his eye was on the blue sky, as he answered himself, 'Yourjoy no man taketh from you. '

Amabel was much impressed, as she thought what it would have beenfor him if his little wife bad been snatched from him so suddenly andfrightfully. His return--his meeting her mother--his desolate home andsolitary life. She could almost have wept for him. Yet, at the moment ofrelief from the fear of such misery, he could thus speak. He could lookonward to the joy beyond, even while his cheek was still blanched withthe horror and anguish of the apprehension; and how great they hadbeen was shown by the broken words he uttered in his sleep, for severalnights afterwards, while by day he was always watching and cautioningher. Assuredly his dependence on the joy that could not be lost did notmake her doubt his tenderness; it only made her feel how far behind himshe was, for would it have been the same with her, had the danger beenhis?

In a couple of days they arrived at the beautiful Lugano, and, as usual, their first walk was to the post-office, but disappointment awaitedthem. There had been some letters addressed to the name of Morville, but the Signor Inglese had left orders that such should be forwarded toComo. Amabel, in her best Italian, strove hard to explain the differencebetween the captain and Sir Guy, the Cavaliere Guido, as she translatedhim, who stood by looking much amused by the perplexities of his lady'sconstruing; while the post-master, though very polite and sorry for theSignora's disappointment, stuck to the address being Morville, posterestante. 

'There is one good thing, ' said the cavaliere, as they walked away, 'wecan find the captain now. I'll write and ask him--shall I say to meet usat Varenna or at Bellagio?'

'Whichever suits him best, I should think. It can't make much differenceto us. '

'Your voice has a disconsolate cadence, ' said Guy, looking at her with asmile. 

'I did not mean it, ' she answered; 'I have not a word to say against it. It is quite right, and I am sure I don't wish to do otherwise. '

'Only it is the first drawback in our real day-dream. '

'Just so, and that is all, ' said Amy; 'I am glad you feel the same, notthat I want you to change your mind. '

'Don't you remember our resolution against mere pleasure-hunting? Thatadventure at Interlachen seemed to be meant to bring us up short just aswe were getting into that line. '

'You think we were?'

'I was, at least; for I know it was a satisfaction not to find a letter, to say Redclyffe was ready for us. '

'I had rather it was Redclyffe than Philip. '

'To be sure, I would not change my own dancing leaping waves for thisclear blue looking-glass of a lake, or even those white peaks. I wantyou to make friends with those waves, Amy. But it is a more real matterto make friends with Philip, the one wish of my life. Not that I exactlyexpect to clear matters up, but if some move is not made now, when itmay, we shall stand aloof for life, and there will be the feud where itwas before. '

'It is quite right, ' said Amy; 'I dare say that, meeting so far fromhome, he will be glad to see us, and to hear the Hollywell news. Ilittle thought last autumn where I should meet him again. '

On the second evening from that time, Philip Morville was walking, hotand dusty, between the high stone walls bordering the road, and shuttingout the beautiful view of the lake, at the entrance of Ballagio, meditating on the note he had received from Guy, and intending to bemagnanimous, and overlook former offences for Amabel's sake. He wouldshow that he considered the marriage to have cleared off old scores, andthat as long as she was happy, poor little thing, her husband shouldbe borne with, though not to the extent of the spoiling the Edmonstonesgave him. 

Thus reflecting, he entered the town, and walked on in search of thehotel. He presently found himself on a terrace, looking out on thedeep blue lake, there divided by the promontory of Bellagio, into twobranches, the magnificent mountain forms rising opposite to him. Alittle boat was crossing, and as it neared the landing-place, he sawthat it contained a gentleman and lady, English--probably his cousinsthemselves. They looked up, and in another moment had waved theirrecognition. Gestures and faces were strangely familiar, like a bitof Hollywell transplanted into that Italian scene. He hastened to thelanding-place, and was met by a hearty greeting from Guy, who seemedfull of eagerness to claim their closer relationship, and ready to becongratulated. 

'How d'ye do, Philip? I am glad we have caught you at last. Here sheis. '

If he had wished to annoy Philip, he could hardly have done so moreeffectually than by behaving as if nothing was amiss, and disconcertinghis preparations for a reconciliation. But the captain's ordinary mannerwas calculated to cover all such feelings; and as he shook hands, hefelt much kindness for Amabel, as an unconscious victim, whose verysmiles were melancholy, and plenty of them there were, for she rejoicedsincerely in the meeting, as Guy was pleased, and a home face was awelcome sight. 

'I have your letters in my knapsack; I will unpack them as soon as weget to the hotel. I thought it safer not to send them in search of youagain, as we were to meet so soon. '

'Certainly. Are there many?'

'One for each of you, both from Hollywell. I was very sorry to haveengrossed them; but not knowing you were so near, I only gave mysurname. '

'It was lucky for us, ' said Guy, 'otherwise we could not have tracedyou. We saw your name at Altdorf, and have been trying to come up withyou ever since. '

'I am glad we have met. What accounts have you from home?'

'Excellent, ' said Amy; 'Charlie is uncommonly well, he has been out ofdoors a great deal, and has even dined out several times. '

'I am very glad. '

'You know he has been improving ever since his great illness. '

'You would be surprised to see how much better he moves, ' said Guy; 'hehelps himself so much more. '

'Can he set his foot to the ground?'

'No, ' said Amy, 'there is no hope of that; but he is more active, because his general health is improved; he can sleep and eat more. '

'I always thought exertion would do more for him than anything else. '

Amabel was vexed, for she thought exertion depended more on health, thanhealth on exertion; besides, she thought Philip ought to take some blameto himself for the disaster on the stairs. She made no answer, and Guyasked what Philip had been doing to-day. 

'Walking over the hills from Como. Do you always travel in this fashion, "impedimentis relictis"?'

'Not exactly, ' said Guy; 'the "impedimenta" are, some at Varenna, someat the inn with Arnaud. '

'So you have Arnaud with you?'

'Yes, and Anne Trower, ' said Amy, for her maid was a Stylehurst person, who had lived at Hollywell ever since she had been fit for service. 'Shewas greatly pleased to hear we were going to meet the captain. '

'We amuse ourselves with thinking how she gets on with Arnaud, ' saidGuy. 'Their introduction took place only two days before we weremarried, since which, they have had one continued tete-a-tete, whichmust have been droll at first. '

'More so at last, ' said Amy. 'At first Anne thought Mr. Arnaud so fine agentleman, that she hardly dared to speak to him. I believe nothingawed her so much as his extreme courtesy; but lately he has been quitefatherly to her, and took her to dine at his sister's chalet, whereI would have given something to see her. She tells me he wants herto admire the country, but she does not like the snow, and misses ourbeautiful clover-fields very much. '

'Stylehurst ought to have been better training for mountains, ' saidPhilip. 

They were fast losing the stiffness of first meeting. Philip could notbut acknowledge to himself that Amy was looking very well, and so happythat Guy must be fulfilling the condition on which he was to be bornewith. However, these were early days, and of course Guy must be kind toher at least in the honeymoon, before the wear and tear of life began. They both looked so young, that having advised them to wait four years, he was ready to charge them with youthfulness, if not as a fault, atleast as a folly; indeed, the state of his own affairs made him inclinedto think it a foible, almost a want of patience, in any one to marrybefore thirty. It was a conflict of feeling. Guy was so cordial andgood-humoured, that he could not help being almost gained; but, on theother hand, he had always thought Guy's manners eminently agreeable; andas happiness always made people good-humoured, this was no reason forrelying on him. Besides, the present ease and openness of manner mightonly result from security. 

Other circumstances combined, more than the captain imagined, in what ispopularly called putting him out. He had always been hitherto on equalterms with Guy; indeed, had rather the superiority at Hollywell, fromhis age and assumption of character, but here Sir Guy was somebody, thecaptain nobody, and even the advantage of age was lost, now that Guy wasmarried and head of a family, while Philip was a stray young man and hisguest. Far above such considerations as he thought himself, anddeeming them only the tokens of the mammon worship of the time, Philip, nevertheless, did not like to be secondary to one to whom he had alwaysbeen preferred; and this, and perhaps the being half ashamed of it, madehim something more approaching to cross than ever before; but now andthen, the persevering amiability of both would soften him, and restorehim to his most gracious mood. 

He gave them their letters when they reached the inn, feeling as if hehad a better right than they, to one which was in Laura's writing, andwhen left in solitary possession of the sitting-room--a very pleasantone, with windows opening on the terrace just above the water--paced upand down, chafing at his own perplexity of feeling. 

Presently they came back; Guy sat down to continue their jointjournal-like letter to Charles, while Amabel made an orderly arrangementof their properties, making the most of their few books, and taking outher work as if she had been at home. Philip looked at the books. 

'Have you a "Childe Harold" here?' said he. 'I want to look at somethingin it. '

'No, we have not. '

'Guy, you never forget poetry; I dare say you can help me out with thosestanzas about the mists in the valley. '

'I have never read it, ' said Guy. 'Don't you remember warning me againstByron?'

'You did not think that was for life! Besides, ' he continued, feelingthis reply inconsistent with his contempt for Guy's youth, 'thatapplied to his perversions of human passions, not to his descriptions ofscenery. '

'I think, ' said Guy, looking up from his letter, 'I should be moreunwilling to take a man like that to interpret nature than anythingelse, except Scripture. It is more profane to attempt it. '

'I see what you mean, ' said Amabel, thoughtfully. 

'More than I do, ' said Philip. 'I never supposed you would take myadvice "au pied de la lettre", ' he had almost added, 'perversely. '

'I have felt my obligations for that caution ever since I have come tosome knowledge of what Byron was, ' said Guy. 

'The fascination of his "Giaour" heroes has an evil influence on someminds, ' said Philip. 'I think you do well to avoid it. The half truth, resulting from its being the effect of self-contemplation, makes it moredangerous. '

'True, ' said Guy, though he little knew how much he owed to havingattended to that caution, for who could have told where the masterymight have been in the period of fearful conflict with his passions, ifhe had been feeding his imagination with the contemplation of revenge, dark hatred, and malice, and identifying himself with Byron's broodingand lowering heroes!

'But, ' continued Philip, 'I cannot see why you should shun the finedescriptions which are almost classical--the Bridge of Sighs, theGladiator. '

'He may describe the gladiator as much as he pleases, ' said Guy; 'indeedthere is something noble in that indignant line--

 Butchered to make a Roman holiday;

but that is not like his meddling with these mountains or the sea. '

'Fine description is the point in both. You are over-drawing. '

'My notion is this, ' said Guy, --'there is danger in listening to aman who is sure to misunderstand the voice of nature, --danger, lest byfilling our ears with the wrong voice we should close them to the trueone. I should think there was a great chance of being led to stopshort at the material beauty, or worse, to link human passions with theglories of nature, and so distort, defile, profane them. '

'You have never read the poem, so you cannot judge, ' said Philip, thinking this extremely fanciful and ultra-fastidious. 'Your rule wouldexclude all descriptive poetry, unless it was written by angels, Isuppose?'

'No; by men with minds in the right direction. '

'Very little you would leave us. '

'I don't think so, ' said Amabel. 'Almost all the poetry we really careabout was written by such men. '

'Shakspeare, for instance?'

'No one can doubt of the bent of his mind from the whole strain of hiswritings, ' said Guy. 'So again with Spenser; and as to Milton, thoughhis religion was not quite the right sort, no one can pretend to say hehad it not. Wordsworth, Scott--'

'Scott?' said Philip. 

'Including the descriptions of scenery in his novels, ' said Amy, 'where, I am sure, there is the spirit and the beauty. '

'Or rather, the spirit is the beauty, ' said Guy. 

'There is a good deal in what you say, ' answered Philip, who would notlay himself open to the accusation of being uncandid, 'but you willforgive me for thinking it rather too deep an explanation of the groundsof not making Childe Harold a hand-book for Italy, like other people. '

Amabel thought this so dogged and provoking, that she was out ofpatience; but Guy only laughed, and said, 'Rather so, considering thatthe fact was that we never thought of it. '

There were times when, as Philip had once said, good temper annoyed himmore than anything, and perhaps he was unconsciously disappointed athaving lost his old power of fretting and irritating Guy, and watchinghim champ the bit, so as to justify his own opinion of him. Everyproceeding of his cousins seemed to give him annoyance, more especiallytheir being at home together, and Guy's seeming to belong more toHollywell than himself. He sat by, with a book, and watched them, as Guyasked for Laura's letter, and Amy came to look over his half-finishedanswer, laughing over it, and giving her commands and messages, lookingso full of playfulness and happiness, as she stood with one hand on theback of her husband's chair, and the other holding the letter, and Guywatching her amused face, and answering her remarks with lively wordsand bright smiles. 'People who looked no deeper than the surface would, say, what a well-matched pair, ' thought Philip; 'and no doubt they werevery happy, poor young things, if it would but last. ' Here Guy turned, and asked him a question about the line of perpetual snow, so much inhis own style, that he was almost ready to accuse them of laughing athim. Next came what hurt him most of all, as they talked over Charles'sletter, and a few words passed about Laura, and the admiration of someperson she had met at Allonby. The whole world was welcome to admireher: nothing could injure his hold on her heart, and no joke of Charlescould shake his confidence; but it was hard that he should be forced tohear such things, and ask no questions, for they evidently thought himoccupied with his book, and did not intend him to listen. The next thingthey said, however, obliged him to show that he was attending, for itwas about her being better. 

'Who? Laura!' he said, in a tone that, in spite of himself, had astartled sound. 'You did not say she had been ill?'

'No, she has not, ' said Amy. 'Dr. Mayerne said there was nothing reallythe matter: but she has been worried and out of spirits lately; andmamma thought it would be good for her to go out more. '

Philip would not let himself sigh, in spite of the oppressingconsciousness of having brought the cloud over her, and of his owninability to do aught but leave her to endure it in silence andpatience. Alas! for how long! Obliged, meanwhile, to see these youngcreatures, placed, by the mere factitious circumstance of wealth, inpossession of happiness which they had not had time either to earn or toappreciate. He thought it shallow, because of their mirth and gaiety, asif they were only seeking food for laughter, finding it in mistakes, forwhich he was ready to despise them. 

Arnaud had brought rather antiquated notions to the renewal of hisoffice as a courier: his mind had hardly opened to railroads andsteamers, and changes had come over hotels since his time. Guy andAmabel, both young and healthy, caring little about bad dinners, andunwilling to tease the old man by complaints, or alterations of hisarrangements, had troubled themselves little about the matter; tookthings as they found them, ate dry bread when the cookery was bad, walked if the road was 'shocking'; went away the sooner, if the innswere 'intolerable'; made merry over every inconvenience, and turnedit into an excellent story for Charles. They did not even distressthemselves about sights which they had missed seeing. 

Philip thought all this very foolish and absurd, showing that they wereunfit to take care of themselves, and that Guy was neglectful of hiswife's comforts: in short, establishing his original opinion of theiryouth and folly. 

So passed the first evening; perhaps the worst because, besides what hehad heard about Laura, he had been somewhat over-fatigued by various hotdays' walks. 

Certain it is, that next morning he was not nearly so much inclinedto be displeased with them for laughing, when, in speaking to Anne, heinadvertently called her mistress Miss Amabel. 

'Never mind, ' said Amy, as Anne departed--and he looked disconcerted, asa precise man always does when catching himself in a mistake--'Anne isused to it, Guy is always doing it, and puzzles poor Arnaud sorely bysending him for Miss Amabel's parasol. '

'And the other day, ' said Guy, 'when Thorndale's brother, at Munich, inquired after Lady Morville, I had to consider who she was. '

'Oh! you saw Thorndale's brother, did you?'

'Yes; he was very obliging. Guy had to go to him about our passports:and when he found who we were, he brought his wife to call on us, andasked us to an evening party. '

'Did you go?'

'Guy thought we must, and it was very entertaining. We had a curiousadventure there. In the morning, we had been looking at thosebeautiful windows of the great church, when I turned round, and saw agentleman--an Englishman--gazing with all his might at Guy. We met againin the evening, and presently Mr. Thorndale came and told us it was Mr. Shene. '

'Shene, the painter?'

'Yes. He had been very much struck with Guy's face: it was exactly whathe wanted for a picture he was about, and he wished of all things justto be allowed to make a sketch. '

'Did you submit?'

'Yes' said Guy; 'and we were rewarded. I never saw a more agreeableperson, or one who gave so entirely the impression of genius. The nextday he took us through the gallery, and showed us all that was worthadmiring. '

'And in what character is he to make you appear?'

'That is the strange part of it, ' said Amabel. 'Don't you remember howGuy once puzzled us by choosing Sir Galahad for his favourite hero? Itis that very Sir Galahad, when he kneels to adore the Saint Greal. '

'Mr. Shene said he had long been dreaming over it, and at last, as hesaw Guy's face looking upwards, it struck him that it was just what hewanted: it would be worth anything to him to catch the expression. '

'I wonder what I was looking like!' ejaculated Guy. 

'Did he take you as yourself, or as Sir Galahad?'

'As myself, happily. '

'How did he succeed?'

'Amy likes it; but decidedly I should never have known myself. '

'Ah, ' said his wife--

 'Could some fay the giftie gie us, To see ourselves as others see us. '

'As far as the sun-burnt visage is concerned, the glass does that everymorning. '

'Yes, but you don't look at yourself exactly as you do at a paintedwindow, ' said Amy, in her demure way. 

'I cannot think how you found time for sitting, ' said Philip. 

'O, it is quite a little thing, a mere sketch, done in two evenings andhalf an hour in the morning. He promises it to me when he has done withSir Galahad, ' said Amy. 

'Two--three evenings. You must have been a long time at Munich. '

'A fortnight, ' said Guy, 'there is a great deal to see there. '

Philip did not quite understand this, nor did he think it verysatisfactory that they should thus have lingered in a gay town, but hemeant to make the best of them to-day, and returned to his usual fashionof patronizing and laying down the law. They were so used to this thatthey did not care about it; indeed, they had reckoned on it as the mostamiable conduct to be expected on his part. 

The day was chiefly spent in an excursion on the lake, landing at themost beautiful spots, walking a little way and admiring, or while in theboat, smoothly moving over the deep blue waters, gaining lovely views ofthe banks, and talking over the book with which their acquaintance hadbegun, "I Promessi Sposi". Never did tourists spend a more serene andpleasant day. 

On comparing notes as to their plans, it appeared that each party hadabout a week or ten days to spare; the captain before he must embark forCorfu, and Sir Guy and Lady Morville before the time they had fixedfor returning home. Guy proposed to go together somewhere, spare thepost-office further blunders, and get the Signor Capitano to be theirinterpreter. Philip thought it would be an excellent thing for his youngcousins for him to take charge of them, and show them how people oughtto travel; so out came his little pocket map, marked with his route, before he left Ireland, whereas they seemed to have no fixed object, but to be always going 'somewhere. ' It appeared that they had thought ofVenice, but were easily diverted from it by his design of coasting theeastern bank of the Lago di Como, and so across the Stelvio into theTyrol, all together as far as Botzen, whence Philip would turn southwardby the mountain paths, while they would proceed to Innsbruck on theirreturn home. 

Amabel was especially pleased to stay a little longer on the banks ofthe lake, and to trace out more of Lucia's haunts; and if she secretlythought it would have been pleasanter without a third person, she wasgratified to see how much Guy's manner had softened Philip's injusticeand distrust, making everything so smooth and satisfactory, that at theend of the day, she told her husband that she thought his experiment hadnot failed. 

She was making the breakfast the next morning, when the captain cameinto the room, and she told him Guy was gone to settle their plans withArnaud. After lingering a little by the window, Philip turned, and withmore abruptness than was usual with him, said--

'You don't think there is any cause of anxiety about Laura?'

'No; certainly not!' said Amy, surprised. 'She has not been looking welllately, but Dr. Mayerne says it is nothing, and you know'--she blushedand looked down--'there were many things to make this a trying time. '

'Is she quite strong? Can she do as much as usual?'

'She does more than ever: mamma is only afraid of her overworkingherself, but she never allows that she is tired. She goes to schoolthree days in the week, besides walking to East-hill on Thursday, tohelp in the singing; and she is getting dreadfully learned. Guy gave herhis old mathematical books, and Charlie always calls her Miss Parabola. '

Philip was silent, knowing too well why she sought to stifle care inemployment; and feeling embittered against the whole world, against herfather, against his own circumstances, against the happiness of others;nay, perhaps, against the Providence which had made him what he was. 

Presently Guy came in, and the first thing he said was, 'I am afraid wemust give up our plan. '

'How?' exclaimed both Philip and Amy. 

'I have just heard that there is a fever at Sondrio, and all thatneighbourhood, and every one says it would be very foolish to exposeourselves to it. '

'What shall we do instead?' said Amy. 

'I told Arnaud we would let him know in an hour's time; I thought ofVenice. '

'Venice, oh, yes, delightful. '

'What do you say, Philip?' said Guy. 

'I say that I cannot see any occasion for our being frightened out ofour original determination. If a fever prevails among the half-starvedpeasantry, it need not affect well-fed healthy persons, merely passingthrough the country. '

'You see we could hardly manage without sleeping there, ' said Guy: 'wemust sleep either at Colico, or at Madonna. Now Colico, they say, is amost unhealthy place at this time of year, and Madonna is the veryheart of the fever--Sondrio not much better. I don't see how it is tobe safely done; and though very likely we might not catch the fever, Idon't see any use in trying. '

'That is making yourself a slave to the fear of infection. '

'I don't know what purpose would be answered by running the risk, ' saidGuy. 

'If you chose to give it so dignified a name as a risk, ' said Philip. 

'I don't, then, ' said Guy, smiling. 'I should not care if there wasany reason for going there, but, as there is not, I shall face Mr. Edmonstone better if I don't run Amy into any more chances of mischief. '

'Is Amy grateful for the care, ' said Philip, 'after all her wishes forthe eastern bank?'

'Amy is a good wife, ' said Guy. 'For Venice, then. I'll ring for Arnaud. You will come with us, won't you, Philip?'

'No, I thank you; I always intended to see the Valtelline, and anepidemic among the peasantry does not seem to me to be sufficient todeter. '

'O Philip, you surely will not?' said Amy. 

'My mind is made up, Amy, thank you. '

'I wish you would be persuaded, ' said Guy. 'I should like particularlyto have you to lionize us there; and I don't fancy your running intodanger. '

The argument lasted long. Philip by no means approved of Venice, especially after the long loitering at Munich, thinking that in bothplaces there was danger of Guy's being led into mischief by his musicalconnections. Therefore he did his best, for Amabel's sake, to turn themfrom their purpose, persuaded in his own mind that the fever was amere bugbear, raised up by Arnaud; and, perhaps, in his full healthand strength, almost regarding illness itself as a foible, far morethe dread of it. He argued, therefore, in his most provoking strain, becoming more vexatious as the former annoyance was revived atfinding the impossibility of making Guy swerve from his purpose, whileadditional mists of suspicion arose before him, making him imagine thatthe whole objection was caused by Guy's dislike to submit to him, anda fit of impatience of which Amy was the victim; nay, that his cousinwanted to escape from his surveillance, and follow the beat of hisinclinations; and the whole heap of prejudices and half-refutedaccusations resumed their full ascendancy. Never had his manner beenmore vexatious, though without departing from the coolness which alwayscharacterized it; but all the time, Guy, while firm and unmoved inpurpose, kept his temper perfectly, and apparently without effort. EvenAmabel glowed with indignation, at the assumption with which he wasstriving to put her husband down, though she rejoiced to see its entirefailure: for some sensible argument, or some gay, lively, good-humouredreply, was the utmost he could elicit. Guy did not seem to be in theleast irritated or ruffled by the very behaviour which used to cause himso many struggles. Having once seriously said that he did not think itright to run into danger, without adequate cause, he held his positionwith so much ease, that he could afford to be playful, and laugh at hisown dread of infection, his changeableness, and credulity. Never hadtemper been more entirely subdued; for surely if he could bear this, heneed never fear himself again. 

So passed the hour; and Amabel was heartily glad when the debate wasclosed by Arnaud's coming for orders. Guy went with him; Amabel began tocollect her goods; and Philip, after a few moments' reflection, spoke inthe half-compassionate, half-patronizing manner with which he used, nowand then, to let fall a few crumbs of counsel or commendation for sillylittle Amy. 

'Well, Amy, you yielded very amiably, and that is the only way. You willalways find it best to submit. '

He got no further in his intended warning against the dissipations ofVenice, for her eyes were fixed on him at first with a look of extremewonder. Then her face assumed an expression of dignity, and gently, butgravely, she said, 'I think you forget to whom you are speaking. '

The gentlemanlike instinct made him reply, 'I beg your pardon'--andthere he stopped, as much taken by surprise as if a dove had flown inhis face. He actually was confused; for in very truth, he had, after afashion, forgotten that she was Lady Morville, not the cousin Amy withwhom Guy's character might be freely discussed. He had often presumed asfar with his aunt; but she, though always turning the conversation, hadnever given him a rebuff. Amabel had not done; and in her soft voice, firmly, though not angrily, she spoke on. 'One thing I wish to say, because we shall never speak on this subject again, and I was alwaysafraid of you before. You have always misunderstood him, I might almostsay, chosen to misunderstand him. You have tried his temper more thanany one, and never appreciated the struggles that have subdued it. Itis not because I am his wife that I say this--indeed I am not sure itbecomes me to say it; yet I cannot bear that you should not be told ofit, because you think he acts out of enmity to you. You little knowhow your friendship has been his first desire--how he has striven forit--how, after all you have done and written, he defended you withall his might when those at home were angry--how he sought you out onpurpose to try to be real cordial friends'

Philip's face had grown rigid, and chiefly at the words, 'those at homewere angry. ' 'It is not I that prevent that friendship, ' said he: 'it ishis own want of openness. My opinion has never changed. '

'No; I know it has never changed' said Amy, in a tone of sorrowfuldispleasure. 'Whenever it does, you will be sorry you have judged him soharshly. '

She left the room, and Philip held her in higher esteem. He saw therewas spirit and substance beneath that soft girlish exterior, and hopedshe would better be able to endure the troubles which her precipitatemarriage was likely to cause her; but as to her husband, hiscombined fickleness and obstinacy had only become more apparent thanever--fickleness in forsaking his purpose, obstinacy in adherence to hisown will. 

Displeased and contemptuous, Philip was not softened by Guy's freedomand openness of manner and desire to help him as far as their roads laytogether. He was gracious only to Lady Morville, whom he treated withkindness, intended to show that he was pleased with her for a reproofwhich became her position well, though it could not hurt him. Perhapsshe thought this amiability especially insufferable: for when shearrived at Varenna her chief thought was that here they should be freeof him. 

'Come, Philip, ' said Guy, at that last moment, 'I wish you would thinkbetter of it after all, and come with us to Milan. '

'Thank you, my mind is made up. '

'Well, mind you don't catch the fever: for I don't want the trouble ofnursing you. '

'Thank you; I hope to require no such services of my friends, ' saidPhilip, with a proud stem air, implying, 'I don't want you. '

'Good-bye, then, ' said Guy. Then remembering his promise to Laura, headded, 'I wish we could have seen more of you. They will be glad to hearof you at Hollywell. You have had one warm friend there all along. '

He was touched for a moment by this kind speech, and his tone was lessgrave and dignified. 'Remember me to them when you write, ' he answered, 'and tell Laura she must not wear herself out with her studies. Good-bye, Amy, I hope you will have a pleasant journey. '

The farewells were exchanged and the carriage drove off. 'Poor littleAmy!' said Philip to himself, 'how she is improved. He has a sweetlittle wife in her. The fates have conspired to crown him with all mancan desire, and little marvel if he should abuse his advantages. Poorlittle Amy! I have less hope than ever, since even her evident wishescould not bend his determination in this trifle; but she is a goodlittle creature, happy in her blindness. May it long continue! It is myuncle and aunt who are to be blamed. '

He set himself to ascend the mountain path, and they looked back, watching the firm vigorous steps with which he climbed the hill side, then stood to wave his hand to Amabel looking a perfect specimen ofhealth and activity. 

'Just like himself, ' said Amy, drawing so long a breath that Guy smiled, but did not speak. 

'Are you much vexed?' said she. 

'I don't feel as if I had made the most of my opportunities. '

'Then if you have not, I can tell you who has. What do you think of hisbeginning to give me a lecture how to behave to you?'

'Did he think you wanted it very much?'

'I don't know: for of course I could not let him go on. '

Guy was so much diverted at the idea of her wanting a lectureon wife-like deportment, that he had no time to be angry at theimpertinence, and he made her laugh also by his view that was all forceof habit. 

'Now, Guido--good Cavaliere Guido--do grant me one satisfaction, ' saidshe, coaxingly. 'Only say you are very glad he is gone his own way. '

On the contrary, I am sorry he is running his head into a fever, ' saidGuy, pretending to be provoking. 

'I don't want you to be glad of that, I only want you to be glad he isnot sitting here towering over us. ' Guy smiled, and began to whistle--

 'Cock up your beaver, and cock it fu' sprush!'

CHAPTER 31

 And turned the thistles of a curse To types beneficent. --WORDSWORTH

It was about three weeks after the rendezvous at Bellagio, that Sir Guyand Lady Morville arrived at Vicenza, on their way from Venice. Theywere in the midst of breakfast when Arnaud entered, saying, --

'It was well, Sir Guy, that you changed your intention of visiting theValtelline with Captain Morville. '

'What! Have you heard anything of him?'

'I fear that his temerity has caused him to suffer. I have just heardthat an Englishman of your name is severely ill at Recoara. '

'Where?'

'At "la badia di Recoara". It is what in English we call awatering-place, on the mountains to the north, where the Vicentini dogo in summer for "fraicheur", but they have all returned in the last twodays for fear of the infection. '

'I'll go and make inquiries' said Guy, rising in haste. Returning in aquarter of an hour, he said, --'It is true. It can be no other than poorPhilip. I have seen his doctor, an Italian, who, when he saw our namewritten, said it was the same. He calls it "una febbre molto grave". '

'Very heavy! Did he only know the name in writing?'

'Only from seeing it on his passport. He has been unable to give anydirections. '

'How dreadfully ill he must be! And alone! What shall we do? You won'tthink of leaving me behind you, whatever you do?' exclaimed Amabel, imploringly. 

'It is at no great distance, and--'

'O, don't say that. Only take me with you. I will try to bear it, if youdon't think it right; but it will be very hard. '

Her eyes were full of tears, but she struggled to repress them, and wassilent in suspense as she saw him considering. 

'My poor Amy!' said he, presently; 'I believe the anxiety would be worsefor you if I were to leave you here. '

'Oh, thank you!' exclaimed she. 

'You will have nothing to do with the nursing. No, I don't think thereis much risk; so we will go together. '

'Thank you! thank you! and perhaps I may be of some use. But is it veryinfectious?'

'I hope not: caught at Colico, and imported to a fresh place. I shouldthink there was little fear of its spreading. However, we must soonbe off: I am afraid he is very ill, and almost deserted. In the firstplace, I had better send an express to the Consul at Venice, to ask himto recommend us a doctor, for I have not much faith in this Italian. '

They were soon on the way to Recoara, a road bordered on one side byhigh rocks, on the other by a little river flowing down a valley, shutin by mountains. The valley gradually contracted in the ascent, tillit became a ravine, and further on a mere crevice marked by the thickgrowth of the chestnut-trees; but before this greater narrowing, theysaw the roofs of the houses in the little town. The sun shone clear, theair had grown fresh as they mounted higher; Amabel could hardly imaginesickness and sorrow in so fair a spot, and turned to her husband to sayso, but he was deep in thought, and she would not disturb him. 

The town was built on the bank of the stream, and very much shut in bythe steep crags, which seemed almost to overhang the inn, to which theydrove, auguring favourably of the place from its fresh, clean aspect. 

Guy hastened to the patient; while Amabel was conducted to a room witha polished floor, and very little furniture, and there waited anxiouslyuntil he returned. There was a flush on his face, and almost before hespoke, he leant far out of the window to try to catch a breath of air. 

'We must find another room for him directly, ' said he. 'He cannotpossibly exist where he is--a little den--such an atmosphere offever--enough to knock one down! Will you have one got ready for him?'

'Directly, ' said Amabel, ringing. 'How is he?'

'He is in a stupor; it is not sleep. He is frightfully ill, I never feltanything like the heat of his skin. But that stifling hole would accountfor much; very likely he may revive, when we get him into a betteratmosphere. No one has attended to him properly. It is a terrible thingto be ill in a foreign country without a friend!'

Arnaud came, and Amabel sent for the hostess, while Guy returned to hischarge. Little care had been taken for the solitary traveller on foot, too ill to exact attention, and whose presence drove away custom; butwhen his case was taken up by a Milord Inglese, the people of the innwere ready to do their utmost to cause their neglect to be forgotten, and everything was at the disposal of the Signora. The rooms were many, but very small, and the best she could contrive was to choose threerooms on the lower floor, rather larger than the rest, and opening intoeach other, as well as into the passage, so that it was possible toproduce a thorough draught. Under her superintendence, Anne made theapartment look comfortable, and almost English, and sending word thatall was ready, she proceeded to establish herself in the correspondingrooms on the floor above. 

Philip was perfectly unconscious when he was carried to his new room. His illness had continued about a week, and had been aggravated first byhis incredulous and determined resistance of it, and then by the neglectwith which he had been treated. It was fearful to see how his greatstrength had been cut down, as there he lay with scarcely a sign oflife, except his gasping, labouring breath. Guy stood over him, let theair blow in from the open window, sprinkled his face with vinegar, andmoistened his lips, longing for the physician, for whom, however, he knew he must wait many hours. Perplexed, ignorant of the propertreatment, fearing to do harm, and extremely anxious, he still wasalmost rejoiced: for there was no one to whom he was so glad to do aservice, and a hope arose of full reconciliation. 

The patient was somewhat revived by the fresh air, he breathed morefreely, moved, and made a murmuring sound, as if striving painfully fora word. 

'"Da bere", ' at last he said; and if Guy had not known its meaning, itwould have been plain from the gasping, parched manner in which it wasuttered. 

'Some water?' said Guy, holding it to his lips, and on hearing theEnglish, Philip opened his eyes, and, as he drank, gazed with a heavysort of wonder. 'Is that enough? Do you like some on your forehead?'

'Thank you. '

'Is that more comfortable? We only heard to-day you were ill. '

He turned away restlessly, as if hardly glad to see Guy, and not awaketo the circumstances, in a dull, feverish oppression of the senses. Delirium soon came on, or, more properly, delusion. He was distressed bythinking himself deserted, and struggling to speak Italian, and when Guyreplied in English, though the native tongue seemed to fall kindly onhis ear, yet, to Guy's great grief, the old dislike appeared to preventall comfort in his presence, though he could not repel his attentions. At night the wandering increased, till it became unintelligible raving, and strength was required to keep him in bed. 

Amabel seldom saw her husband this evening. He once came up to see her, when she made him drink some coffee, but he soon went, telling her heshould wait up, and begging her to go to rest quietly, as she lookedpale and tired. The night was a terrible one, and morning only broughtinsensibility. The physician arrived, a sharp-looking Frenchman, whopronounced it to be a very severe and dangerous case, more violent thanusual in malaria fever, and with more affection of the brain. Guy wasglad to be set to do something, instead of standing by in inaction; butice and blisters were applied without effect, and they were told that itwas likely to be long before the fever abated. 

Day after day passed without improvement, and with few gleams ofconsciousness, and even these were not free from wandering; they wereonly intervals in the violent ravings, or the incoherent murmurs, andwere never clear from some torturing fancy that he was alone and ill atBroadstone, and neither the Edmonstones nor his brother-officers wouldcome to him, or else that he was detained from Stylehurst. 'Home'was the word oftenest on his lips. 'I would not go home, ' the onlyexpression that could sometimes be distinctly heard. He was obliged todepend on Guy as the only Englishman at hand; but whenever he recognizedhim, the traces of repugnance were evident, and in his clearerintervals, he always showed a preference for Arnaud's attendance. StillGuy persevered indefatigably, sitting up with him every night, andshowing himself an invaluable nurse, with his tender hand, modulatedvoice, quick eye, and quiet activity. His whole soul was engrossed: henever appeared to think of himself, or to be sensible of fatigue; butwas only absorbed in the one thought of his patient's comfort! He seldomcame to Amabel except at meals, and now and then for a short visit toher sitting-room to report on Philip's condition. If he could spare alittle more time when Philip was in a state of stupor, she used to tryto persuade him to take some rest; and if it was late, or in the heatof noon, she could sometimes get him, as a favour to her, to lie downon the sofa, and let her read to him; but it did not often end insleep, and he usually preferred taking her out into the fresh air, andwandering about among the chestnut-trees and green hillocks higher up inthe ravine. 

Very precious were these walks, with the quiet grave talk that the sceneand the circumstances inspired--when he would tell the thoughts that hadoccupied him in his night-watches, and they shared the subdued anddeep reflection suited to this period of apprehension. These were herhappiest times, but they were few and uncertain. She had in the meantimeto wait, to watch, and hope alone, though she had plenty of employment;for besides writing constant bulletins, all preparations for thesickroom fell to her share. She had to send for or devise substitutesfor all the conveniences that were far from coming readily to hand in aremote Italian inn--to give orders, send commissions to Vicenza, or evento Venice, and to do a good deal, with Anne's' assistance, by her ownmanual labour. Guy said she did more for Philip outside his room thanhe did inside, and often declared how entirely at a loss he should havebeen if she had not been there, with her ready resources, and, aboveall, with her sweet presence, making the short intervals he spent out ofthe sick chamber so much more than repose, such refreshment at the time, and in remembrance. 

Thus it had continued for more than a fortnight, when one evening as theFrench physician was departing, he told Guy that he would not fail tocome the next night, as he saw every reason to expect a crisis. Guy satintently marking every alteration in the worn, flushed, suffering facethat rested helplessly on the pillows, and every unconscious movementof the wasted, nerveless limbs stretched out in pain and helplessness, contrasting his present state with what he was when last they parted, in the full pride of health, vigour, and intellect. He dwelt on all thathad passed between them from the first, the strange ancestral enmitythat nothing had as yet overcome, the misunderstandings, the prejudices, the character whose faultlessness he had always revered, and therepeated failure of all attempts to be friends, as if his own impatienceand passion had borne fruit in the merited distrust of the man whom ofall others he respected, and whom he would fain love as a brother. Heearnestly hoped that so valuable a life might be spared; but if thatmight not be, his fervent wish was, that at least a few parting wordsof goodwill and reconciliation might be granted to be his comfort inremembrance. 

So mused Guy during the night, as he watched the heavy doze betweensleep and stupor, and tried to catch the low, indistinct mutterings thatnow and then seemed to ask for something. Towards morning Philip awokemore fully, and as Guy was feeling his pulse, he faintly asked, --

'How many?' while his eyes had more of their usual expression. 

'I cannot count, ' returned Guy; 'but it is less than in the evening. Some drink?'

Philip took some, then making an effort to look round, said, --'What dayis it?'

'Saturday morning, the 23rd of August. '

'I have been ill a long time!'

'You have indeed, full three weeks; but you are better to-night. '

He was silent for some moments; then, collecting himself, andlooking fixedly at Guy, he said, in his own steady voice, though veryfeeble, --'I suppose, humanly speaking, it is an even chance between lifeand death?'

'Yes, ' said Guy, firmly, the low sweet tones of his voice full oftenderness. 'You are very ill; but not without hope. ' Then, after apause, during which Philip looked thoughtful, but calm, he added, --'Ihave tried to bring a clergyman here, but I could not succeed. Would youlike me to read to you?'

'Thank you-presently--but I have something to say. Some morewater;--thank you. ' Then, after pausing, 'Guy, you have thought I judgedyou harshly; I meant to act for the best. '

'Don't think of that, ' said Guy, with a rush of joy at hearing the wordsof reconciliation he had yearned for so long. 

'And now you have been most kind. If I live, you shall see that I amsensible of it;' and he feebly moved his hand to his cousin, who pressedit, hardly less happy than on the day he stood before Mrs. Edmonstone inthe dressing-room. Presently, Philip went on. 'My sister has my will. Mylove to her, and to--to--to poor Laura. ' His voice suddenly failed;and while Guy was again moistening his lips, he gathered strength, andsaid, --'You and Amy will do what you can for her. Do not let the blowcome suddenly. Ah! you do not know. We have been engaged this longtime. '

Guy did not exclaim, but Philip saw his amazement. 'It was very wrong;it was not her fault, ' he added. 'I can't tell you now; but if I liveall shall be told. If not, you will be kind to her?'

'Indeed we will. '

'Poor Laura!' again said Philip, in a much weaker voice, and after lyingstill a little longer, he faintly whispered, --'Read to me. '

Guy read till he fell into a doze, which lasted till Arnaud came in themorning, and Guy went up to his wife. 

'Amy, ' said he, entering with a quiet bright look, 'he has spoken to meaccording to my wish. '

'Then it is all right, ' said Amabel, answering his look with one as calmand sweet. 'Is he better?'

'Not materially; his pulse is still very high; but there was a gleam ofperfect consciousness; he spoke calmly and clearly, fully understandinghis situation. Come what will, it is a thing to be infinitely thankfulfor! I am very glad! Now for our morning reading. '

As soon as it was over, and when Guy had satisfied himself that thepatient was still quiet, they sat down to breakfast. Guy considered alittle while, and said, --

'I have been very much surprised. Had you any idea of an attachmentbetween him and Laura?'

'I know she is very fond of him, and she has always been his favourite. What? Has he been in love with her all this time, poor fellow?'

'He says they are engaged. '

'Laura? Our sister! Oh, Guy, impossible! He must have been wandering. '

'I could have almost thought so; but his whole manner forbade me tothink there was any delusion. He was too weak to explain; but he said itwas not her fault, and was overcome when speaking of her. He beggedus to spare her from suddenly hearing of his death. He was as calm andreasonable as I am at this moment. No, Amy, it was not delirium. '

'I don't know how to believe it!' said Amabel. 'It is so impossible forLaura, and for him too. Don't you know how, sometimes in fevers, peopletake a delusion, and are quite rational about everything else, and that, too; if only it was true; and don't you think it very likely, that if hereally has been in love with her all this time, (how much he must havegone through!) he may fancy he has been secretly engaged, and reproachhimself?'

'I cannot tell, ' said Guy; 'there was a reality in his manner ofspeaking that refuses to let me disbelieve him. Surely it cannot be oneof the horrors of death that we should be left to reproach ourselveswith the fancied sins we have been prone to, as well as with our realones. Then'--and he rose, and walked about the room--'if so, more thanever, in the hour of death, good Lord, deliver us!'

Amabel was silent, and presently he sat down, saying, --'Well, time willshow!'

'I cannot think it' said Amy. 'Laura! How could she help telling mamma!'And as Guy smiled at the recollection of their own simultaneous comingto mamma, she added, --'Not only because it was right, but for thecomfort of it. '

'But, Amy, do you remember what I told you of poor Laura's fears, andwhat she said to me, on our wedding-day?'

'Poor Laura!' said Amy. 'Yet--' She paused, and Guy presently said, --

'Well, I won't believe it, if I can possibly help it. I can't afford tolose my faith in my sister's perfection, or Philip's, especially now. But I must go; I have loitered too long, and Arnaud ought to go to hisbreakfast. '

Amabel sat long over the remains of her breakfast. She did not puzzleherself over Philip's confession, for she would not admit it withoutconfirmation; and she could not think of his misdoings, even thoseof which she was certain, on the day when his life was hanging in thebalance. All she could bear to recollect was his excellence; nay, in thetenderness of her heart, she nearly made out that she had always beenvery fond of him, overlooking that even before Guy came to Hollywell, she had always regarded him with more awe than liking, been disinclinedto his good advice, shrunk from his condescension, and regularly enjoyedCharles's quizzing of him. All this, and all the subsequent injurieswere forgotten, and she believed, as sincerely as her husband, thatPhilip had been free from any unkind intention. But she chiefly dwelt onher own Guy, especially that last speech, so unlike some of whom she hadheard, who were rather glad to find a flaw in a faultless model, if onlyto obtain a fellow-feeling for it. 

'Yes, ' thought she, 'he might look far without finding anything betterthan himself, though he won't believe it. If ever he could make meangry, it will be by treating me as if I was better than he. Suchnonsense! But I suppose his goodness would not be such if he wasconscious of it, so I must be content with him as he is. I can't be sounwifelike after all; for I am sure nothing makes me feel so small andfoolish as that humility of his! Come, I must see about some dinner forthe French doctor. '

She set to work on her housewifery cares; but when these weredespatched, it was hard to begin anything else on such a day ofsuspense, when she was living on reports from the sick room. Thedelirium had returned, more violent than ever; and as she sat at heropen window she often heard the disconnected words. She could do nothingbut listen--she could neither read nor draw, and even letter-writingfailed her to-day, for it seemed cruel to send a letter to his sister, and if Philip was not under a delusion, it was still worse to write toHollywell; it made her shudder to think of the misery she might haveinflicted in the former letters, where she had not spared the detail ofher worst fears and conjectures, and by no means softened the account, as she had done to his sister. 

Late in the afternoon the physician came, and she heard of his beingquieter; indeed, there were no sounds below. It grew dark; Arnaudbrought lights, and told her Captain Morville had sunk into stupor. After another long space, the doctor came to take some coffee, and saidthe fever was lessening, but that strength was going with it, and if "lemalade" was saved, it would be owing to the care and attention of "lechevalier". 

Of Guy she saw no more that evening. The last bulletin was pencilled byhim on a strip of paper, and sent to her at eleven at night:

'Pulse almost nothing; deadly faintness; doctor does not give him up; itmay be many hours: don't sit up; you shall hear when there is anythingdecisive. '

Amy submitted, and slowly put herself to bed, because she thought Guywould not like to find her up; but she had little sleep, and that wasdreamy, full of the same anxieties as her waking moments, and perhapsmaking the night seem longer than if she had been awake the whole time. 

At last she started from a somewhat sounder doze than usual, and saw itwas becoming light, the white summits of the mountains were beginning toshow themselves, and there was twilight in the room. Just then she hearda light, cautious tread in the passage; the lock of Guy's dressing-roomwas gently, slowly turned. It was over then! Life or death? Her heartbeat as she heard her husband's step in the next room, and her suspensewould let her call out nothing but--'I am not asleep!'

Guy came forward, and stood still, while she looked up to the outlineof his figure against the window. With a kind of effort he said, withforced calmness--'He'll do now! and came to the bedside. His face waswet with tears, and her eyes were over-flowing. After a few moments hemurmured a few low words of deep thanksgivings, and again there was asilence. 

'He is asleep quietly and comfortably, ' said Guy, presently, 'and hispulse is steadier. The faintness and sinking have been dreadful; thedoctor has been sitting with his hand on his pulse, telling me when toput the cordial into his mouth. Twice I thought him all but gone; andtill within the last hour, I did not think he could have revived; butnow, the doctor says we may almost consider the danger as over. '

'Oh, how glad I am! Was he sensible? Could he speak?'

'Sensible at least when not fainting; but too weak to speak, or often, to look up. When he did though, it was very kindly, very pleasantly. Andnow! This is joy coming in the morning, Amy!'

'I wonder if you are happier now than after the shipwreck, ' said Amy, after a silence. 

'How can you ask? The shipwreck was a gleam, the first ray that came tocheer me in those penance hours, when I was cut off from all; and now, oh, Amy! I cannot enter into it. Such richness and fullness of blessingshowered on me, more than I ever dared to wish for or dream of, both inthe present and future hopes. It seems more than can belong to man, atleast to me, so unlike what I have deserved, that I can hardly believeit. It must be sent as a great trial. '

Amabel thought this so beautiful, that she could not answer; and hepresently gave her some further particulars. He went back in spite ofher entreaties that he would afford himself a little rest, saying thatthe doctor was obliged to go away, and Philip still needed the mostcareful watching. Amy could not sleep any more, but lay musing over thatever-brightening goodness which had lately at all times almost startledher from its very unearthliness. 

CHAPTER 32

 Sure all things wear a heavenly dress, Which sanctifies their loveliness, Types of that endless resting day, When we shall be as changed as they. --HYMN FOR SUNDAY

From that time there was little more cause for anxiety. Philip was, indeed, exceedingly reduced, unable to turn in bed, to lift his head, or to speak except now and then a feeble whisper; but the fever wasentirely gone, and his excellent constitution began rapidly to repairits ravages. Day by day, almost hour by hour, he was rallying, spendingmost of his time profitably in sleep, and looking very contented inhis short intervals of waking. These became each day rather longer, hisvoice became stronger, and he made more remarks and inquiries. Hisfirst care, when able to take heed of what did not concern his immediatecomfort, was that Colonel Deane should be written to, as his leave ofabsence was expired; but he said not a word about Hollywell, and Amabeltherefore hoped her surmise was right, that his confession had beenprompted by a delirious fancy, though Guy thought something was impliedby his silence respecting the very persons of whom it would have beennatural to have talked. 

He was very patient of his weakness and dependence, always thankful andwilling to be pleased, and all that had been unpleasant in his manner toGuy was entirely gone. He liked to be waited on by him, and receivedhis attentions without laborious gratitude, just in the way partlyaffectionate, partly matter of course, that was most agreeable; showinghimself considerate of his fatigue, though without any of his olddomineering advice. 

One evening Guy was writing, when Philip, who had been lying still, asif asleep, asked, 'Are you writing to Hollywell?'

'Yes, to Charlotte; but there is no hurry, it won't go till tomorrow. Have you any message?

'No, thank you. '

Guy fancied he sighed; and there was a long silence, at the end of whichhe asked, 'Guy, have I said anything about Laura?'

'Yes, ' said Guy, putting down the pen. 

'I thought so; but I could not remember, ' said Philip, turning round, and settling himself for conversation, with much of his ordinarydeliberate preparation; 'I hope it was not when I had no command ofmyself?'

'No, you were seldom intelligible, you were generally trying to speakItalian, or else talking about Stylehurst. The only time you mentionedher was the night before the worst. '

'I recollect, ' said Philip. 'I will not draw back from the resolutionI then made, though I did not know whether I had spoken it, let theconsequences be what they may. The worst is, that they will fall themost severely on her: and her implicit reliance on me was her onlyerror. '

His voice was very low, and so full of painful feeling that Guy doubtedwhether to let him enter on such a subject at present; but rememberingthe relief of free confession, he thought it best to allow him toproceed, only now and then putting in some note of sympathy or ofinterrogation, in word or gesture. 

'I must explain, ' said Philip, 'that you may see how little blame can beimputed to her. It was that summer, three years ago, the first after youcame. I had always been her chief friend. I saw, or thought I saw, causefor putting her on her guard. The result has shown that the dangerwas imaginary; but no matter--I thought it real. In the course of theconversation, more of my true sentiments were avowed than I was awareof; she was very young, and before we, either of us, knew what we weredoing, it had been equivalent to a declaration. Well! I do not speak toexcuse the concealment, but to show you my motive. If it had been known, there would have been great displeasure and disturbance; I should havebeen banished; and though time might have softened matters, we shouldboth have had a great deal to go through. Heaven knows what it may benow! And, Guy, ' he added, breaking off with trembling eagerness, 'whendid you hear from Hollywell? Do you know how she has borne the news ofmy illness?'

'We have heard since they knew of it, ' said Guy; 'the letter was fromMrs. Edmonstone to Amy; but she did not mention Laura. '

'She has great strength; she would endure anything rather than give way;but how can she have borne the anxiety and silence? You are sure my auntdoes not mention her?'

'Certain. I will ask Amy for the letter, if you like. '

'No, do not go; I must finish, since I have begun. We did not speak ofan engagement; it was little more than an avowal of preference; I doubtwhether she understood what it amounted to, and I desired her to besilent. I deceived myself all along, by declaring she was free; and Ihad never asked for her promise; but those things will not do when wesee death face to face, and a resolve made at such a moment must bekept, let it bring what it may. '

'True. '

'She will be relieved; she wished it to be known; but I thought it bestto wait for my promotion--the only chance of our being able to marry. However, it shall be put into her father's hands as soon as I can holda pen. All I wish is, that she should not have to bear the brunt of hisanger. '

'He is too kind and good-natured to keep his displeasure long. '

'If it would only light on the right head, instead of on the head of thenearest. You say she was harassed and out of spirits. I wish you were athome; Amy would comfort her and soften them. '

'We hope to go back as soon as you are in travelling condition. If youwill come home with us, you will be at hand when Mr. Edmonstone is readyto forgive, as I am sure he soon will be. No one ever was so glad toforget his displeasure. '

'Yes; it will be over by the time I meet him, for she will have borne itall. There is the worst! But I will not put off the writing, as soonas I have the power. Every day the concealment continues is a furtheroffence. '

'And present suffering is an especial earnest and hope of forgiveness, 'said Guy. 'I have no doubt that much may be done to make Mr. Edmonstonethink well of it. '

'If any suffering of mine would spare hers!' sighed Philip. 'You cannotestimate the difficulties in our way. You know nothing of poverty, --thebar it is to everything; almost a positive offence in itself!'

'This is only tiring yourself with talking, ' said Guy, perceiving howPhilip's bodily weakness was making him fall into a desponding strain. 'You must make haste to get well, and come home with us, and I think weshall find it no such bad case after all. There's Amy's fortune to beginwith, only waiting for such an occasion. No, I can't have you answer;you have talked, quite long enough. '

Philip was in a state of feebleness that made him willing to avoid thetrouble of thinking, by simply believing what he was told, 'that it wasno bad case. ' He was relieved by having confessed, though to the personwhom, a few weeks back, he would have thought the last to whom he couldhave made such a communication, over whom he had striven to assumesuperiority, and therefore before whom he could have least borne tohumble himself--nay, whose own love he had lately traversed with anarrogance that was rendered positively absurd by this conduct of hisown. Nevertheless, he had not shrunk from the confession. His had beenreal repentance, so far as he perceived his faults; and he would havescorned to avail himself of the certainty of Guy's silence on what hehad said at the time of his extreme danger. He had resolved to speak, and had found neither an accuser nor a judge, not even oneconsciously returning good for evil, but a friend with honest, simple, straightforward kindness, doing the best for him in his power, anddreading nothing so much as hurting his feelings. It was not the way inwhich Philip himself could have received such a confidence. 

As soon as Guy could leave him, he went up to his wife. 'Amy, ' said he, rather sadly, 'we have had it out. It is too true. '

Her first exclamation surprised him: 'Then Charlie really is thecleverest person in the world. '

'How? Had he any suspicion?'

'Not that I know of; but, more than once, lately, I have been alarmed byrecollecting how he once said that poor Laura was so much too wise forher age, that Nature would some day take her revenge, and make her dosomething very foolish. But has Philip told you all about it?'

'Yes; explained it all very kindly. It must have cost him a great deal;but he spoke openly and nobly. It is the beginning of a full confessionto your father. '

'So, it is true!' exclaimed Amabel, as if she heard it for the firsttime. 'How shocked mamma will be! I don't know how to think it possible!And poor Laura! Imagine what she must have gone through, for you know Inever spared the worst accounts. Do tell me all. '

Guy told what he had just heard, and she was indignant. 

'I can't be as angry with him as I should like, ' said she, 'now that heis sorry and ill; but it was a great deal too bad! I can't think how hecould look any of us in the face, far less expect to rule us all, andinterfere with you!'

'I see I never appreciated the temptations of poverty, ' said Guy, thoughtfully. 'I have often thought of those of wealth, but never ofpoverty. '

'I wish you would not excuse him. I don't mind your doing it aboutourselves, because, though he made you unhappy, he could not make youdo wrong. Ah! I know what you mean; but that was over after the firstminute; and he only made you better for all his persecution; but I don'tknow how to pardon his making poor Laura so miserable, and leading herto do what was not right. Poor, dear girl! no wonder she looked so wornand unhappy! I cannot help being angry with him, indeed, Guy!' said she, her eyes full of tears. 

'The best pleading is his own repentance, Amy. I don't think you canbe very unrelenting when you see how subdued and how altered he is. Youknow you are to make him a visit to-morrow, now the doctor says all fearof infection is over. '

'I shall be thinking of poor Laura the whole time. '

'And how she would like to see him in his present state? What shallyou do if I bring him home to Redclyffe? Shall you go to Hollywell, tocomfort Laura?'

'I shall wait till you send me. Besides, how can you invite company tillwe know whether we have a roof over our house or not? What is he doingnow?'

'As usual, he has an unlimited capacity for sleep. '

'I wish you had. I don't think you have slept two hours together sinceyou left off sitting up. '

'I am beginning to think it a popular delusion. I do just as wellwithout it. '

'So you say; but Mr. Shene would never have taken such a fancy to you, if you always had such purple lines as those under your eyes. Look!Is that a face for Sir Galahad, or Sir Guy, or any of the Round Table?Come, I wish you would lie down, and be read to sleep. '

'I should like a walk much better. It is very cool and bright. Will youcome?'

They walked for some time, talking over the conduct of Philip andLaura. Amabel seemed quite oppressed by the thought of such a burthen ofconcealment. She said she did not know what she should have done inher own troubles without mamma and Charlie; and she could not imagineLaura's keeping silence through the time of Philip's danger; moreespecially as she recollected how appalling some of her bulletins hadbeen. The only satisfaction was in casting as much of the blame on himas possible. 

'You know he never would let her read novels; and I do believe that wasthe reason she did not understand what it meant. '

'I think there is a good deal in that, ' said Guy, laughing, 'thoughCharlie would say it is a very _novel_ excuse for a young lady fallingimprudently in love. '

'I do believe, if it was any one but Laura, Charlie would be very gladof it. He always fully saw through Philip's supercilious shell. '

'Amy!'

'No; let me go on, Guy, for you must allow that it was much worse insuch a grave, grand, unromantic person, who makes a point of thinkingbefore he speaks, than if it had been a hasty, hand-over-head man likeMaurice de Courcy, who might have got into a scrape without knowing it. 

'That must have made the struggle to confess all the more painful; and amost free, noble, open-hearted confession it was. '

They tried to recollect all that had passed during that summer, and toguess against whom he had wished to warn her; but so far were they fromdivining the truth, that they agreed it must either have been Maurice, or some other wild Irishman. 

Next, they considered what was to be done. Philip must manage hisconfession his own way; but they had it in their power greatly tosoften matters; and there was no fear that, after the first shock, Mr. Edmonstone would insist on the engagement being broken off, Philipshould come to recover his health at Redclyffe, where he would be readyto meet the first advance towards forgiveness, --and Amabel thought itwould soon be made. Papa's anger was sharp, but soon over; he was veryfond of Philip, and delighted in a love affair, but she was afraid mammawould not get over it so soon, for she would be excessively hurt andgrieved. 'And when I was naughty, ' said Amy, 'nothing ever made me sosorry as mamma's kindness. '

Guy launched out into more schemes for facilitating their marriage thanever he had made for himself; and the walk ended with extensive castlebuilding on Philip's account, in the course of which Amy was obligedto become much less displeased. Guy told her, in the evening, that shewould have been still more softened if she could have heard him talkabout Stylehurst and his father. Guy had always wished to hear him speakof the Archdeacon, though they had never been on terms to enter on sucha subject. And now Philip had been much pleased by Guy's account of hiswalks to Stylehurst, and taken pleasure in telling which were his oldhaunts, making out where Guy had been, and describing his father's ways. 

The next day was Sunday, and Amabel was to pay her cousin a visit. Guywas very eager about it, saying it was like a stage in his recovery; andthough the thought of her mother and Laura could not be laid aside, shewould not say a word to damp her husband's pleasure in the anticipation. It seemed as if Guy, wanting to bestow all he could upon his cousin ingratitude for his newly-accorded friendship, thought the sight of hislittle wife the very best thing he had to give. 

It was a beautiful day, early in September, with a little autumnalfreshness in the mountain breezes that they enjoyed exceedingly. Philip's convalescence, and their own escape, might be considered as sofar decided, that they might look back on the peril as past. Amabel felthow much cause there was for thankfulness; and, after all, Philipwas not half as bad now as when he was maintaining his system ofconcealment; he had made a great effort, and was about to do his bestby way of reparation; but it was so new to her to pity him, that she didnot know how to begin. 

She tried to make the day seem as Sunday-like as she could, by puttingon her white muslin dress and white ribbons, with Charles's hairbracelet, and a brooch of beautiful silver workmanship, which Guy hadbought for her at Milan, the only ornament he had ever given to her. She sat at her window, watching the groups of Italians in their holidaycostume, and dwelling on the strange thoughts that had passed throughher mind often before in her lonely Sundays in this foreign land, thinking much of her old home and East-hill Church, wondering whetherthe letter had yet arrived which was to free them from anxiety, andlosing herself in a maze of uncomfortable marvels about Laura. 

'Now, then, ' at length said Guy, entering, 'I only hope he has notknocked himself up with his preparations, for he would make such asetting to rights, that I told him I could almost fancy he expected thequeen instead of only Dame Amabel Morville. '

He led her down, opened the door, and playfully announced, 'LadyMorville! I have done it right this time. Here she is'!

She had of course expected to see Philip much altered, but she wasstartled by the extent of the change; for being naturally fair andhigh-coloured, he was a person on whom the traces of illness wereparticularly visible. The colour was totally gone, even from his lips;his cheeks were sunken, his brow looked broader and more massivefrom the thinness of his face and the loss of his hair, and his eyesthemselves appeared unlike what they used to be in the hollows roundthem. He seemed tranquil, and comfortable, but so wan, weak, andsubdued, and so different from himself, that she was very much shocked, as smiling and holding out a hand, where the white skin seemed hardlyto cover the bone and blue vein, he said, in a tone, slow, feeble, andlanguid, though cheerful, --

'Good morning, Amy. You see Guy was right, after all. I am sorry to havemade your wedding tour end so unpleasantly. '

'Nay, most pleasantly, since you are better, ' said Amabel, laughing, because she was almost ready to cry, and her displeasure went straightout of her head. 

'Are you doing the honours of my room, Guy?' said Philip, raising hishead from the pillow, with a becoming shade of his ceremonious courtesy. 'Give her a chair. '

Amy smiled and thanked him, while he lay gazing at her as a sick personis apt to do at a flower, or the first pretty enlivening object fromwhich he is able to derive enjoyment, and as if he could not helpexpressing the feeling, he said--

'Is that your wedding-dress, Amy?'

'Oh, no; that was all lace and finery. '

'You look so nice and bridal--'

'There's a compliment that such an old wife ought to make the most of, Amy, ' said Guy, looking at her with a certain proud satisfaction inPhilip's admiration. 'It is high time to leave off calling you a bride, after your splendid appearance at the party at Munich, in all yourwhiteness and orange-flowers. '

'That was quite enough of it, ' said Amy, smiling. 

'Not at all, ' said Philip; 'you have all your troubles in the visitingline to come, when you go home. '

'Ah! you know the people, and will be a great help to us, ' said Amy, and Guy was much pleased to hear her taking a voluntary share in theinvitation, knowing as he did that she only half liked it. 

'Thank you; we shall see, ' replied Philip. 

'Yes; we shall see when you are fit for the journey, and it will not belong before we can begin, by short stages. You have got on wonderfullyin the last few days. How do you think he is looking, Amy?' finishedGuy, with an air of triumph, that was rather amusing, considering what apale skeleton face he was regarding with so much satisfaction. 

'I dare say he is looking much mended, ' said Amy; 'but you must notexpect me to see it. '

'You can't get a compliment for me, Guy, ' said Philip. 'I was a gooddeal surprised when Arnaud brought me the glass this morning. '

'It is a pity you did not see yourself a week ago, ' said Guy, shakinghis head drolly. 

'It is certain, as the French doctor says, that monsieur has a veryvigorous constitution. '

'Charles says, having a good constitution is only another name forundergoing every possible malady, ' said Amy. 

'Rather good' said Guy; 'for I certainly find it answer very well tohave none at all. '

'Haven't you?' said Amy, rather startled. 

'Or how do you know?' said Philip; 'especially as you never were ill. '

'It is a dictum of old Walters, the Moorworth doctor, the last timeI had anything to do with him, when I was a small child. I suppose Iremembered it for its oracular sound, and because I was not intendedto listen. He was talking over with Markham some illness I had just gotthrough, and wound up with, "He may be healthy and active now; but hehas no constitution, there is a tendency to low fever, and if he meetswith any severe illness, it will go hard with him. "'

'How glad I am I did not know that before' cried Amy. 

'Did you remember it when you came here?' said Philip. 

'Yes, ' said Guy, not in the least conscious of the impression his wordsmade on the others. 'By the bye, Philip, I wish you would tell us howyou fared after we parted, and how you came here. '

'I went on according to my former plan, ' said Philip, 'walking throughthe Valtelline, and coming down by a mountain path. I was not well atBolzano, but I thought it only fatigue, which a Sunday's rest wouldremove, so on I went for the next two days, in spite of pain in head andlimbs. '

'Not walking!' said Amy. 

'Yes, walking. I thought it was stiffness from mountain climbing, andthat I could walk it off; but I never wish to go through anything likewhat I did the last day, between the up and downs of that mountain path, and the dazzle of the snow and heat of the sun. I meant to have reachedVicenza, but I must have been quite knocked up when I arrived here, though I cannot tell. My head grew so confused, that my dread, all theway, was that I should forget my Italian; I can just remember conning aphrase over and over again, lest I should lose it. I suppose I was ableto speak when I came here, but the last thing I remember was feelingvery ill in some room, different from this, quite alone, and with ahorror of dying deserted. The next is a confused recollection of therelief of hearing English again, and seeing my excellent nurse here. '

There was a little more talk, but a little was enough for Philip'sfeeble voice, and Guy soon told him he was tired, and ordered in hisbroth. He begged that Amy would stay, and it was permitted on conditionthat he would not talk, Guy even cutting short a quotation of, --'As Junohad been sick and he her dieter, '--appropriate to the excellence ofthe broths, which Amabel and her maid, thanks to their experience ofCharles's fastidious tastes, managed to devise and execute, in spiteof bad materials. It was no small merit in Guy to stop the compliment, considering how edified he had been by his wife's unexpected ingenuity, and what a comical account he had written of it to her mother, such, asAmy told him, deserved to be published in a book of good advice to youngladies, to show what they might come to if they behaved well. However, she was glad to have ocular demonstration of the success of the cookery, which she had feared might turn out uneatable; and her gentlefeelings towards Philip were touched, by seeing one wont to be full ofindependence and self-assertion, now meek and helpless, requiring tobe lifted, and propped up with pillows, and depending entirely andthankfully upon Guy. 

When he had been settled and made comfortable, they read the service;and she thought her husband's tones had never been so sweet as now, modulated to the pitch best suited to the sickroom, and with thepeculiarly beautiful expression he always gave such reading. It was thelesson from Jeremiah, on the different destiny of Josiah and his sons, and he read that verse, 'Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him, but weep sore for him that goeth away; for he shall return no more, norsee his native country;' with so remarkable a melancholy and beauty inhis voice, that she could hardly refrain from tears, and it also greatlystruck Philip, who had been so near 'returning no more, neither seeinghis native country. '

When the reading was over, and they were leaving him to rest, while theywent to dinner, he said, as he wished Amy good-bye, 'Till now I neverdiscovered the practical advantage of such a voice as Guy's. There neverwas such a one for a sick-room. Last week, I could not bear any one elseto speak at all; and even now, no one else could have read so that Icould like it. '

'Your voice; yes, ' said Amy, after they had returned to their ownsitting-room. 'I want to hear it very much. I wonder when you will singto me again. '

'Not till he has recovered strength to bear the infliction withfirmness, ' said Guy; 'but, Amy, I'll tell you what we will do, if youare sure it is good for you. He will have a good long sleep, and we willhave a walk on the green hillocks. '

Accordingly they wandered in the cool of the evening on the grassyslopes under the chestnut-trees, making it a Sunday walk, calm, brightand meditative, without many words, but those deep and grave, 'such astheir walks had been before they were married, ' as Amabel said. 

'Better, ' he answered. 

A silence, broken by her asking, 'Do you recollect your melancholydefinition of happiness, years ago?'

'What was it?'

'Gleams from another world, too soon eclipsed or forfeited. It made mesad then. Do you hold to it now?'

'Don't you?'

'I want to know what you would say now?'

'Gleams from another world, brightening as it gets nearer. '

Amabel repeated--

 Ever the richest, tenderest glow, Sets round the autumnal sun; But their sight fails, no heart may know The bliss when life is done. 

'Old age, ' she added; 'that seems very far off. '

'Each day is a step, ' he answered, and then came a silence while bothwere thinking deeply. 

They sat down to rest under a tree, the mountains before them with heavydark clouds hanging on their sides, and the white crowns clear againstthe blue sky, a perfect stillness on all around, and the red glow of anItalian sunset just fading away. 

'There is only one thing wanting, ' said Amy. 'You may sing now. You arefar from Philip's hearing. Suppose we chant this afternoon's psalms. '

It was the fifth day of the month, and the psalms seemed especiallysuitable to their thoughts. Before the 29th was finished, it wasbeginning to grow dark. There were a few pale flashes of lightningin the mountains, and at the words 'The voice of the Lord shaketh thewilderness, ' a low but solemn peal of thunder came as an accompaniment. 

'The Lord shall give his people the blessing of peace. '

The full sweet melody died away, but the echo caught it up and answeredlike the chant of a spirit in the distance--'The blessing of peace. '

The effect was too solemn and mysterious to be disturbed by word orremark. Guy drew her arm into his, and they turned homewards. 

They had some distance to walk, and night had closed in before theyreached the village, but was only more lovely. The thunder rolledsolemnly among the hills, but the young moon shone in marvellouswhiteness on the snowy crowns, casting fantastic shadows from the crags, while whole showers of fire-flies were falling on them from the trees, floating and glancing in the shade. 

'It is a pity to go in, ' said Amy. But Arnaud did not seem to be of thesame opinion: he came out to meet them very anxiously, expostulating onthe dangers of the autumnal dew; and Guy owned that though it had beenthe most wonderful and delightful evening he had ever known, he wasrather fatigued. 

CHAPTER 33

 From darkness here and dreariness, We ask not full repose. --CHRISTIAN YEAR

It seemed as if the fatigue which Guy had undergone was going to makeitself felt at last, for he had a slight headache the next morning, andseemed dull and weary. Both he and Amabel sat for some time with Philip, and when she went away to write her letters, Philip began discussinga plan which had occurred to him of offering himself as chief of theconstabulary force in the county where Redclyffe was situated. It wasan office which would suit him very well, and opened a new hope ofhis marriage, and he proceeded to reckon on Lord Thorndale's interest, counting up all the magistrates he knew, and talking them over with Guy, who, however, did not know enough of his own neighbourhood to be of muchuse; and when he came up-stairs a little after, said he was vexedat having been so stupid. He was afraid he had seemed unkind andindifferent. But the truth was that he was so heavy and drowsy, that hehad actually fallen twice into a doze while Philip was talking. 

'Of course, ' said Amy, 'gentle sleep will take her revenge at last foryour calling her a popular delusion. Lie down, let her have her own way, and you will be good for something by and by. '

He took her advice, slept for a couple of hours, and awoke a good dealrefreshed, so that though his head still ached, he was able to attend asusual to Philip in the evening. 

He did not waken the next morning till so late, that he sprung upin consternation, and began to dress in haste to go to Philip; butpresently he came back from his dressing-room with a hasty uncertainstep, and threw himself down on the bed. Amabel came to his side in aninstant, much frightened at his paleness, but he spoke directly. 'Onlya fit of giddiness--it is going off;' and he raised himself, but wasobliged to lie down again directly. 

'You had better keep quiet' said she. 'Is it your headache?'

'It is aching, ' said Guy, and she put her hand over it. 

'How hot and throbbing!' said she. 'You must have caught cold in thatwalk. No, don't try to move; it is only making it worse. '

'I must go to Philip, ' he answered, starting up; but this brought onsuch a sensation of dizziness and faintness, that he sunk back on thepillow. 

'No; it is of no use to fight against it, ' said Amy, as soon as he was alittle better. 'Never mind Philip, I'll go to him. You must keep quiet, and I will get you a cup of hot tea. '

As he lay still, she had the comfort of seeing him somewhat revived, buthe listened to her persuasions not to attempt to move. It was later thanshe had expected, and she found that breakfast was laid out in the nextroom. She brought him some tea; but he did not seem inclined to lifthis head to drink it; and begged her to go at once to Philip, fearinghe must be thinking himself strangely forgotten, and giving her manydirections about the way he liked to be waited on at breakfast. 

Very much surprised was Philip to see her instead, of her husband, andgreatly concerned to hear that Guy was not well. 

'Over-fatigue, ' said he. 'He could not but feel the effects of suchlong-continued exertion. ' Then, after an interval, during which he hadbegun breakfast, with many apologies for letting her wait on him, hesaid, with some breaks, 'Never was there such a nurse as he, Amy; I havefelt much more than I can express, especially now. You will never haveto complain of my harsh judgment again!'

'It is too much for you to talk of these things, ' said Amabel, movedby the trembling of his feeble voice, but too anxious to return toher husband to like to wait even to hear that Philip's opinion _had_altered. It required much self-command not to hurry, even by manner, her cousin's tardy, languid movements; but she had been well trained byCharles in waiting on sick breakfasts. 

When at length she was able to escape, she found that Guy had undressed, and gone to bed again. He said he was more comfortable, and desiredher to go and take her own breakfast before coming back to him, and sheobeyed as well as she could, but very soon was again with him. Helooked flushed and oppressed, and when she put her cool hand across hisforehead, she was frightened at the increased throbbing of his temples. 

'Amy, ' said he, looking steadily at her, 'this is the fever. '

Without answering, she drew his hand into hers, and felt his pulse, which did indeed plainly respond fever. Each knew that the other wasrecollecting what he had said, on Sunday, of the doctor's prediction, and Amy knew he was thinking of death; but all that passed was aproposal to send at once for the French physician. Amabel wrote her notewith steadiness, derived from the very force of the shock. She couldnot think; she did not know whether she feared or hoped. To act fromone moment to another was all she attempted, and it was well that herimagination did not open to be appalled at her own situation--so young, alone with the charge of two sick men in a foreign country; her cousin, indeed, recovering, but helpless, and not even in a state to afford hercounsel; her husband sickening for this frightful fever, and withmore than ordinary cause for apprehension, even without the doctor'sprophecy, when she thought of his slight frame, and excitabletemperament, and that though never as yet tried by a day's illness, hecertainly had more spirit than strength, while all the fatigue hehad been undergoing was likely to tell upon him now. She did notlook forward, she did not look round; she did not hope or fear; she_trusted_, and did her best for each, as she was wanted, trying not tomake herself useless to both, by showing that she wished to be in twoplaces at once. 

It was a day sufficiently distressing in itself had there been nofurther apprehension, for there was the restlessness of illness, workingon a character too active and energetic to acquiesce without a trial inthe certainty that there was no remedy for present discomfort. There wasno impatience nor rebellion against the illness itself, but a wish totry one after another the things that had been effective in relievingPhilip during his recovery. At the same time, he could not bear thatAmabel should do anything to tire herself, and was very anxious thatPhilip should not be neglected. He tossed from one side to the otherin burning oppression or cold chills; Amy saw him looking wistful, suggested something by way of alleviation, then found he had beenwishing for it, but refraining from asking in order to spare her, andthat he was sorry when she procured it. Again and again this happened;she smoothed the coverings, and shook up the pillow: he would thankher, look at her anxiously, beg her not to exert herself, but soon grewrestless, and the whole was repeated. 

At last, as she was trying to arrange the coverings, he exclaimed, --

'I see how it is. This is impatience. Now, I will not stir for an hour, 'and as he made the resolution, he smiled at treating himself so like achild. His power of self-restraint came to his aid, and long before thehour was over he had fallen asleep. 

This was a relief; yet that oppressed, flushed, discomposed slumber, andheavy breathing only confirmed her fears that the fever had gained fullpossession of him. She had not the heart to write such tidings, at leasttill the physician should have made them too certain, nor could she evenbear to use the word 'feverish, ' in her answers to the anxious inquiriesPhilip made whenever she went into his room, though when he averted hisface with a heavy sigh, she knew his conclusion was the same as her own. 

The opinion of the physician was the only thing wanting to bring homethe certainty, and that fell on her like lead in the evening; with onecomfort, however, that he thought it a less severe case than the formerone. It was a great relief, too, that there was no wandering of mind, only the extreme drowsiness and oppression; and when Guy was roused bythe doctor's visit, he was as clear and collected as possible, makinginquiries and remarks, and speaking in a particularly calm and quietmanner. As soon as the doctor was gone, he looked up to Amabel, saying, with his own smile, only very dim, --

'It would be of no use, and it would not be true, to say I had ratheryou did not nurse me. The doctor hopes there is not much danger ofinfection, and it is too late for precautions. '

'I am very glad, ' said Amy. 

'But you must be wise, and not hurt yourself. Will you promise me not tosit up?'

'It is very kind of you to tell me nothing worse, ' said she, with a sadsubmissiveness. 

He smiled again. 'I am very sorry for you, ' he said, looking verytenderly at her. 'To have us both on your hands at once! But it comesstraight from Heaven, that is one comfort, and you made up your mind tosuch things when you took me. '

Sadness in his eye, a sweet smile on his lip, and serenity on his brow, joined with the fevered cheek, the air of lassitude, and the panting, oppressed breath, there was a strange, melancholy beauty about him;and while Amy felt an impulse of ardent, clinging affection to one soprecious to her, there was joined with it a sort of awe and venerationfor one who so spoke, looked, and felt. She hung over him, and sprinkledhim with Eau-de-Cologne; then as his hair teased him by falling into hiseyes, he asked her to cut the front lock off. There was something sadin doing this, for that 'tumble-down wave, ' as Charlotte called it, wasrather a favourite of Amy's; it always seemed to have so much sympathywith his moods, and it was as if parting with it was resigning him to along illness. However, it was too troublesome not to go, and he lookedamused at the care with which she folded up the glossy, brown wave, andtreasured it in her dressing-case, then she read to him a few verses ofa psalm, and he soon fell into another doze. 

There was little more of event, day after day. The fever never ran ashigh as in Philip's case, and there was no delirium. There was almostconstant torpor, but when for any short space he was thoroughlyawakened, his mind was perfectly clear, though he spoke little, and thenonly on the subject immediately presented to him. There he lay forone quiet hour after another, while Amy sat by him, with as littleconsciousness of time as he had himself, looking neither forward norbackward, only to the present, to give him drink, bathe his face andhands, arrange his pillows, or read or repeat some soothing verse. Italways was a surprise when meal times summoned her to attend to Philip, when she was asked for the letters for the post, when evening twilightgathered in, or when she had to leave the night-watch to Arnaud, and goto bed in the adjoining room. 

This was a great trial, but he would not allow her to sit up; and herown sense showed her that if this was to be a long illness, it wouldnot do to waste her strength. She knew he was quiet at night, and hertrustful temper so calmed and supported her, that she was able to sleep, and thus was not as liable to be overworked as might have been feared, and as Philip thought she must be. 

She always appeared in his room with her sweet face mournful andanxious, but never ruffled, or with any air of haste or discomfiture, desirous as she was to return to her husband; for, though he frequentlysent her to take care of herself or of Philip, she knew that while shewas away he always grew more restless and uncomfortable, and his look ofrelief at her re-entrance said as much to her as a hundred complaints ofher absence would have done. 

Philip was in the meantime sorely tried by being forced to be entirelyinactive and dependent, while he saw Amabel in such need of assistance;and so far from being able to requite Guy's care, he could only look onhimself as the cause of their distress, and an addition to it--a burtheninstead of a help. If he had been told a little while ago what would bethe present state of things, he would almost have laughed the speakerto scorn. He would never have thought a child as competent as Amy to thesole management of two sick persons, and he not able either to adviseor cheer her. Yet he could not see anything went wrong that depended onher. His comforts were so cared for, that he was often sorry she shouldhave troubled herself about them; and though he could have little of hercompany, he never was allowed to feel himself deserted. Anne, Arnaud, the old Italian nurse, or Amy herself, were easily summoned, and gavehim full care and attention. 

He was, however, necessarily a good deal alone; and though his cousin'sbooks were at his disposal, eyes and head were too weak for reading, andhe was left a prey to his own thoughts. His great comfort was, that Guywas less ill than he had been himself, and that there was no presentdanger; otherwise, he could never have endured the conviction that allhad been caused by his own imprudence. Imprudence! Philip was broughtvery low to own that such a word applied to him, yet it would have beenwell for him had that been the chief burthen on his mind. Was it only anordinary service of friendship and kindred that Guy had, at the perilof his own life, rendered him? Was it not a positive return of goodfor evil? Yes, evil! He now called that evil, or at least harshness andhastiness in judgment, which he had hitherto deemed true friendship andconsideration for Guy and Amy. Every feeling of distrust and jealousyhad been gradually softening since his recovery began; gratitude haddone much, and dismay at Guy's illness did more. It would have beennoble and generous in Guy to act as he had done, had Philip's surmisesbeen correct, and this he began to doubt, though it was his onlyjustification, and even to wish to lose it. He had rather believe Guyblameless. He would do so, if possible; and he resolved, on the firstopportunity, to beg him to give him one last assurance that all wasright, and implicitly believe him. But how was it possible againto assume to be a ruler and judge over Guy after it was knownhow egregiously he himself had erred? There was shame, sorrow, self-humiliation, and anxiety wherever he turned, and it was no wonderthat depression of spirits retarded his recovery. 

It was not till the tenth day after Guy's illness had begun that Philipwas able to be dressed, and to come into the next room, where Amabel hadpromised to dine with him. As he lay on the sofa, she thought he lookedeven more ill than in bed, the change from his former appearance beingrendered more visible, and his great height making him look the morethin. He was apparently exhausted with the exertion of dressing, for hewas very silent all dinner-time, though Amabel could have better talkedto-day than for some time past, since Guy had had some refreshing sleep, was decidedly less feverish, seemed better for nourishing food, and saidthat he wanted nothing but a puff of Redclyffe wind to make him well. He was pleased to hear of Philip's step in recovery, and altogether, Amywas cheered and happy. 

She left her cousin as soon as dinner was over, and did not come to himagain for nearly an hour and a half. She was then surprised to findhim finishing a letter, resting his head on one hand, and looking wan, weary, and very unhappy. 

'Have you come to letter writing?'

'Yes, ' he answered, in a worn, dejected tone, 'I must ask you to directthis, I can't make it legible, '

No wonder, so much did his hand tremble, as he held out the envelope. 

'To your sister?' she asked. 

'No; to yours. I never wrote to her before. There's one enclosed to yourfather, to tell all. '

'I am glad you have done it, ' answered Amy, in a quiet tone of sincerecongratulation. 'You will be better now it is off your mind. But howtired you are. You must go back to bed. Shall I call Arnaud?'

'I must rest first'--and his voice failing, he laid back on the sofa, closed his eyes, turned ashy pale, and became so faint that she couldnot leave him, and was obliged to apply every restorative within reachbefore she could bring him back to a state of tolerable comfort. 

The next minute her work was nearly undone, when Anne came in to ask forthe letters for the post. 'Shall I send yours?' asked Amy. 

He muttered an assent. But when she looked back to him after speaking toAnne, she saw a tremulous, almost convulsed working of the closed eyesand mouth, while the thin hands were clenched together with a forcecontrasting with the helpless manner in which they had hung a momentbefore. She guessed at the intensity of anguish it mast cost a temper soproud, a heart of so strong a mould, and feelings so deep, to take thefirst irrevocable step in self-humiliation, giving up into the hands ofothers the engagement that had hitherto been the cherished treasureof his life; and above all, in exposing Laura to bear the brunt of thepenalty of the fault into which he had led her. 'Oh, for Guy to comforthim, ' thought she, feeling herself entirely incompetent, dreading tointrude on his feelings, yet thinking it unkind to go away without onesympathizing word when he was in such distress. 

'You will be glad, in time, ' at last she said. He made no answer. 

She held the stimulants to him again, and tried to arrange him morecomfortably. 

'Thank you, ' at last he said. 'How is Guy?'

'He has just had another nice quiet sleep, and is quite refreshed. '

'That is a blessing, at least. But does not he want you? I have beenkeeping you a long time?'

'Thank you, as he is awake, I should like to go back. You are betternow. '

'Yes, while I don't move. '

'Don't try. I'll send Arnaud, and as soon as you can, you had better goto bed again. '

Guy was still awake, and able to hear what she had to tell him aboutPhilip. 

'Poor fellow!' said he. 'We must try to soften it. '

'Shall I write?' said Amy. 'Mamma will be pleased to hear of his havingtold you, and they must be sorry for him, when they hear how much theletter cost him. '

'Ah! they will not guess at half his sorrow. '

'I will write to papa, and send it after the other letters, so that hemay read it before he hears of Philip's. '

'Poor Laura!' said Guy. 'Could not you write a note to her too? I wanther to be told that I am very sorry, if I ever gave her pain by speakingthoughtlessly of him. '

'Nay, ' said Amy, smiling, 'you have not much to reproach yourself within that way. It was I that always abused him. '

'You can never do so again. '

'No, I don't think I can, now I have seen his sorrow. '

Amabel was quite in spirits, as she brought her writing to his bed-side, and read her sentences to him as she composed the letter to her father, while he suggested and approved. It was a treat indeed to have him ableto consult with her once more, and he looked so much relieved andso much better, that she felt as if it was the beginning of realimprovement, though still his pulse was fast, and the fever, thoughlessened, was not gone. 

The letter was almost as much his as her own, and he ended his dictationthus: 'Say that I am sure that if I get better we may make arrangementsfor their marriage. '

Then, as Amy was finishing the letter with her hopes of his amendment, he added, speaking to her, and not dictating--'If not, '--she shrank andshivered, but did not exclaim, for he looked so calm and happy that shedid not like to interrupt him--'If not, you know, it will be very easyto put the money matters to rights, whatever may happen. '

CHAPTER 34

 Sir, It is your fault I have loved Posthumus; You bred him as my playfellow; and he is A man worth any woman, over-buys me Almost the sum he pays. --CYMBELINE

The first tidings of Philip's illness arrived at Hollywell one morningat breakfast, and were thus announced by Charles--

'There! So he has been and gone and done it. '

'What? Who? Not Guy?'

'Here has the Captain gone and caught a regular bad fever, in somemalaria hole; delirious, and all that sort of thing, and of course ourwise brother and sister must needs go and nurse him, by way of a prettylittle interlude in their wedding tour!'

Laura's voice alone was unheard in the chorus of inquiry. She sat cold, stiff, and silent, devouring with her ears each reply, that fell likea death-blow, while she was mechanically continuing the occupations ofbreakfast. When all was told, she hurried to her own room, but the wantof sympathy was becoming intolerable. If Amabel had been at home, shemust have told her all. There was no one else; and the misery tobe endured in silence was dreadful. Her dearest--her whole joy andhope--suffering, dying, and to hear all round her speaking of him withkindness, indeed, but what to her seemed indifference; blaming him forwilfulness, saying he had drawn it on himself, --it seemed to drive herwild. She conjured up pictures of his sufferings, and dreaded Guy'sinexperience, the want of medical advice, imagining everything that wasterrible. Her idol, to whom her whole soul was devoted, was passingfrom her, and no one pitied her; while the latent consciousness ofdisobedience debarred her from gaining solace from the only true source. All was blank desolation--a wild agony, untempered by resignation, uncheered by prayer; for though she did pray, it was without trust, without hope, while her wretchedness was rendered more overwhelming byher efforts to conceal it. These were so far ineffectual that no onecould help perceiving that she was extremely unhappy, but then all thefamily knew she was very fond of Philip, and neither her mother norbrother could be surprised at her distress, though it certainly appearedto them excessive. Mrs. Edmonstone was very sorry for her, and veryaffectionate and considerate; but Laura was too much absorbed, in herown feelings to perceive or to be grateful for her kindness; and as eachday brought a no better report, her despair became so engrossing thatshe could not attempt any employment. She wandered in the garden, sat indreamy fits of silence in the house, and at last, after receiving one ofthe worst accounts, sat up in her dressing-gown the whole of one night, in one dull, heavy, motionless trance of misery. 

She recollected that she must act her part, dressed in the morning andcame down; but her looks were ghastly; she tasted no food, and as soonas possible left the breakfast-room. Her mother was going in questof her when old nurse came with an anxious face to say, --'Ma'am, I amafraid Miss Edmonstone must be very ill, or something. Do you know, ma'am, her bed has not been slept in all night?'

'You don't say so, nurse!'

'Yes, ma'am, Jane told me so, and I went to look myself. Poor child, she is half distracted about Master Philip, and no wonder, for they werealways together; but I thought you ought to know, ma'am, for she willmake herself ill, to a certainty. '

'I am going to see about her this moment, nurse, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone;and presently she found Laura wandering up and down the shady walk, inthe restlessness of her despair. 

'Laura, dearest, ' said she, putting her arm round her, 'I cannot bear tosee you so unhappy. '

Laura did not answer; for though solitude was oppressive, every one'spresence was a burthen. 

'I cannot think it right to give way thus, ' continued her mother. 'Didyou really sit up all night, my poor child?'

'I don't know. They did so with him!'

'My dear, this will never do. You are making yourself seriously unwell. '

'I wish--I wish I was ill; I wish I was dying!' broke from Laura, almostunconsciously, in a hoarse, inward voice. 

'My dear! You don't know what you are saying. You forget that thisself-abandonment, and extravagant grief would be wrong in any one; and, if nothing else, the display is unbecoming in you. '

Laura's over-wrought feelings could bear no more, and in a tone which, though too vehement to be addressed to a parent, had in it an agonywhich almost excused it, by showing how unable she was to restrainherself, she broke forth:----'Unbecoming! Who has a right to grieve forhim but me?--his own, his chosen, --the only one who can love him, orunderstand him. Her voice died away in a sob, though without tears. 

Her mother heard the words, but did not take in their full meaning;and, believing that Laura's undeveloped affection had led her to thisuncontrolled grief, she spoke again, with coldness, intended to rouseher to a sense that she was compromising her womanly dignity. 

'Take care, Laura; a woman has no right to speak in such a manner of aman who has given her no reason to believe in his preference of her. '

'Preference! It is his love!--his love! His whole heart! The one thingthat was precious to me in this world! Preference! You little guess whatwe have felt for each other!'

'Laura!' Mrs. Edmonstone stood still, overpowered. 'What do you mean?'She could not put the question more plainly. 

'What have I done?' cried Laura. 'I have betrayed him!' she answeredherself in a tone of despair, as she hid her face in her hands;'betrayed him when he is dying!'

Her mother was too much shocked to speak in the soft reluctant manner inwhich she was wont to reprove. 

'Laura, ' said she, 'I must understand this. What has passed between youand Philip?'

Laura only replied by a flood of tears, ungovernable from the exhaustionof sleeplessness and want of food. Mrs. Edmonstone's kindness returned;she soothed her, begged her to control herself, and at length broughther into the house, and up to the dressing-room, where she sank on thesofa, weeping violently. It was the reaction of the long restraintshe had been exercising on herself, and the silence she hadbeen maintaining. She was not feeling the humiliation, her ownacknowledgement of disobedience, but of the horror of being forced toreveal the secret he had left in her charge. 

Long did she weep, breaking out more piteously at each attempt of hermother to lead her to explain. Poor Mrs. Edmonstone was alarmed andperplexed beyond measure; this half confession had so overthrown all herideas that she was ready to apprehend everything most improbable, andalmost expected to hear of a private marriage. Her presence seemed onlyto make Laura worse, and at length she said, --'I shall leave youfor half an hour, in hopes that by that time you may have recoveredyourself, and be able to give the explanation which I _require_. '

She went into her own room, and waited, with her eyes on her watch, aprey to every strange alarm and anticipation, grievously hurt at thiswant of confidence, and wounded, where she least expected it, by bothdaughter and nephew. She thought, guessed, recollected, wondered, tormented herself, and at the last of the thirty minutes, hastily openedthe door into the dressing-room. Laura sat as before, crouched up in thecorner of the wide sofa; and when she raised her face, at her mother'sentrance, it was bewildered rather than embarrassed. 

'Well, Laura?' She waited unanswered; and the wretchedness of the lookso touched her, that, kissing her, she said, 'Surely, my dear, you neednot be afraid to tell me anything?'

Laura did not respond to the kindness, but asked, looking perplexed, 'What have I said? Have I told it?'

'What you have given me reason to believe, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, tryingto bring herself to speak it explicitly, 'that you think Philip isattached to you. You do not deny it. Let me know on what terms youstand. '

Without looking up, she murmured, 'If you would not force it from me atsuch a time. '

'Laura, it is for your own good. You are wretched now, my poor child;why not relieve yourself by telling all? If you have not acted openly, can you have any comfort till you have confessed? It may be a painfuleffort, but relief will come afterwards. '

'I have nothing to confess, ' said Laura. 'There is no such thing as youthink. '

'No engagement?'

'No. '

'Then what am I to understand by your exclamations?'

'It is no engagement, ' repeated Laura. 'He would never have asked thatwithout papa's consent. We are only bound by our own hearts. '

'And you have a secret understanding with him?'

'We have never written to each other; we have never dreamed of anyintercourse that could be called clandestine. He would scorn it. Hewaited only for his promotion to declare it to papa. '

'And how long has it been declared to you?'

'Ever since the first summer Guy was here. '

'Three years!' exclaimed her mother. 'You have kept this from me threeyears! O Laura!'

'It was of no use to speak!' said Laura, faintly. 

If she had looked up, she would have seen those words, 'no use, ' cut hermother more deeply than all; but there was only coldness in the toneof the answer, 'No use to inform your parents, before you pledged youraffections!'

'Indeed, mamma, ' said Laura, 'I was sure that you knew his worth. '

'Worth! when he was teaching you to live in a course of insincerity?Your father will be deeply hurt. '

'Papa! Oh, you must not tell him! Now, I have betrayed him, indeed! Oh, my weakness!' and another paroxysm of tears came on. 

'Laura, you seem to think you owe nothing to any one but Philip. Youforget you are a daughter! that you have been keeping up a system ofdisobedience and concealment, of which I could not have believed a childof mine could be capable. O Laura, how you have abused our confidence!'

Laura was touched by the sorrow of her tone; and, throwing her armsround her neck, sobbed out, 'You will forgive me, only forgive him!'

Mrs. Edmonstone was softened in a moment. 'Forgive you, my poor child!You have been very unhappy!' and she kissed her, with many tears. 

'Must you tell papa?' whispered Laura. 

'Judge for yourself, Laura. Could I know such a thing, and hide it fromhim?'

Laura ceased, seeing her determined, and yielded to her pity, allowingherself to be nursed as she required, so exhausted was she. She was laidon the sofa, and made comfortable with pillows, in her mother's gentlestway. When Mrs. Edmonstone was called away, Laura held her dress, saying, 'You are kind to me, but you must forgive him. Say you have forgivenhim, mamma, dearest!'

'My dear, in the grave all things are forgiven. '

She could not help saying so; but, feeling as if she had been cruel, sheadded, 'I mean, while he is so ill, we cannot enter on such a matter. Iam very sorry for you, ' proceeded she, still arranging for Laura's ease;then kissing her, hoped she would sleep, and left her. 

Sympathy was a matter of necessity to Mrs. Edmonstone; and as herhusband was out, she went at once to Charles, with a countenance sodisturbed, that he feared some worse tidings had come from Italy. 

'No, no, nothing of that sort; it is poor Laura. '

'Eh?' said Charles, with a significant though anxious look, that causedher to exclaim, --

'Surely you had no suspicion!'

Charlotte, who was reading in the window, trembled lest she should beseen, and sent away. 

'I suspected poor Laura had parted with her heart. But what do you mean?What has happened?'

'Could you have guessed? but first remember how ill he is; don't beviolent, Charlie. Could you have guessed that they have been engaged, ever since the summer we first remarked them?'

She had expected a great storm; but Charles only observed, very coolly, 'Oh! it is come out at last!'

'You don't mean that you knew it?'

'No, indeed, you don't think they would choose me for their confidant!'

'Not exactly, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, with the odd sort of laugh withwhich even the most sensitive people, in the height of their troubles, reply to anything ludicrous; 'but really, ' she continued, 'every ideaof mine is so turned upside-down, that I don't know what to think ofanybody. '

'We always knew Laura to be his slave and automaton. He is soinfallible in her eyes, that no doubt she thought her silence an act ofpraiseworthy resolution. '

'She was a mere child, poor dear, ' said her mother; 'only eighteen! YetAmy was but a year older last summer. How unlike! She must have knownwhat she was doing. '

'Not with her senses surrendered to him, without volition of her own. Iwonder by what magnetism he allowed her to tell?'

'She has gone through a great deal, poor child, and I am afraid there ismuch more for her to suffer, whether he recovers or not. '

'He will recover' said Charles, with the decided manner in which peopleprophesy the restoration of those they dislike, probably from a feelingthat they must not die, till there is more charity in their opinion ofthem. 

'Your father will be so grieved. '

'Well, I suppose we must begin to make the best of it, ' said Charles. 'She has been as good as married to him these four years, for any useshe has been to us; it has been only the name of the thing, so he hadbetter--'

'My dear Charlie, what are you talking of? You don't imagine they canmarry?'

'They will some time or other, for assuredly neither will marry anyone else. You will see if Guy does not take up the cause, and returnPhilip's meddling--which, by the bye, is now shown to have been morepreposterous still--by setting their affairs in order for them. '

'Dear Guy, it is a comfort not to have been deceived in him!'

'Except when you believed Philip, ' said Charles. 

'Could anything have been more different?' proceeded Mrs. Edmonstone;'yet the two girls had the same training. '

'With an important exception, ' said Charles; 'Laura is Philip's pupil, Amy mine; and I think her little ladyship is the best turned out ofhand. '

'How shocked Amy will be! If she was but here, it would be much better, for she always had more of Laura's confidence than I. Oh, Charlie, therehas been the error!' and Mrs. Edmonstone's eyes were full of tears. 'What fearful mistake have I made to miss my daughter's confidence!'

'You must not ask me, mother, ' said Charles, face and voice full ofaffectionate emotion. 'I know too well that I have been exacting andselfish, taking too much advantage of your anxieties for me, and that ifyou were not enough with my sisters when they were young girls, it wasmy fault as much as my misfortune. But, after all, it has not hurt Amyin the least; nor do I think it will hurt Charlotte. '

Charlotte did not venture to give way to her desire to kiss her mother, and thank Charles, lest she should be exiled as an intruder. 

'And, ' proceeded Charles, serious, though somewhat roguish, 'I suspectthat no attention would have made much difference. You were always tooyoung, and Laura too much addicted to the physical sciences to get ontogether. '

'A weak, silly mother, sighed Mrs. Edmonstone. 

This was too much for Charlotte, who sprang forward, and flung her armsround her neck, sobbing out, --

'Mamma! dear mamma! don't say such horrid things! No one is half so wiseor so good, --I am sure Guy thinks so too!'

At the same time Bustle, perceiving a commotion, made a leap, plantedhis fore-feet on Mrs. Edmonstone's lap, wagging his tail vehemently, andtrying to lick her face. It was not in human nature not to laugh; andMrs. Edmonstone did so as heartily as either of the young ones; indeed, Charlotte was the first to resume her gravity, not being sure of herground, and being hurt at her impulse of affection being thus reduced tothe absurd. She began to apologize, --

'Dear mamma, I could not help it. I thought you knew I wad in the room. '

'My dear child, ' and her mother kissed her warmly, 'I don't want to hideanything from you. You are my only home-daughter now. ' Then recollectingher prudence, she proceeded, --'You are old enough to understand thedistress this insincerity of poor Laura's has occasioned, --and now thatAmy is gone, we must look to you to comfort us. '

Did ever maiden of fourteen feel more honoured, and obliged to be verygood and wise than Charlotte, as she knelt by her mother's side? Happilytact was coming with advancing years, and she did not attempt to minglein the conversation, which was resumed by Charles observing that thestrangest part of the affair was the incompatibility of so novelish andimprudent a proceeding with the cautious, thoughtful character ofboth parties. It was, he said, analogous to a pentagon flirting with ahexagon; whereas Guy, a knight of the Round Table, in name and nature, and Amy, with her little superstitions, had been attached in the mostmatter-of-fact, hum-drum way, and were in a course of living veryhappy ever after, for which nature could never have designed them. Mrs. Edmonstone smiled, sighed, hoped they were prudent, and wondered whethercamphor and chloride of lime were attainable at Recoara. 

Laura came down no more that day, for she was worn out with agitation, and it was a relief to be sufficiently unwell to be excused facing herfather and Charles. She had little hope that Charlotte had not heardall; but she might seem to believe her ignorant, and could, therefore, endure her waiting on her, with an elaborate kindness and compassion, and tip-toe silence, far beyond the deserts of her slight indisposition. 

In the evening, Charles and his mother broke the tidings to Mr. Edmonstone as gently as they could, Charles feeling bound to be thecool, thinking head in the family. Of course Mr. Edmonstone stormed, vowed that he could not have believed it, then veered round, and saidhe could have predicted it from the first. It was all mamma's faultfor letting him be so intimate with the girls--how was a poor lad tobe expected not to fall in love? Next he broke into great wrath at theabuse of his confidence, then at the interference with Guy, then at theintolerable presumption of Philip's thinking of Laura. He would soonlet him know what he thought of it! When reminded of Philip's presentcondition, he muttered an Irish imprecation on the fever for interferingwith his anger, and abused the 'romantic folly' that had carried Guy tonurse him at Recoara. He was not so much displeased with Laura; in facthe thought all young ladies always ready to be fallen in love with, and hardly accountable for what their lovers might make them do, and hepitied her heartily, when he heard of her sitting up all night. Anythingof extravagance in love met with sympathy from him, and there was noeffort in his hearty forgiveness of her. He vowed that she should givethe fellow up, and had she been present, would have tried to make her doso at a moment's warning; but in process of time he was convinced thathe must not persecute her while Philip was in extremity, and though, like Charles, he scorned the notion of his death, and, as if it wasan additional crime, pronounced him to be as strong as a horse, he wasquite ready to put off all proceedings till his recovery, being glad todefer the evil day of making her cry. 

So when Laura ventured out, she met with nothing harsh; indeed, but forthe sorrowful kindness of her family towards her, she could hardly haveguessed that they knew her secret. 

Her heart leapt when Amabel's letter was silently handed to her, and shesaw the news of Philip's amendment, but a sickening feeling succeeded, that soon all forbearance would be at an end, and he must hear that herweakness had betrayed his secret. For the present, however, nothing wassaid, and she continued in silent dread of what each day might bringforth, till one afternoon, when the letters had been fetched fromBroadstone, Mrs. Edmonstone, with an exclamation of dismay, readaloud:--

 'Recoara, September 8th. 

'DEAREST MAMMA, --Don't be very much frightened when I tell you that Guyhas caught the fever. He has been ailing since Sunday, and yesterdaybecame quite ill; but we hope it will not be so severe an illness asPhilip's was. He sleeps a great deal, and is in no pain, quite sensiblewhen he is awake. Arnaud is very useful, and so is Anne; and he is soquiet at night, that he wants no one but Arnaud, and will not let me situp with him. Philip is better. 

 'Your most affectionate, 'A. F. M. '

The reading was followed by a dead silence, then Mr. Edmonstone said hehad always known how it would be, and what would poor Amy do?

Mrs. Edmonstone was too unhappy to answer, for she could see no means ofhelping them. Mr. Edmonstone was of no use in a sick-room, and she hadnever thought it possible to leave Charles. It did not even occur to herthat she could do so till Charles himself suggested that she must go toAmy. 

'Can you spare me?' said she, as if it was a new light. 

'Why not? Who can be thought of but Amy? She ought not to be a daylonger without you. '

'Dr. Mayerne would look in on you, ' said she, considering, 'and Lauracan manage for you. '

'Oh, I shall do very well. Do you think I could bear to keep you fromher?'

'Some one must go, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'and even if I could think ofletting Laura run the risk, this unhappy affair about Philip puts hergoing out of the question. '

'No one but you can go, said Charles; 'it is of no use to talk ofanything else. '

It was settled that if the next account was not more favourable, Mr. And Mrs. Edmonstone should set off for Recoara. Laura heard, inconsternation at the thought of her father's meeting Philip, still weakand unwell, without her, and perhaps with Guy too ill to be consulted. And oh! what would Philip think of her? Her weakness had disclosed hissecret, and sunk her beneath him, and he must hear it from others. Shefelt as if she could have thrown herself at her mother's feet as sheimplored her to forbear, to spare him, to spare her. Her mother pitiedher incoherent distress, but it did not make her feel more in charitywith Philip. She would not promise that the subject should, not bediscussed, but she tried to reassure Laura by saying that nothing shouldbe done that could retard his recovery. 

With this Laura was obliged to content herself; and early the secondmorning, after the letter arrived, she watched the departure of herfather and mother. 

She had expected to find the care of Charles very anxious work, but sheprospered beyond her hopes. He was very kind and considerate, and bothhe and Charlotte were so sobered by anxiety, that there was no fear oftheir spirits overpowering her. 

Mary Ross used to come almost every afternoon to inquire. One day shefound Charles alone, crutching himself slowly along the terrace, and shethought nothing showed the forlorn state of the family so much as to seehim out of doors with no one for a prop. 

'Mary! Just as I wanted you!'

'What account?' said she, taking the place of one of the crutches. 

'Excellent; the fever and drowsiness seem to be going off. It must havebeen a light attack, and the elders will hardly come in time for mammato have any nursing. So there's Guy pretty well off one's mind. '

'And Amy?'

'This was such a long letter, and so cheerful, that she must be allright. What I wanted to speak to you about was Laura. You know the stateof things. Well, the captain--I wish he was not so sorry, it deprivesone of the satisfaction of abusing him--the captain, it seems, wasbrought to his senses by his illness, confessed all to Guy, and now haswritten to tell the whole truth to my father. '

'Has he? That is a great relief!'

'Not that I have seen his letter; Laura ran away with it, and has notsaid a word of it. I know it from one to papa from Amy, trying to makethe best of it, and telling how thoroughly he is cut up. She says heall but fainted after writing. Fancy that poor little thing with a greatman, six foot one, fainting away on her hands!'

'I thought he was pretty well again. '

'He must be to have written at all, and a pretty tolerably bitter pillit must have been to set about it. What a thing for him to have had totell Guy, of all people--I do enjoy that! So, of course, Guy takes uphis cause, and sends a message, that is worth anything, as showing he ishimself better, though in any one else it would be a proof of delirium. My two brothers-in-law might sit for a picture of the contrast. '

'Then you think Mr. Edmonstone will consent?'

'To be sure; we shall have him coming home, saying--

 It is a fine thing to be father in-law To a very magnificent three-tailed bashaw. 

He will never hold out against Guy and Amy, and Philip will soon set upa patent revolver, to be turned by the little god of love on the newestscientific principles. '

'Where is Laura?' said Mary, smiling. 

'I turned her out to walk with Charlotte, and I want some counsel, asmamma says I know nothing of lovers. '

'Because I know so much?'

'You know feminine nature I want to know what is the best thing todo for Laura. Poor thing! I can't bear to see her look so wretched, worrying herself with care of me. I have done the best I could by takingCharlotte's lessons, and sending her out to mope alone, as she likesbest; but I wish you would tell me how to manage her. '

'I know nothing better for her than waiting on you. '

'That's hard, ' said Charles, 'that having made the world danceattendance on me for my pleasure, I must now do it for theirs. Butwhat do you think about telling her of this letter, or showing it, remembering that not a word about her troubles has passed between us?'

'By all means tell her. You must judge about showing it, but I shouldthink the opening for talking to her on the subject a great gain. '

'Should you? What, thinking as I do of the man? Should I not be betweenthe horns of a dilemma if I had to speak the honest truth, yet not hurther feelings?'

'She has been so long shut up from sympathy, that any proof of kindnessmust be a comfort. '

'Well, I should like to do her some good, but it will be a mercy, if shedoes not make me fall foul of Philip! I can get up a little Christiancharity, when my father or Charlotte rave at him, but I can't standhearing him praised. I take the opportunity of saying so while I can, for I expect he will come home as her betrothed, and then we shall notbe able to say one word. '

'No, I dare say he will be so altered and subdued that you will not beso disposed to rail. This confession is a grand thing. Good-bye I mustget back to church. Poor Laura! how busy she has been about her sketchthere lately. '

'Yes, she has been eager about finishing it ever since Guy began to beill. Good-bye. Wish me well through my part of confidant to-night. Itis much against the grain, though I would give something to cheer up mypoor sister. '

'I am sure you would, ' thought Mary to herself, as she looked back athim: 'what a quantity of kind, right feeling there in under that odd, dry manner, that strives to appear to love nothing but a joke. '

As soon as Charlotte was gone to bed, Charles, in accordance with hisdetermination, said to Laura, --

'Have you any fancy for seeing Amy's letter?'

'Thank you;' and, without speaking, Laura took it. He forbore to watchher expression as she read. When she had finished, her face was fixed insilent unhappiness. 

'He has been suffering a great deal, I am sure, ' said Charles, kindly. It was the first voluntary word of compassion towards Philip that Laurahad heard, and it was as grateful as unexpected. Her face softened, andtears gushed from her eyes as she said, --

'You do not know how much. There he is grieving for me! thinking theywill be angry with me, and hurting himself with that! Oh! if this hadbut come before they set off!'

'Guy and Amy will tell them of his having written. '

'Dear, dear Guy and Amy! He speaks so earnestly of their kindness. Idon't fear it so much now he and Guy understand each other. '

Recollecting her love, Charles refrained, only saying, 'You can rely ontheir doing everything to make it better. '

'I can hardly bear to think of what we owe to them, ' said Laura. 'How glad I am that Amy was there after he wrote, when he was so muchovercome! Amy has written me such a very kind note; I think you must seethat--it is so like her own dear self. '

She gave it to him, and he read:--

'MY DEAREST, --I never could tell you before how we have grieved for youever since we knew it. I am so sorry I wrote such dreadful accounts;and Guy says he wants to ask your pardon, if he ever said anything thatpained you about Philip. I understand all your unhappiness now, my poordear; but it will be better now it is known. Don't be reserved, withCharlie, pray; for if he sees you are unhappy, he will be so very kind. I have just seen Philip again, and found him rested and better. He isonly anxious about you; but I tell him I know you will be glad it istold. 

 'Your most affectionate sister, 'A. F. M. '

'Laura' said Charles, finishing the letter, 'Amy gives you very goodadvice, as far as I am concerned. I do want to be of as much use to youas I can--I mean as kind. '

'I know--I know; thank you, ' said Laura, struggling with her tears. 'Youhave been--you are; but--'

'Ay, ' thought Charles, 'I see, she won't be satisfied, if my kindnessincludes her alone. What will my honesty let me say to please her? Oh! Iknow. --You must not expect me to say that Philip has, behaved properly, Laura, nothing but being in love could justify such a delusion; but I dosay that there is greatness of mind in his confessing it, especially ata time when he could put it off, and is so unequal to agitation. '

It was the absence of any tone of satire that made this speech come hometo Laura as it was meant. There was no grudging in the praise, and sheanswered, in a very low, broken voice, --

'You will think so still more when you see this note, which he sentopen, inside mine, to be given to papa when I had told my own story. Oh, his considerateness for me!'

She gave it to him. The address, 'C. Edmonstone, Esq. , ' was a merescrawl, and within the writing was very trembling and weak. Charlesremarked it, and she answered by saying that her own letter began inhis own strong hand, but failed and grew shaky at the end, as if fromfatigue and agitation. The words were few, brief, and simple, veryunlike his usual manner of letter-writing. 

'MY DEAR UNCLE, --My conduct has been unjustifiable--I feel it. Do notvisit it on Laura--I alone should suffer. I entreat your pardon, and myaunt's, and leave all to you. I will write more at length. Be kind toher. --Yours affectionately, 'PH. M. '

'Poor Philip!' said Charles, really very much touched. From that moment, Laura no longer felt completely isolated, and deprived of sympathy. Shesat by Charles till late that night, and told him the whole historyof her engagement, much relieved by the outpouring of her long-hiddengriefs, and comforted by his kindness, though he could not absolutelyrefrain from words and gestures of censure. It was as strange thatCharles should be the first person to whom Laura told this history, asthat Guy should have been Philip's first confidant. 

CHAPTER 35

 There is a Rock, and nigh at hand, A shadow in a weary land, Who in that stricken Rock hath rest, Finds water gushing from its breast. --NEALE

In the meantime the days passed at Recoara without much change for thebetter or worse. After the first week, Guy's fever had diminished; hispulse was lower, the drowsiness ceased, and it seemed as if there wasnothing to prevent absolute recovery. But though each morning seemed tobring improvement, it never lasted; the fever, though not high, couldnever be entirely reduced, and strength was perceptibly wasting, inspite of every means of keeping it up. 

There was not much positive suffering, very little even of headache, and he was cheerful, though speaking little, because he was told not toexcite or exhaust himself. Languor and lassitude were the chief causesof discomfort; and as his strength failed, there came fits of exhaustionand oppression that tried him severely. At first, these were easilyremoved by stimulants; but remedies seemed to lose their effect, and thesinking was almost death-like. 

'I think I could bear acute pain better!' he said one day; and more thanonce the sigh broke from him almost unconsciously, --'Oh for one breathof Redclyffe sea-wind!' Indeed, it seemed as if the close air of theshut-in-valley, at the end of a long hot day was almost enough tooverwhelm him, weak as he had become. Every morning, when Amabel let inthe fresh breeze at the window, she predicted it would be a cool day, and do him good; every afternoon the wind abated, the sun shone fullin, the room was stifling, the faintness came on, and after a few vainattempts at relieving it, Guy sighed that there was nothing for it butquiet, and Amy was obliged to acquiesce. As the sun set, the breezesprung up, it became cooler, he fell asleep, awoke revived, wascomfortable all the evening, and Amy left him at eleven or twelve, withhopes of his having a good night. 

It seemed to her as if ages had passed in this way, when one evening twoletters were brought in. 

'From mamma!' said she; 'and this one, ' holding it up, 'is for you. Itmust have been hunting us everywhere. How many different directions!'

'From Markham, ' said Guy. 'It must be the letter we were waiting for. '

The letter to tell them Redclyffe was ready to receive them! Amabel putit down with a strange sensation, and opened her mother's. With a startof joy she exclaimed--

'They are coming--mamma and papa!'

'Then all is right!'

'If we do not receive a much better account, ' read Amy, 'we shall setoff early on Wednesday, and hope to be with you not long after youreceive this letter. '

'Oh I am so glad! I wonder how Charlie gets on without her. '

'It is a great comfort, ' said Guy. 

'Now you will see what a nurse mamma is!'

'Now you will be properly cared for. '

'How nice it will be! She will take care of you all night, and neverbe tired, and devise everything I am too stupid for, and make you socomfortable!'

'Nay, no one could do that better than you, Amy. But it is joyindeed--to see mamma again--to know you are safe with her. Everythingcomes to make it easy!' The last words were spoken very low; and she didnot disturb him by saying anything till he asked about the rest of theletter, and desired her to read Markham's to him. 

This cost her some pain, for it had been written in ignorance ofeven Philip's illness, and detailed triumphantly the preparations atRedclyffe, hinting that they must send timely notice of their return, or they would disappoint the tenantry, who intended grand doings, andconcluding with a short lecture on the inexpediency of lingering inforeign parts. 

'Poor Markham, ' said Guy. 

She understood; but these things did not come on her like a shock now, for he had been saying them more or less ever since the beginning of hisillness; and fully occupied as she was, she never opened her mind to thefuture. After a long silence, Guy said--

'I am very sorry for him. I have been making Arnaud write to him forme. '

'Oh, have you?'

'It was better for you not to do it, Arnaud has written for me at night. You will send it, Amy, and another to my poor uncle. '

'Very well, ' said she, as he looked at her. 

'I have told Markham, ' said he presently, 'to send you my desk. Thereare all sorts of things in it, just as I threw them in when I clearedout my rooms at Oxford. I had rather nobody but you saw some of them. There is nothing of any importance, so you may look at them when youplease, or not at all. '

She gazed at him without answering. If there had been any struggleto retain him, it would have been repressed by his calmness; but thethought had not come on her suddenly, it was more like an inevitablefate seen at first at a distance, and gradually advancing upon her. Shehad never fastened on the hope of his recovery, and it had dwindled inan almost imperceptible manner. She kept watch over him, and followedhis thoughts, without stretching her mind to suppose herself livingwithout him; and was supported by the forgetfulness of self, which gaveher no time to realize her feelings. 

'I should like to have seen Redclyffe bay again, ' said Guy, after aspace. 'Now that mamma is coming, that is the one thing. I suppose I hadset my heart on it, for it comes back to me how I reckoned on standingon that rock with you, feeling the wind, hearing the surge, lookingat the meeting of earth and sky, and the train of sunlight. ' He spokeslowly, pausing between each recollection, --'You will see it some day, 'he added. 'But I must give it up; it is earth after all, and lookingback. '

Through the evening, he seemed to be dwelling on thoughts of his own, and only spoke to tell her of some message to friends at Redclyffe, orHollywell, to mention little Marianne Dixon, or some other charge thathe wished to leave. She thought he had mentioned almost every one withwhom he had had any interchange of kindness at either of his homes, evento old nurse at Hollywell, remembering them all with quiet pleasure. Athalf-past eleven, he sent her to bed, and she went submissively, cheeredby thinking him likely to sleep. 

As soon as she could conscientiously call the night over, she returnedto him, and was received with one of the sweet, sunny, happy looksthat had always been his peculiar charm, and, of late, had acquired anexpression almost startling from their very beauty and radiance. It washardly to be termed a smile, for there was very little, if any, movementof the lips, it was more like the reflection of some glory upon thewhole countenance. 

'You have had a good night?' she said. 

'I have had my wish, I have seen Redclyffe;' then, seeing her lookstartled, 'Of course, it was a sort of wandering; but I never quite lostthe consciousness of being here, and it was very delightful. I saw thewaves, each touched with light, --the foam--the sea-birds, floating inshade and light, --the trees--the Shag--the sky--oh! such a glory as Inever knew--themselves--but so intensely glorious!'

'I am glad' said Amabel, with a strange participation of the delight ithad given him. 

'I don't understand such goodness!' he continued. 'As if it were notenough to look to heaven beyond, to have this longing gratified, which Ithought I ought to conquer. Oh, Amy! is not that being Fatherly!'

'Yes, indeed. '

'Now after that, and with mamma's coming (for you will have her if Idon't see her), I have but one wish unfulfilled. '

'Ah! a clergyman. '

'Yes, but if that is withheld, I must believe it is rightly ordered. Wemust think of that Sunday at Stylehurst and Christmas-day, and that lasttime at Munich. '

'Oh, I am so glad we stayed at Munich for that!'

'Those were times, indeed! and many more. Yes; I have been a great dealtoo much favoured already, and now to be allowed to die just as I shouldhave chosen--'

He broke off to take what Amabel was preparing for him, and she felthis pulse. There was fever still, which probably supplied the placeof strength, for he said he was very comfortable, and his eyes were asbright as ever; but the beats were weak and fluttering, and a thrillcrossed her that it might be near; but she must attend to him, and couldnot think. 

When it was time for her to go down to breakfast with Philip, Guy said, 'Do you think Philip could come to me to-day? I want much to speak tohim. '

'I am sure he could. '

'Then pray ask him to come, if it will not tire him very much. '

Philip had, the last two mornings, risen in time to breakfast withAmabel, in the room adjoining his own; he was still very weak, andattempted no more than crossing the room, and sitting in the balcony toenjoy the evening air. He had felt the heat of the weather severely, andhad been a good deal thrown back by his fatigue and agitation the day hewrote the letter, while also anxiety for Guy was retarding his progress, though he only heard the best side of his condition. Besides all this, his repentance both for his conduct with regard to Laura and the hardmeasure he had dealt to Guy was pressing on him increasingly; and thewarm feelings, hardened and soured by early disappointment, regainedtheir force, and grew into a love and admiration that made it still morehorrible to perceive that he had acted ungenerously towards his cousin. 

When he heard of Guy's desire to see him, he was pleased, said he wasquite able to walk up-stairs, had been thinking of offering to help herby sitting with him, and was very glad to hear he was well enough towish for a visit. She saw she must prepare him for what the conversationwas likely to be. 

'He is very anxious to see you, ' she said. 'He is wishing to set all inorder. And if he does speak about--about dying, will you be so kind asnot to contradict him?'

'There is no danger?' cried Philip, startling, with a sort of agony. 'Heis no worse? You said the fever was lower. '

'He is rather better, I think; but he wishes so much to have everythingarranged, that I am sure it will be better for him to have it offhis mind. So, will you bear it, please, Philip?' ended she, with animploring look, that reminded him of her childhood. 

'How do you bear it?' he asked. 

'I don't know--I can't vex him. '

Philip said no more, and only asked when he should come. 

'In an hour's time, perhaps, or whenever he was ready, ' she said, 'forhe could rest in the sitting-room before coming in to Guy. '

He found mounting the stairs harder than he had expected, and, withaching knees and gasping breath, at length reached the sitting-room, where Amabel was ready to pity him, and made him rest on the sofa tillhe had fully recovered. She then conducted him in; and his first glancegave him infinite relief, for he saw far less change than was stillapparent in himself. Guy's face was at all times too thin to be capableof losing much of its form, and as he was liable to be very much tanned, the brown, fixed on his face by the sunshine of his journey had not goneoff, and a slight flush on his cheeks gave him his ordinary colouring;his beautiful hazel eyes were more brilliant than ever; and though thehand he held out was hot and wasted, Philip could not think him nearlyas ill as he had been himself, and was ready to let him talk as hepleased. He was reassured, too, by his bright smile, and the strengthof his voice, as he spoke a few playful words of welcome andcongratulation. Amy set a chair, and with a look to remind Philip to becautious, glided into her own room, leaving the door open, so as to seeand hear all that passed, for they were not fit to be left absolutelyalone together. 

Philip sat down; and after a little pause Guy began:

'There were a few things I wanted to say, in case you should be mysuccessor at Redclyffe. '

A horror came over Philip; but he saw Amy writing at her little table, and felt obliged to refrain. 

'I don't think of directing you, ' said Guy, 'You will make a far betterlandlord than I; but one or two things I should like. '

'Anything you wish!'

'Old Markham. He has old-world notions and prejudices, but his soul isin the family and estate. His heart will be half broken, for me, and ifhe loses his occupation, he will be miserable. Will you bear with him, and be patient while he lives, even if he is cross and absurd in hisobjections, and jealous of all that is not me?'

'Yes--yes--if--'

'Thank you. Then there is Coombe Prior. I took Wellwood's pay on myself. Will you? And I should like him to have the living. Then there is theschool to be built; and I thought of enclosing that bit of waste, tomake gardens for the people; but that you'll do much better. Well;don't you remember when you were at Redclyffe last year' (Philip winced)'telling Markham that bit of green by Sally's gate ought to be takeninto the park? I hope you won't do that, for it is the only place thepeople have to turn out their cows and donkeys. And you won't cut themoff from the steps from the Cove, for it saves the old people from beinglate for church? Thank you. As to the rest, it is pleasant to think itwill be in such hands if--'

That 'if' gave Philip some comfort, though it did not mean what hefancied. He thought of Guy's recovery; Guy referred to the possibilityof Amabel's guardianship. 

'Amy has a list of the old people who have had so much a week, or theircottages rent-free, ' said Guy. 'If it comes to you, you will not letthem feel the difference? And don't turn off the old keeper Brown; he isof no use, but it would kill him. And Ben Robinson, who was so bravein the shipwreck, a little notice now and then would keep him straight. Will you tell him I hope he will never forget that morning-service afterthe wreck? He may be glad to think of it when he is as I am now. Youtell him, for he will mind more what comes from a man. '

All this had been spoken with pauses for recollection, and for Philip'ssigns of assent. Amabel came to give him some cordial; and as soon asshe had retreated he went on:--

'My poor uncle; I have written--that is, caused Arnaud to write to him. I hope this may sober him; but one great favour I have to ask of you. Ican't leave him money, it would only be a temptation; but will you keepan eye on him, and let Amy rely on you to tell her when to help him Ican't ask any one else, and she cannot do it for herself; but you woulddo it well. A little kindness might save him; and you don't know howgenerous a character it is, run to waste. Will you undertake this?'

'To be sure I will!'

'Thank you very much. You will judge rightly; but he has delicatefeelings. Yes, really; and take care you don't run against them. '

Another silence followed; after which Guy said, smiling with his naturalplayfulness, 'One thing more. You are the lawyer of the family, and Iwant a legal opinion. I have been making Arnaud write my will. Ihave wished Miss Wellwood of St. Mildred's to have some money for asisterhood she wants to establish. Now, should I leave it to herself orname trustees?'

Philip heard as if a flash of light was blinding him, and heinterrupted, with an exclamation:--

'Tell me one thing! Was that the thousand pounds?'

'Yes. I was not at liberty to--'

He stopped, for he was unheard. At the first word Philip had sunk onhis knees, hiding his face on the bed-clothes, in an agony ofself-abasement, before the goodness he had been relentlesslypersecuting. 

'It was that?' he said, in a sort of stifled sob. 'Oh, can you forgiveme?'

He could not look up; but he felt Guy's hand touch his head, and heardhim say, 'That was done long ago. Even as you pardoned my fierce rageagainst you, which I trust is forgiven above. It has been repented!'

As he spoke there was a knock at the door, and, with the instinctivedread of being found in his present posture, Philip sprang to his feet. Amabel went to the door, and was told that the physician was down-stairswith two gentlemen; and a card was given her, on which she read the nameof an English clergyman. 

'There, again!' said Guy. 'Everything comes to me. Now it is all quiteright. '

Amabel was to go and speak to them, and Guy would see Mr. Morris, theclergyman, as soon as the physician had made his visit. 'You must not godown, ' he then said to Philip. 'You will wait in the sitting-room, won'tyou? We shall want you again, you know, ' and his calm brightness was acontrast to Philip's troubled look. 'All is clear between us now, ' headded, as Philip turned away. 

Long ago, letters had been written to Venice, begging that if an Englishclergyman should travel that way he might be told how earnestly hispresence was requested; this was the first who had answered the summons. He was a very young man, much out of health, and travelling under thecare of a brother, who was in great dread of his doing anythingto injure himself. Amabel soon perceived that, though kind andright-minded, he could not help them, except as far as his office wasconcerned. He was very shy, only just in priest's orders; he told her hehad never had this office to perform before, and seemed almost to expecther to direct him; while his brother was so afraid of his over-exertinghimself, that she could not hope he would take charge of Philip. 

However, after the physician had seen Guy, she brought Mr. Morris tohim, and came forward, or remained in her room, according as she waswanted. She thought her husband's face was at each moment acquiring moreunearthly beauty, and feeling with him, she was raised above thought orsensation of personal sorrow. 

When the first part of the service was over, and she exchanged a fewwords, out of Guy's hearing, with Mr. Morris, he said to her, as fromthe very fullness of his heart, 'One longs to humble oneself to him. Howit puts one to shame to hear such repentance with such a confession!'

The time came when Philip was wanted. Amabel had called in Anne and theclergyman's brother, and went to fetch her cousin. He was where she hadleft him in the sitting-room, his face hidden in his arms, crossed onthe table, the whole man crushed, bowed down, overwhelmed with remorse. 

'We are ready. Come, Philip. '

'I cannot; I am not worthy, ' he answered, not looking up. 

'Nay, you are surely in no uncharitableness with him now, ' said she, gently. 

A shudder expressed his no. 

'And if you are sorry--that is repentance--more fit now than ever--Won'tyou come? Would you grieve him now?'

'You take it on yourself, then, ' said Philip, almost sharply, raisinghis haggard face. 

She did not shrink, and answered, 'A broken and contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise. '

It was a drop of balm, a softening drop. He rose, and trembling fromhead to foot, from the excess of his agitation, followed her into Guy'sroom. 

The rite was over, and stillness succeeded the low tones, while allknelt in their places. Amabel arose first, for Guy, though serene, looked greatly exhausted, and as she sprinkled him with vinegar, theothers stood up. Guy looked for Philip, and held out his hand. Whetherit was his gentle force, or of Philip's own accord Amabel could nottell; but as he lay with that look of perfect peace and love, Philipbent down over him and kissed his forehead. 

'Thank you!' he faintly whispered. 'Good night. God bless you and mysister. '

Philip went, and he added to Amy, 'Poor fellow! It will be worse for himthan for you. You must take care of him. '

She hardly heard the last words, for his head sunk on one side in adeathlike faintness, the room was cleared of all but herself, and Annefetched the physician at once. 

At length it passed off, and Guy slept. The doctor felt his pulse, andshe asked his opinion of it. Very low and unequal, she was told: hisstrength was failing, and there seemed to be no power of rallying it, but they must do their best to support him with cordials, accordingto the state of his pulse. The physician could not remain all nighthimself, but would come as soon as he could on the following day. 

Amabel hardly knew when it was that he went away; the two Mr. Morriseswent to the other hotel; and she made her evening visit to Philip. Itwas all like a dream, which she could afterwards scarcely remember, tillnight had come on, and for the first time she found herself allowed tokeep watch over her husband. 

He had slept quietly for some time, when she roused him to give him somewine, as she was desired to do constantly. He smiled, and said, 'Is noone here but you?'

'No one. '

'My own sweet wife, my Verena, as you have always been. We have beenvery happy together. '

'Indeed we have, ' said she, a look of suffering crossing her face, asshe thought of their unclouded happiness. 'It will not be so long beforewe meet again. '

'A few months, perhaps'--said Amabel, in a stifled voice, 'like yourmother--'

'No, don't wish that, Amy. You would not wish it to have no mother. '

'You will pray--' She could say no more, but struggled for calmness. 

'Yes, ' he answered, 'I trust you to it and to mamma for comfort. AndCharlie--I shall not rob him any longer. I only borrowed you for alittle while, ' he added, smiling. 'In a little while we shall meet. Years and months seem alike now. I am sorry to cause you so much grief, my Amy, but it is all as it should be, and we have been very happy. '

Amy listened, her eyes intently fixed on him, unable to repress heragitation, except by silence. After some little time, he spoke again. 'My love to Charlie--and Laura--and Charlotte, my brother and sisters. How kindly they have made me one of them! I need not ask Charlotte totake care of Bustle, and your father will ride Deloraine. My love tohim, and earnest thanks, for you above all, Amy. And dear mamma! I mustlook now to meeting her in a brighter world; but tell her how I havefelt all her kindness since I first came in my strangeness and grief. How kind she was! how she helped me and led me, and made me know whata mother was. Amy, it will not hurt you to hear it was your likeness toher that first taught me to love you. I have been so very happy, I don'tunderstand it. '

He was again silent, as in contemplation, and Amabel's overcomingemotion had been calmed and chastened down again, now that it was nolonger herself that was spoken of. Both were still, and he seemed tosleep a little. When next he spoke, it was to ask if she could repeattheir old favourite lines in "Sintram". They came to her lips, and sherepeated them in a low, steady voice. 

 When death, is coming near, And thy heart shrinks in fear, And thy limbs fail, Then raise thy hands and pray To Him who smooths the way Through the dark vale. 

 Seest thou the eastern dawn! Hear'st thou, in the red morn, The angel's song? Oh! lift thy drooping head, Thou, who in gloom and dread Hast lain so long. 

 Death comes to set thee free, Oh! meet him cheerily, As thy true friend And all thy fears shall cease, And In eternal peace Thy penance end. 

'In eternal peace, ' repeated Guy; 'I did not think it would have been sosoon. I can't think where the battle has been. I never thought my lifecould be so bright. It was a foolish longing, when first I was ill, forthe cool waves of Redclyffe bay and that shipwreck excitement, if I wasto die. This is far better. Read me a psalm, Amy, "Out of the deep. "'

There was something in his perfect happiness that would not let hergrieve, though a dull heavy sense of consternation was growing on her. So it went on through the night--not a long, nor a dreary one--but morelike a dream. He dozed and woke, said a few tranquil words, and listenedto some prayer, psalm, or verse, then slept again, apparently withoutsuffering, except when he tried to take the cordials, and this he didwith such increasing difficulty, that she hardly knew how to bear tocause him so much pain, though it was the last lingering hope. He stroveto swallow them, each time with the mechanical 'Thank you, ' so affectingwhen thus spoken; but at last he came to, 'It is of no use; I cannot. '

Then she knew all hope was gone, and sat still, watching him. Thedarkness lessened, and twilight came. He slept, but his breath grewshort, and unequal; and as she wiped the moisture on his brow, she knewit was the death-damp. 

Morning light came on--the church bell rang out matins--the white hillswere tipped with rosy light. His pulse was almost gone--his hand wascold. At last he opened his eyes. 'Amy! he said, as if bewildered, or inpain. 

'Here, dearest!'

'I don't see. '

At that moment the sun was rising, and the light streamed in at the openwindow, and over the bed; but it was "another dawn than ours" that hebeheld as his most beautiful of all smiles beamed over his face, and hesaid, 'Glory in the Highest!--peace--goodwill'--A struggle for breathgave an instant's look of pain, then he whispered so that she could butjust hear--'The last prayer. ' She read the Commendatory Prayer. She knewnot the exact moment, but even as she said 'Amen' she perceived it wasover. The soul was with Him with whom dwell the spirits of just men madeperfect; and there lay the earthly part with a smile on the face. Sheclosed the dark fringed eyelids--saw him look more beautiful than insleep--then, laying her face down on the bed, she knelt on. She took noheed of time, no heed of aught that was earthly. How long she knelt shenever knew, but she was roused by Anne's voice in a frightened sob--'Mylady, my lady--come away! Oh, Miss Amabel, you should not be here. '

She lifted her head, and Anne afterwards told Mary Ross, 'she shouldnever forget how my lady looked. It was not grief: it was as if she hadbeen a little way with her husband, and was just called back. '

She rose--looked at his face again--saw Arnaud was at hand--let Annelead her into the next room, and shut the door. 

CHAPTER 36

 The matron who alone has stood When not a prop seemed left below, The first lorn hour of widowhood, Yet, cheered and cheering all the while, With sad but unaffected, smile. --CHRISTIAN YEAR

The four months' wife was a widow before she was twenty-one, andthere she sat in her loneliness, her maid weeping, seeking in vain forsomething to say that might comfort her, and struck with fear at seeingher thus composed. It might be said that she had not yet realized hersituation, but the truth was, perhaps, that she was in the midst of thetrue realities. She felt that her Guy was perfectly happy--happy beyondthought or comparison--and she was so accustomed to rejoice with him, that her mind had not yet opened to understand that his joy left hermourning and desolate. 

Thus she remained motionless for some minutes, till she was startled bya sound of weeping--those fearful overpowering sobs, so terrible in astrong man forced to give way. 

'Philip!' thought she; and withal Guy's words returned--'It will beworse for him than for you. Take care of him. '

'I must go to him, ' said she at once. 

She took up a purple prayer-book that she had unconsciously broughtin her hand from Guy's bed, and walked down-stairs, without pausing tothink what she should say or do, or remembering how she would naturallyhave shrunk from the sight of violent grief. 

Philip had retired to his own room the night before, overwhelmed bythe first full view of the extent of the injuries he had inflicted, thefirst perception that pride and malevolence had been the true source ofhis prejudice and misconceptions, and for the first time conscious ofthe long-fostered conceit that had been his bane from boyhood. All hadflashed on him with the discovery of the true purpose of the demandwhich he thought had justified his persecution. He saw the gloryof Guy's character and the part he had acted, --the scales ofself-admiration fell from his eyes, and he knew both himself and hiscousin. 

His sole comfort was in hope for the future, and in devising how hisbrotherly affection should for the rest of his life testify his alteredmind, and atone for past ill-will. This alone kept him from beingcompletely crushed, --for he by no means imagined how near the end was, and the physician, willing to spare himself pain, left him in hopes, though knowing how it would be. He slept but little, and was verylanguid in the morning; but he rose as soon as Arnaud came to him, inorder not to occupy Arnaud's time, as well as to be ready in case Guyshould send for him again, auguring well from hearing that there wasnothing stirring above, hoping this was a sign that Guy was asleep. Sohoped the two servants for a long time, but at length, growing alarmed, after many consultations, they resolved to knock at the door, and learnwhat was the state of things. 

Philip likewise was full of anxiety, and coming to his room door tolisten for intelligence, it was the "e morto" of the passing Italiansthat first revealed to him the truth. Guy dead, Amy widowed, himselfthe cause--he who had said he would never be answerable for the death ofthis young man. 

Truly had Guy's threat, that he would make him repent, been fulfilled. He tottered back to his couch, and sank down, in a burst of anguishthat swept away all the self-control that had once been his pride. ThereAmabel found him stretched, face downwards, quivering and convulsed byfrightful sobs. 

'Don't--don't, Philip, ' said she, in her gentle voice. 'Don't cry soterribly!'

Without looking up, he made a gesture with his hand, as if to drive heraway. 'Don't come here to reproach me!' he muttered. 

'No, no; don't speak so. I want you to hear me; I have something foryou from him. If you would only listen, I want to tell you how happy andcomfortable it was. ' She took a chair and sat down by him, relieved onperceiving that the sobs grew a little less violent. 

'It was very peaceful, very happy, ' repeated she. 'We ought to be veryglad. '

He turned round, and glanced at her for a moment; but he could not bearto see her quiet face. 'You don't know what you say, ' he gasped. 'No;take care of yourself, don't trouble yourself for such as me!'

'I must; he desired me, ' said Amabel. 'You will be happier, indeed, Philip, if you would only think what glory it is, and that he is allsafe, and has won the victory, and will have no more of those hard, hard struggles, and bitter repentance. It has been such a night, that itseems wrong to be sorry. '

'Did you say he spoke of me again?'

'Yes; here is his Prayer-book. Your father gave it to him, and he meantto have told you about it himself, only he could not talk yesterdayevening, and could not part with it till--'

Amy broke off by opening the worn purple cover, and showing the name, inthe Archdeacon's writing. 'He's very fond of it, ' she said; 'it is theone he always uses. ' (Alas! she had not learnt to speak of him in thepast tense. )

Philip held out his hand, but the agony of grief returned the nextmoment. 'My father, my father! He would have done him justice. If he hadlived, this would never have been!'

'That is over, you do him justice now, ' said Amy. 'You did, indeed youdid, make him quite happy. He said so, again and again. I never saw himso happy as when you began to get better. I don't think any one ever hadso much happiness and it never ceased, it was all quiet, and peace, andjoy, till it brightened quite into perfect day--and the angel's song!Don't you remember yesterday, how clear and sweet his voice came out inthat? and it was the last thing almost he said. I believe'--she loweredher voice--'I believe he finished it among them. '

The earnest placid voice, speaking thus, in calmness and simplicity, could not fail in soothing him; but he was so shaken and exhausted, that she had great difficulty in restoring him. After a time, he layperfectly still on the sofa, and she was sitting by, relieved by thetranquillity, when there was a knock at the door, and Arnaud came in, and stood hesitating, as if he hardly knew how to begin. The presentfear of agitating her charge helped her now, when obliged to turn herthoughts to the subjects on which she knew Arnaud was come. She went tothe door, and spoke low, hoping her cousin might not hear or understand. 

'How soon must it be?'

'My lady, to-morrow, ' said Arnaud, looking down. 'They say that so itmust be; and the priest consents to have it in the churchyard here. Thebrother of the clergyman is here, and would know if your ladyship wouldwish--'

'I will speak to him, ' said Amabel, reluctant to send such messagesthrough servants. 

'Let me, ' said Philip, who understood what was going on, and was ofcourse impelled to spare her as much as possible. 

'Thank you' said she, 'if you are able!'

'Oh, yes; I'll go at once!'

'Stop, ' said she, as he was setting forth; 'you don't know what you aregoing to say. '

He put his hand to his head in confusion. 

'He wished to be buried here, ' said Amabel, 'and--'

But this renewal of the assurance of the death was too much; andcovering his face with his hands, he sank back in another paroxysm ofviolent sobs. Amabel could not leave him. 

'Ask Mr. Morris to be so good as to wait, and I will come directly, 'said she, then returned to her task of comfort till she again saw Philiplying, with suspended faculties, in the repose of complete exhaustion. 

She then went to Mr. Morris, with a look and tone of composurethat almost startled him, thanking him for his assistance in thearrangements. The funeral was to be at sunrise the next day, before thevillagers began to keep the feast of St. Michael, and the rest was tobe settled by Arnaud and Mr. Morris. He then said, somewhat reluctantly, that his brother had desired to know whether Lady Morville wished to seehim to-day, and begged to be sent for; but Amy plainly perceived thathe thought it very undesirable for his brother to have any duties toperform to-day. She questioned herself whether she might not ask him toread to her, and whether it might be better for Philip; but she thoughtshe ought not to ask what might injure him merely for her own comfort;and, besides, Philip was entirely incapable of self-command, and itwould not be acting fairly to expose him to the chance of discovering toa stranger, feelings that he would ordinarily guard so scrupulously. 

She therefore gratefully refused the offer, and Mr. Morris very nearlythanked her for doing so. He took his leave, and she knew she mustreturn to her post; but first she indulged herself with one brief visitto the room where all her cares and duties had lately centred. A look--athought--a prayer. The beauteous expression there fixed was a help, asit had ever been in life and she went back again cheered and sustained. 

Throughout that day she attended on her cousin, whose bodilyindisposition required as much care as his mind needed soothing. Shetalked to him, read to him, tried to set him the example of taking food, took thought for him as if he was the chief sufferer, as if it was thenatural thing for her to do, working in the strength her husband hadleft her, and for him who had been his chief object of care. She had notime to herself, except the few moments that she allowed herself now andthen to spend in gazing at the dear face that was still her comfortand joy; until, at last, late in the evening, she succeeded in readingPhilip to sleep. Then, as she sat in the dim candle-light, witheverything in silence, a sense of desolation came upon her, and she knewthat she was alone. 

At that moment a carriage thundered at the door, and she remembered forthe first time that she was expecting her father and mother. She softlyleft the room and closed the door; and finding Anne in the nest room, sent her down. 

'Meet mamma, Anne, ' said she; 'tell her I am quite well. Bring themhere. '

They entered; and there stood Amabel, her face a little flushed, justlike, only calmer, the daughter they had parted with on her bridal day, four months ago. She held up her hand as a sign of silence, and said, --'Hush! don't wake Philip. '

Mr. Edmonstone was almost angry, and actually began an impatientexclamation, but broke it off with a sob, caught her in his arms, kissedher, and then buried his face in his handkerchief. Mrs. Edmonstone, still aghast at the tidings they had met at Vicenza, and alarmed ather unnatural composure, embraced her; held her for some moments, thenlooked anxiously to see her weep. But there was not a tear, and hervoice was itself, though low and weak, as, while her father began pacingup and down, she repeated, --

'Pray don't, papa; Philip has been so ill all day. '

'Philip--pshaw!' said Mr. Edmonstone, hastily. 'How are you, yourself, my poor darling?'

'Quite well, thank you, ' said Amy. 'There is a room ready for you. '

Mrs. Edmonstone was extremely alarmed, sure that this was a grief toodeep for outward tokens, and had no peace till she had made Amabelconsent to come up with her, and go at once to bed. To this she agreed, after she had rung for Arnaud, and stood with him in the corridor, todesire him to go at once to Captain Morville, as softly as he could, andwhen he waked, to say Mr. And Mrs. Edmonstone were come, but she thoughthe had better not see them to-night; to tell him from her that shewished him good night, and hoped he would, sleep quietly. 'And, Arnaud, take care you do not let him know the hour tomorrow. Perhaps, as he isso tired, he may sleep till afterwards. '

Mrs. Edmonstone was very impatient of this colloquy, and glad whenAmabel ended it, and led the way up-stairs. She entered her little room, then quietly opened another door, and Mrs. Edmonstone found herselfstanding by the bed, where that which was mortal lay, with its facebright with the impress of immortality. 

The shock was great, for he was indeed as a son to her; but her fearsfor Amabel would not leave room for any other thought. 

'Is not he beautiful?' said Amy, with a smile like his own. 

'My dear, my dear, you ought not to be here, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, trying to lead her away. 

'If you would let me say my prayers here!' said she, submissively. 

'I think not. I don't know how to refuse, if it would be a comfort, 'said Mrs. Edmonstone, much distressed, 'but I can't think it right. The danger is greater after. And surely, my poor dear child, you have areason for not risking yourself!'

'Go, mamma, I ought not to have brought you here; I forgot aboutinfection, ' said Amabel, with the tranquillity which her mother hadhoped to shake by her allusion. 'I am coming. '

She took up Guy's watch and a book from the table by the bed-side, andcame back to her sleeping-room. She wound up the watch, and then allowedher mother to undress her, answering all her inquiries about her healthin a gentle, indifferent, matter-of-fact way. She said little of Guy, but that little was without agitation, and in due time she lay down inbed. Still, whenever Mrs. Edmonstone looked at her, there was no sleepin her eyes, and at last she persuaded her to leave her, on the pleathat being watched made her more wakeful, as she did not like to seemamma sitting up. 

Almost as soon as it was light, Mrs. Edmonstone returned, and waspositively frightened, for there stood Amabel, dressed in her whitemuslin, her white bonnet, and her deep lace wedding-veil. All her glossyhair was hidden away, and her face was placid as ever, though there wasa red spot on each cheek. She saw her mother's alarm, and reassured herby speaking calmly. 

'You know I have nothing else but colours; I should like to wear this, if you will let me. '

'But, dearest, you must not--cannot go. '

'It is very near. We often walked there together. I would not if Ithought it would hurt me, but I wish it very much indeed. At home byMichaelmas!'

Mrs. Edmonstone yielded, though her mind misgave her, comforted byhoping for the much-desired tears. But Amabel, who used to cry so easilyfor a trifle, had now not a tear. Her grief was as yet too deep, orperhaps more truly sorrow and mourning had not begun while the influenceof her husband's spirit was about her still. 

It was time to set forth, and the small party of mourners met in thelong corridor. Mr. Edmonstone would have given his daughter his arm, butshe said--

'I beg your pardon, dear papa, I don't think I can;' and she walkedalone and firmly. 

It was a strange sight that English funeral, so far from England. Thebearers were Italian peasants. There was a sheet thrown over the coffininstead of a pall, and this, with the white dress of the young widow, gave the effect of the emblematic whiteness of a child's funeral; andthe impression was heightened by the floating curling white clouds ofvapour rising in strange shrouded shadowy forms, like spirit mourners, from the narrow ravines round the grave-yard, and the snowy mountainsshining in the morning light against the sky. 

Gliding almost like one of those white wreaths of mist, Amabel walkedalone, tearless and calm, her head bent down, and her long veil fallinground her in full light folds, as when it had caught the purple lighton her wedding-day. Her parents were close behind, weeping more for theliving than the dead, though Guy had a fast hold of their hearts; andhis own mother could scarce have loved him better than Mrs. Edmonstonedid. Lastly, were Anne and Arnaud, sincere mourners, especially Arnaud, who had loved and cherished his young master from childhood. 

They went to the strangers' corner of the grave-yard, for, of coursethe church did not open to a member of another communion of the visiblechurch; but around them were the hills in which he had read many ameaning, and which had echoed a response to his last chant with thepromise of the blessing of peace. 

The blessing of peace came in the precious English burial-service, asthey laid him to rest in the earth, beneath the spreading chestnut-tree, rendered a home by those words of his Mother Church--the mother who hadguided each of his steps in his orphaned life. It was a distant grave, far from his home and kindred, but in a hallowed spot, and a most fairone; and there might his mortal frame meetly rest till the day when heshould rise, while from their ancestral tombs should likewise awaken theforefathers whose sins were indeed visited on him in his early death;but, thanks to Him who giveth the victory, in death without the sting. 

Amabel, in obedience to a sign from her mother, sat on a root of thetree while the Lesson was read, and afterwards she moved forward andstood at the edge of the grave, her hands tightly clasped, and herhead somewhat raised, as if her spirit was following her husband to hisrepose above, rather than to his earthly resting-place. 

The service was ended, and she was taking a last long gaze, while hermother, in the utmost anxiety, was striving to make up her mind to drawher away, when suddenly a tall gaunt figure was among them--hisface ghastly pale, and full of despair and bewilderment--his stepuncertain--his dress disordered. 

Amabel turned, went up to him, laid her hand on his arm, and said, softly, and quietly looking up in his face, 'It is over now, Philip; youhad better come home. '

Not attempting to withstand her, he obeyed as if it was his onlyinstinct. It was like some vision of a guiding, succouring spirit, asshe moved on, slowly gliding in her white draperies. Mrs. Edmonstonewatched her in unspeakable awe and amazement, almost overpowering heranxieties. It seemed as impossible that the one should be Amy as thatthe other should be Philip, her gentle little clinging daughter, or herproud, imperturbable, self-reliant nephew. 

But it was Amy's own face, when they entered the corridor and she turnedback her veil, showing her flushed and heated cheeks, at the same timeopening Philip's door and saying, 'Now you must rest, for you ought notto have come out. Lie down, and let mamma read to you. '

Mrs. Edmonstone was reluctant, but Amy looked up earnestly and said, 'Yes, dear mamma, I should like to be alone a little while. '

She then conducted her father to the sitting-room up-stairs. 

'I will give you the papers, ' she said; and leaving him, returnedimmediately. 

'This is his will, ' she said. 'You will tell me if there is anythingI must do at once. Here is a letter to Mr. Markham, and another to Mr. Dixon, if you will be so kind as to write and enclose them. Thank you, dear papa. '

She drew a blotting-book towards him, saw that there was ink and pen, and left him too much appalled at her ways to say anything. 

His task was less hard than the one she had set her mother. Strongexcitement had carried Philip to the grave-yard as soon as he learntwhat was passing. He could hardly return even with Arnaud's support, andhe had only just reached the sofa before he fell into a fainting-fit. 

It was long before he gave any sign of returning life, and whenhe opened his eyes and saw Mrs. Edmonstone, he closed them almostimmediately, as if unable to meet her look. It was easier to treat himin his swoon than afterwards. She knew nothing of his repentance andconfession; she only knew he had abused her confidence, led Laura toact insincerely, and been the cause of Guy's death. She did not knowhow bitterly he accused himself, and though she could not but see he wasmiserable, she could by no means fathom his wretchedness, nor guess thather very presence made him conscious how far he was fallen. He was soill that she could not manifest her displeasure, nor show anythingbut solicitude for his relief; but her kindness was entirely to hiscondition, not to himself; and perceiving this, while he thought hisconfession had been received, greatly aggravated his distress, though heowned within himself that he well deserved it. 

She found that he was in no state for being read to; he was completelyexhausted, and suffering from violent headache. So when she couldconscientiously say that to be left quiet was the best thing for him, she went to her daughter. 

Amabel was lying on her bed, her Bible open by her; not exactly reading, but as if she was now and then finding a verse and dwelling on it. Gentle and serene she looked; but would she never weep? would thosequiet blue eyes be always sleepless and tearless?

She asked anxiously for Philip, and throughout the day he seemed tobe her care. She did not try to get up and go to him, but she wascontinually begging her mother to see about him. It was a harassing dayfor poor Mrs. Edmonstone. She would have been glad to have sat by Amabelall the time, writing to Charles, or hearing her talk. Amy had muchto say, for she wished to make her mother share the perfect peace andthankfulness that had been breathed upon her during those last hourswith her husband, and she liked to tell the circumstances of his illnessand his precious sayings, to one who would treasure them almost likeherself. She spoke with her face turned away, so as not to see hermother's tears, but her mild voice unwavering, as if secure in thehappiness of these recollections. This was the only comfort of Mrs. Edmonstone's day, but when she heard her husband's boots creaking in thecorridor, it was a sure sign that he was in some perplexity, and thatshe must go and help him to write a letter, or make some arrangement. Philip, too, needed attention; but excellent nurse as Mrs. Edmonstonewas, she only made him worse. The more he felt she was his kind auntstill, the more he saw how he had wounded her, and that her pardonwas an effort. The fond, spontaneous, unreserved affection--almostpetting--which he had well-nigh dared to contemn, was gone; her mannerwas only that of a considerate nurse. Much as he longed for a wordof Laura, he did not dare to lead to it, --indeed, he was so far fromspeaking to her of any subject which touched him, that he did notpresume even to inquire for Amabel, he only heard of her through Arnaud. 

At night sheer exhaustion worked its own cure; he slept soundly, andawoke in the morning revived. He heard from Arnaud that Lady Morvillewas pretty well, but had not slept; and presently Mrs. Edmonstone camein and took pains to make him comfortable, but with an involuntarydryness of manner. She told him his uncle would come to see him as soonas he was up, if he felt equal to talking over some business. Philip'sbrain reeled with dismay and consternation, for it flashed on him thathe was heir of Redclyffe. He must profit by the death he had caused; hehad slain, and he must take possession of the lands which, with loathingand horror, he remembered that he had almost coveted. Nothing morewas wanting. There was little consolation in remembering that theinheritance would clear away all difficulties in the way of hismarriage. He had sinned; wealth did not alter his fault, and his spiritcould not brook that if spurned in poverty, he should be received forhis riches. He honoured his aunt for being cold and reserved, and couldnot bear the idea of seeing his uncle ready to meet him half-way. 

After the first shock he became anxious to have the meeting over, knowthe worst, and hear on what ground he stood with Laura. As soon as hewas dressed, he sent a message to announce that he was ready, and layon the sofa awaiting his uncle's arrival, as patiently as he could. Mr. Edmonstone, meantime, was screwing up his courage--not that he meant tosay a word of Laura, --Philip was too unwell to be told his opinion ofhim, but now he had ceased to rely on his nephew, he began to dreadhim and his overbearing ways; and besides he had a perfect horror ofwitnessing agitation. 

At last he came, and Philip rose to meet him with a feeling of shame andinferiority most new to him. 

'Don't, don't, I beg, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, with what was meant fordignity. 'Lie still; you had much better. My stars! how ill you look!'he exclaimed, startled by Philip's altered face and figure. 'You havehad a sharpish touch; but you are better, eh?'

'Yes, thank you. '

'Well; I thought I had better come and speak to you, if you felt up toit. Here is--here is--I hope it is all right and legal; but that youcan tell better than I; and you are concerned in it anyhow. Here is poorGuy's will, which we thought you had better look over, if you liked, andfelt equal, eh?'

'Thank you, ' said Philip, holding out his hand; but Mr. Edmonstonewithheld it, trying his patience by an endless quantity of discursivehalf-sentences, apparently without connection with each other, aboutdisappointment, and hopes, and being sorry, and prospects, and its'being an unpleasant thing, ' and 'best not raise his expectations:'during all which time Philip, expecting to hear of Laura, and his heartbeating so fast as to renew the sensation of faintness, waited in vain, and strove to gather the meaning, and find out whether he was forgiven, almost doubting whether the confusion was in his own mind or inhis uncle's words. However, at last the meaning bolted out in onecomprehensive sentence, when Mr. Edmonstone thought he had sufficientlyprepared him for his disappointment, --'Poor Amy is to be confined in thespring. '

There Mr. Edmonstone stopped short, very much afraid of the effect;but Philip raised himself, his face brightened, as if he was greatlyrelieved, and from his heart he exclaimed, 'Thank Heaven!'

'That's right! that is very well said!' answered Mr. Edmonstone, verymuch pleased. 'It would be a pity it should go out of the old line afterall; and it's a very generous thing in you to say so. '

'Oh no!' said Philip, shrinking into himself at even such praise asthis. 

'Well, well, ' said his uncle, 'you will see he has thought of you, be ithow it may. There! I only hope it is right; though it does seem ratherqueer, appointing poor little Amy executor rather than me. If I had butbeen here in time! But 'twas Heaven's will; and so--It does not signify, after all, if it is not quite formal. We understand each other. '

The will was on a sheet of letter-paper, in Arnaud's stiff Frenchhandwriting; it was witnessed by the two Mr. Morrises, and signed onthe 27th of September, in very frail and feeble characters. Amabel andMarkham were the executors, and Amabel was to be sole guardian, in caseof the birth of a child. If it was a son, £1O, OOO was left to Philiphimself; if not, he was to have all the plate, furniture, &c. , ofRedclyffe, with the exception of whatever Lady Morville might choose forherself. 

Philip scarcely regarded the legacy (though it smoothed away his chiefdifficulties) as more than another of those ill-requited benefitswhich were weighing him to the earth. He read on to a sentence whichreproached him so acutely, that he would willingly have hidden from it, as he had done from Guy's countenance. It was the bequest of £5000 toElizabeth Wellwood. Sebastian Dixon's debts were to be paid off; £1000was left to Marianne Dixon, and the rest of the personal property was tobe Amabel's. 

He gave back the paper, with only the words 'Thank you. ' He did not feelas if it was for him to speak; and Mr. Edmonstone hesitated, made anattempt at congratulating him, broke down, and asked if it was properlydrawn up. He glanced at the beginning and end, said it was quitecorrect, and laid his head down, as if the examination had been a greatdeal of trouble. 

'And what do you think of Amy's being under age?' fidgeted on Mr. Edmonstone. 'How is she to act, poor dear! Shall I act for her?'

'She will soon be of age, ' said Philip, wearily. 

'In January, poor darling. Who would have thought how it would have beenwith her? I little thought, last May--but, holloa! what have I beenat?' cried he, jumping up in a great fright, as Philip, so weak as to beovercome by the least agitation, changed countenance, covered his facewith his hands, and turned away with a suppressed sob. 'I didn't meanit, I am sure! Here! mamma!'

'No, no, ' said Philip, recovering, and sitting up; 'don't call her, Ibeg. There is nothing the matter. '

Mr. Edmonstone obeyed, but he was too much afraid of causing a renewalof agitation to continue the conversation; and after walking about theroom a little while, and shaking it more than Philip could well bear, hewent away to write his letters. 

In the meantime, Amabel had been spending her morning in the same quietway as the former day. She wrote part of a letter to Laura, and walkedto the graveyard, rather against her mother's wish; but she was so goodand obedient, it was impossible to thwart her, though Mrs. Edmonstonewas surprised at her proposal to join her father and Philip at tea. 'Doyou like it, my dear?'

'He told me to take care of him, ' said Amabel. 

'I cannot feel that he deserves you should worry yourself about him, 'said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'If you knew all--'

'I do know all, mamma, --if you mean about Laura. Surely you mustforgive. Think how he repents. What, have you not had his letter? Thenhow did you know?'

'I learned it from Laura herself. Her trouble at his illness revealedit. Do you say he has written?'

'Yes, mamma; he told Guy all about it, and was very sorry, and wroteas soon as he was able. Guy sent you a long message. He was so anxiousabout it. '

Amabel showed more eagerness to understand the state of the case, thanshe had about anything else. She urged that Philip should be spoken to, as soon as possible, saying the suspense must be grievous, and dwellingon his repentance. Mrs. Edmonstone promised to speak to papa, andthis satisfied her; but she held her resolution of meeting Philipthat evening, looking on him as a charge left her by her husband, andconscious that, as she alone understood how deep was his sorrow, shecould make the time spent with her parents less embarrassing. 

Her presence always soothed him, and regard for her kept her fatherquiet; so that the evening passed off very well. Mrs. Edmonstone waitedon both; and, in Amy's presence, was better able to resume her usualmanner towards her nephew, and he sat wondering at the placidity ofAmy's pale face. Her hair was smoothed back, and she wore a cap, --theloss of her long shady curls helping to mark the change from the brightdays of her girlhood; but the mournfulness of her countenance didnot mar the purity and serenity that had always been its greatcharacteristic; and in the faint sweet smile with which she receiveda kind word or attention, there was a likeness to that peculiar andbeautiful expression of her husband's, so as, in spite of the greatdifference of feature and colouring, to give her a resemblance to him. 

All this day had been spent by Mr. Edmonstone in a fret to get away fromRecoara, and his wife was hardly less desirous to leave it than himself, for she could have no peace or comfort about Amabel, till she had hersafely at home. Still she dreaded proposing the departure, and even morethe departure itself; and, in spite of Mr. Edmonstone's impatience, shelet her alone till she had her mourning; but when, after two days ofhard work, Anne had nearly managed to complete it, she made up her mindto tell her daughter that they ought to set out. 

Amabel replied by mentioning Philip. She deemed him a sort of trust, andhad been reposing in the thought of making him a reason for lingering inthe scene where the brightness of her life had departed from her. Mrs. Edmonstone would not allow that she ought to remain for his sake, andtold her it was her duty to resolve to leave the place. She said, 'Yes, but for him;' and it ended in Mrs. Edmonstone going, without tellingher, to inform him that she thought Amy ought to be at home as soonas possible; but that it was difficult to prevail on her, becauseshe thought him as yet not well enough to be left. He was, of course, shocked at being thus considered, and as soon as he next saw Amabel, told her, with great earnestness, that he could not bear to see herremaining there on his account; that he was almost well, and meant toleave Recoara very soon; the journey was very easy, the sea voyagewould be the best thing for him, and he should be glad to get to theregimental doctor at Corfu. 

Amabel sighed, and knew she ought to be convinced. The very pain it gaveher to lose sight of that green, grave, the chestnut-tree, and the whitemountain; to leave the rooms and passages which still, to her ears, were haunted by Guy's hushed step and voice, and to part with the windowwhere she used each wakeful night to retrace his profile as he had stoodpausing before telling her of his exceeding happiness; that very painmade her think that opposition would be selfish. She must go some timeor other, and it was foolish to defer the struggle; she must not detainher parents in an infected place, nor keep her mother from Charles. Shetherefore consented, and let them do what they pleased, --only insistingon Arnaud's being left with Philip. 

Philip did not think this necessary, but yielded, when she urged it asa relief to her own mind; and Arnaud, though unwilling, and used to hisown way, could make no objection when she asked it as a personal favour. Arnaud was, at his own earnest wish, to continue in her service; and, assoon as Philip was able to embark, was to follow her to Hollywell. 

All this time nothing passed about Laura. Amabel asked several timeswhether papa had spoken, but was always answered, 'Not yet;' and at lastMrs. Edmonstone, after vainly trying to persuade him, was obliged togive it up. The truth was, he could not begin; he was afraid of hisnephew, and so unused to assume superiority over him that he didnot know what to do, and found all kinds of reasons for avoiding theembarrassing scene. Since Philip still must be dealt with cautiously, better not enter on the subject at all. When reminded that the suspensewas worse than anything, he said, no one could tell how things would, turn out, and grew angry with his wife for wishing him to make up ashameful affair like that, when poor Guy had not been dead a week, andhe had been the death of him; but it was just like mamma, she alwaysspoilt him. He had a great mind to vow never to consent to hisdaughter's marrying such an overbearing, pragmatical fellow; she oughtto be ashamed of even thinking of him, when he was no better than herbrother's murderer. 

After this tirade, Mrs. Edmonstone might well feel obliged to tellAmabel, that papa must not be pressed any further; and, of course, if hewould not speak, she could not (nor did she wish it). 

'Then, mamma, ' said Amabel, with the air of decision that had latelygrown on her, 'I must tell him. I beg your pardon, ' she added, imploringly; 'but indeed I must. It is hard on him not to hear that youhad not his letter, and that Laura has told. I know Guy would wish me, so don't be displeased, dear mamma. '

'I can't be displeased with anything you do. '

'And you give me leave?'

'To be sure I do, --leave to do anything but hurt yourself. '

'And would it be wrong for me to offer to write to him? No one elsewill, and it will be sad for him not to hear. It cannot be wrong, can it?' said she, as the fingers of her right hand squeezed herwedding-ring, a habit she had taken up of late. 

'Certainly not, my poor darling. Do just as you think fit. I am sorryfor him, for I am sure he is in great trouble, and I should like him tobe comforted--if he can. But, Amy, you must not ask me to do it. He hasdisappointed me too much. '

Mrs. Edmonstone left the room in tears. 

Amabel went up to the window, looked long at the chestnut-tree, thenup into the sky, sat down, and leant her forehead on her hand inmeditation, until she rose up, cheered and sustained, as if she had beenholding council with her husband. 

She did not over-estimate Philip's sufferings from suspense and anxiety. He had not heard a word of Laura; how she had borne his illness, nor howmuch displeasure his confession had brought upon her; nor could he learnwhat hope there was that his repentance was accepted. He did not ventureto ask; for after engaging to leave all to them, could he intrude hisown concerns on them at such a time? It was but a twelvemonth sincehe had saddened and shadowed Guy's short life and love with thevery suffering from uncertainty that he found so hard to bear. As heremembered this, he had a sort of fierce satisfaction in enduring thisretributive justice; though there were moods when he felt the torture soacutely, that it seemed to him as if his brain would turn if he saw themdepart, and was left behind to this distracting doubt. 

The day had come, on which they were to take their first stage, as faras Vicenza, and his last hopes were fading. He tried to lose the senseof misery by bestirring himself in the preparations; but he was tooweak, and Mrs. Edmonstone, insisting on his attempting no more, sent himback: to his own sitting-room. 

Presently there was a knock, and in came Amabel, dressed, for the firsttime, in her weeds, the blackness and width of her sweeping crape makingher young face look smaller and paler, while she held in her hand someleaves of chestnut, that showed where she had been. She smiled a littleas she came in, saying, 'I am come to you for a little quiet, out of thebustle of packing up. I want you to do something for me. '

'Anything for you. '

'It is what you will like to do, ' said she, with _that_ smile, 'for itis more for _him_ than for me. Could you, without teasing yourself, putthat into Latin for me, by and by? I think it should be in Latin, as itis in a foreign country. '

She gave him a paper in her own writing. 

GUY MORVILLE, OF REDCLYFFE, ENGLAND. DIED THE EVE OF ST. MICHAEL AND ALLANGELS, 18--AGED 21 1/2. I BELIEVE IN THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS. 

'Will you be so kind as to give it to Arnaud when it is done?' shecontinued; 'he will send it to the man who is making the cross. I thinkthe kind people here will respect it. '

'Yes, ' said Philip, ' it is soon done, and thank you for letting me doit. But, Amy, I would not alter your choice; yet there is one that seemsto me more applicable "Greater love hath no man--"'

'I know what you mean, ' said Amy; 'but that has so high a meaning thathe could not bear it to be applied to him. '

'Or rather, what right have I to quote it?' said Philip, bitterly. 'Hisfriend! No, Amy; you should rather choose, "If thine enemy thirst, givehim drink; for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. "I am sure they are burning on mine, ' and he pressed his hand on hisforehead. 

'Don't say such things. We both know that, at the worst of times, helooked on you as a sincere friend. '

Philip groaned, and she thought it best to go on to something else. 'I like this best, ' she said. 'It will be nice to think of far away. Ishould like, too, for these Italians to see the stranger has the samecreed as themselves. '

After a moment's pause, during which he looked at the paper, he said, 'Amy, I have one thing to ask of you. Will you write my name in thePrayer-book?'

'That I will, ' said she, and Philip drew it from under the sofa cushion, and began putting together his pocket gold pen. While he was doing this, she said, 'Will you write to me sometimes? I shall be so anxious to knowhow you get on. '

'Yes, thank you, ' said he; with a sigh, as if he would fain have saidmore. 

She paused; then said, abruptly, 'Do you know they never had yourletter?'

'Ha! Good heavens!' cried he, starting up in consternation; 'then theydon't know it!'

'They do. Sit down, Philip, and hear. I wanted to tell you about it. They know it. Poor Laura was so unhappy when you were ill, that mammamade it out from her. '

He obeyed the hand that invited him back to his seat, and turned hisface earnestly towards her. He must let her be his comforter, though amoment before his mind would have revolted at troubling the newly-madewidow with his love affairs. Amabel told him, as fully and clearly asshe could, how the truth had come out, how gently Laura had been dealtwith, how Charles had been trying to soften his father, and papa had notsaid one angry word to her. 

'They forgive her. Oh, Amy, thanks indeed! You have taken away one ofthe heaviest burdens. I am glad, indeed, that she spoke first. For myown part, I see through all their kindness and consideration how theyregard me. '

'They know how sorry you are, and that you wrote to tell all, ' saidAmabel. 'They forgive, indeed they do; but they cannot bear to speakabout it just yet. '

'If you forgive, Amy, ' said he, in a husky voice, 'I may hope for pardonfrom any. '

'Hush! don't say that. You have been so kind, all this time, and we havefelt together so much, that no one could help forgetting anything thatwent before. Then you will write to me; and will you tell me how todirect to you?'

'You will write to me?' cried Philip, brightening for a moment with gladsurprise. 'Oh, Amy, you will quite overpower me with your goodness!--Thecoals of fire, ' he finished, sinking his voice, and again pressing hishand to his brow. 

'You must not speak so, Philip, ' then looking at him, 'Is your headaching?'

'Not so much aching as--' he paused, and exclaimed, as if carried awayin spite of himself, 'almost bursting with the thoughts of--of you, Amy, --of him whom I knew too late, --wilfully misunderstood, envied, persecuted; who, --oh! Amy, Amy, if you could guess at the anguish of butone of my thoughts, you would know what the first murderer meant when hesaid, "My punishment is greater than I can bear. "'

'I can't say don't think, ' said Amy, in her sweet, calm tone; 'for Ihave seen how happy repentance made him, but I know it must be dreadful. I suppose the worse it is at the time, the better it must be afterwards. And I am sure this Prayer-book'--she had her hand on it all the time, as if it was a pleasure to her to touch it again--'must be a comfortto you. Did you not see that he made me give it to you to use that day, when, if ever, there was pardon and peace--'

'I remember, ' said Philip, in a low, grave, heartfelt tone; and as shetook the pen, and was writing his name below the old inscription, headded, 'And the date, Amy, and--yes, ' as he saw her write 'FromG. M. '--'but put from A. F. M. Too. Thank you! One thing more;' hehesitated, and spoke very low, 'You _must_ write in it what you saidwhen you came to fetch me that day, --"A broken"'--

As she finished writing, Mrs. Edmonstone came in. 'My Amy, all is ready. We must go. Good-bye, Philip, ' said she, in the tone of one so eager fordeparture as to fancy farewells would hasten it. However, she was notmore eager than Mr. Edmonstone, who rushed in to hurry them on, shakinghands cordially with Philip, and telling him to make haste and recoverhis good looks. Amabel held out her hand. She would fain have saidsomething cheering, but the power failed her. A deep colour came intoher cheeks; she drew her thick black veil over her face, and turnedaway. 

Philip came down-stairs with them, saw her enter the carriage followedby her mother, Mr. Edmonstone outside. He remembered the gay smile withwhich he last saw her seated in that carriage, and the active figurethat had sprung after her; he thought of the kind bright eyes that hadpleaded with him for the last time, and recollected the suspicions andthe pride with which he had plumed himself on his rejection, and thrownaway the last chance. 

Should he ever see Amabel again? He groaned and went back to thedeserted rooms. 

CHAPTER 37

 And see If aught of sprightly, fresh, or free, With the calm sweetness may compare Of the pale form half slumbering there. Therefore this one dear couch about We linger hour by hour: The love that each to each we bear, All treasures of enduring care, Into her lap we pour. --LYRA INNOCENTUM

The brother and sisters, left at home together, had been a very sad andsilent party, unable to attempt comforting each other. Charlotte'sgrief was wild and ungovernable; breaking out into fits of sobbing, andattending to nothing till she was abashed first by a reproof from Mr. Ross, and next by the description of Amabel's conduct; when she grewashamed and set herself to atone, by double care, for her neglect ofCharles's comforts. 

Charles, however, wanted her little. He had rather be let alone. Afterone exclamation of, 'My poor Amy!' he said not a word of lamentation, but lay hour after hour without speaking, dwelling on the happy days hehad spent with Guy, --companion, friend, brother, --the first beam thathad brightened his existence, and taught him to make it no longercheerless; musing on the brilliant promise that had been cut off;remembering his hopes for his most beloved sister, and feeling hissorrow with imagining hers. It was his first grief, and a very deep one. He seemed to have no comfort but in Mr. Ross, who contrived to come tohim every day, and would tell him how fully he shared his affection andadmiration for Guy, how he had marvelled at his whole character, as ithad shown itself more especially at the time of his marriage, when hischastened temper had been the more remarkable in so young a man, withthe world opening on him so brightly. As to the promise lost, that, indeed, Mr. Ross owned, and pleased Charles by saying how he had hopedto watch its fulfilment; but he spoke of its having been, in truth, noblight, only that those fair blossoms were removed where nothing couldcheck their full development or mar their beauty. 'The hope in earthlyfurrows sown, would ripen in the sky;' Charles groaned, saying it washard not to see it, and they might speak as they would, but that wouldnot comfort him in thinking of his sister. What was his sorrow to hers?But Mr. Ross had strong trust in Amabel's depth and calm resignation. He said her spirit of yielding would support her, that as in drowning orfalling, struggling is fatal, when quietness saves, so it would be withher: and that even in this greatest of all trials she would rise insteadof being crushed, with all that was good and beautiful in her purifiedand refined. Charles heard, strove to believe and be consoled, andbrought out his letters, trying, with voice breaking down, to showMr. Ross how truly he had judged of Amy, then listened with a kind ofpleasure to the reports of the homely but touching laments of all thevillage. 

Laura did not, like her brother and sister, seek for consolation fromMr. Ross or Mary. She went on her own way, saying little, fulfilling herhousehold cares, writing all the letters that nobody else would write, providing for Charles's ease, and looking thoroughly cast down andwretched, but saying nothing; conscious that her brother and sister didnot believe her affection for Guy equal to theirs; and Charles was toomuch dejected, and too much displeased with Philip, to try to consoleher. 

It was a relief to hear, at length, that the travellers had landed, andwould be at home in the evening, not till late, wrote Mrs. Edmonstone, because she thought it best for Amabel to go at once to her room, herown old room, for she particularly wished not to be moved from it. 

The evening had long closed in; poor Bustle had been shut up inCharlotte's room, and the three sat together round the fire, unable toguess how they should meet her, and thinking how they had lately beenlooking forward to greeting their bride, as they used proudly to callher. Charles dwelt on that talk on the green, and his 'when shallwe three meet again?' and spoke not a word; Laura tried to read; andCharlotte heard false alarms of wheels; but all were so still, that whenthe wheels really came, they were heard all down the turnpike road, andalong the lane, before they sounded on the gravel drive. 

Laura and Charlotte ran into the hall, Charles reached his crutches, buthis hands shook so much that he could not adjust them, and was obligedto sit down, rising the next minute as the black figures enteredtogether. Amy's sweet face was pressed to his, but neither spoke. Thatagitated 'My dear, dear Charlie!' was his mother's, as she threw herarms around him, with redoubled kisses and streaming tears; and therewas a trembling tone in his father's 'Well, Charlie boy, how have yougot on without us?'

They sat down, Charles with his sister beside him, and holding a handsteadier than his own, but hot and feverish to the touch. He leantforward to look at her face, and, as if in answer, she turned it onhim. It was the old face, paler and thinner, and the eyelids had ahard reddened look, from want of sleep: but Charles, like his motherat first, was almost awed by the melancholy serenity of the expression. 'Have you been quite well?' she asked, in a voice which soundedstrangely familiar, in its fond, low tones. 

'Yes, quite. '

There was a pause, followed by an interchange of question and answerbetween the others, on the journey, and on various little homecircumstances. Presently Mrs. Edmonstone said Amy had better comeup-stairs. 

'I have not seen Bustle, ' said Amy, looking at Charlotte. 

'He is in my room, ' faltered Charlotte. 

'I should like to see him. '

Charlotte hastened away, glad to wipe her tears when outside the door. Poor Bustle had been watching for his master ever since his departure, and hearing the sounds of arrival, was wild to escape from his prison. He rushed out the moment the door was open, and was scratching to be letinto the drawing-room before Charlotte could come up with him. He dashedin, laid his head on Amabel's knee, and wagged his tail for welcome;gave the same greeting to Mr. And Mrs. Edmonstone, but only for amoment, for he ran restlessly seeking round the room, came to the door, and by his wistful looks made Charlotte let him out. She followedhim, and dropping on her knees as soon as she was outside, pressed herforehead to his glossy black head, whispered that it was of no use, hewould never come back. The dog burst from her, and the next moment wassmelling and wagging his tail at a portmanteau, which he knew as well asshe did, and she could hardly refrain from a great outburst of sobbingas she thought what joy its arrival had hitherto been. 

Suddenly Bustle bounded away, and as Charlotte stood trying to composeherself enough to return to the drawing-room, she heard the poor fellowwhining to be let in at Guy's bed-room door. At the same time thedrawing-room door opened, and anxious that Amy should neither see norhear him, she ran after him, admitted him, and shut herself in with himin the dark, where, with her hands in his long silky curls, and sittingon the ground, she sobbed over him as long as he would submit to hercaresses. 

Amabel meantime returned to her room, and looked round on its well-knownaspect with a sad smile, as she thought of the prayer with which shehad quitted it on her bridal day, and did not feel as if it had beenunanswered; for surely the hand of a Father had been with her to supporther through her great affliction. 

Though she said she was very well, her mother made her go to bed atonce, and Laura attended on her with a sort of frightened, respectfultenderness, hardly able to bear her looks of gratitude. The first timethe two sisters were alone, Amabel said, 'Philip is much better. '

Laura, who was settling some things on the table, started back andcoloured, then, unable to resist the desire of hearing of him, lookedearnestly at her sister. 

'He is gone to Corfu, ' continued Amabel. 'He only kept Arnaud threedays after we were gone, and Arnaud overtook us at Geneva, saying hisstrength had improved wonderfully. Will you give me my basket? I shouldlike to read you a piece of a note he sent me. '

Laura brought it, and Amabel, holding her hand, looked up at her face, which she vainly tried to keep in order. 'Dearest, I have been verysorry for you, and so has Guy. '

'Amy!' and Laura found herself giving way to her tears, in spite of allher previous exhortations to Charlotte, about self-control; 'my own, ownsister!' To have Amy at home was an unspeakable comfort. 

'Papa and mamma were both as kind as possible to Philip, ' continuedAmabel; 'but they could not bear to enter on _that_. So I told him youhad told all, and he was very glad. '

'He was not displeased at my betraying him?' exclaimed Laura. 'Oh, no!he was glad; he said it was a great relief, for he was very anxiousabout you, Laura. He has been so kind to me, ' said Amabel, so earnestly, that Laura received another comfort, that of knowing that her sister'sindignation against him had all passed by. 'Now I will read you what hesays. You see his writing is quite itself again. '

But Laura observed that Amabel only held towards her the 'Lady Morville'on the outside, keeping the note to herself, and reading, 'I havecontinued to gain strength since you went; so that there is no furtherneed of detaining Arnaud. I have twice been out of doors, and amconvinced that I am equal to the journey; indeed, it is hardly possiblefor me to endure remaining here any longer. ' She read no more, butfolded it up, saying, 'I had rather no one saw the rest. He makeshimself so unhappy about that unfortunate going to Sondrio, that he sayswhat is only painful to hear. I am glad he is able to join his regiment, for a change will be the best thing for him. '

She laid her head on the pillow as if she had done with the subject, andLaura did not venture to pursue it, but went down to hear her mother'saccount of her. 

Mrs. Edmonstone was feeling it a great comfort to have her son to talkto again, and availed herself of it to tell him of Philip, while Laurawas absent, and then to return to speak of Amy on Laura's re-entrance. She said, all through the journey, Amy had been as passive and tranquilas possible, chiefly leaning back in the carriage in silence, exceptingthat when they finally left the view of the snowy mountains, she gazedafter them as long as the least faint cloud-like summit was visible. Still she could not sleep, except that now and then she dozed a littlein the carriage, but at night she heard every hour strike in turn, andlay awake through all, nor had she shed one tear since her mother hadjoined her. Mrs. Edmonstone's anxiety was very great, for she said sheknew Amy must pay for that unnatural calmness, and the longer it wasbefore it broke down, the worse it would be for her. However, she was athome, that was one thing to be thankful for, and happen what might, itcould not be as distressing as if it had been abroad. 

Another night of 'calm unrest, ' and Amabel rose in the morning, at herusual hour, to put on the garments of her widowhood, where she had laststood as a bride. Charles was actually startled by her entering thedressing-room, just as she used to do, before breakfast, to read withhim, and her voice was as steady as ever. She breakfasted with thefamily, and came up afterwards with Laura, to unpack her dressing-case, and take out the little treasures that she and her husband had enjoyedbuying in the continental towns, as presents for the home party. 

All this, for which she had previously prepared herself, she underwentas quietly as possible; but something unexpected came on her. Charlotte, trying to pet and comfort her in every possible way, brought in allthe best flowers still lingering in the garden, and among them a lastblossom of the Noisette rose, the same of which Guy had been twisting aspray, while he first told her of his love. 

It was too much. It recalled his perfect health and vigour, his lightactivity, and enjoyment of life, and something came on her of thesensation we feel for an insect, one moment full of joyous vitality, thenext, crushed and still. She had hitherto thought of his feverish thirstand fainting weariness being at rest, and felt the relief, or elsefollowed his spirit to its repose, and rejoiced; but now the wholescene brought back what he once was; his youthful, agile frame, his eyesdancing in light, his bounding step, his gay whistle, the strong handthat had upheld her on the precipice, the sure foot that had carriedaid to the drowning sailors, the arm that was to have been her stay forlife, all came on her in contrast with--death! The thought swept overher, carrying away every other, and she burst into tears. 

The tears would have their course; she could not restrain them when oncethey began, and her struggles to check them only brought an increase ofthem. Her sobs grew so violent that Laura, much alarmed, made a signto Charlotte to fetch her mother; and Mrs. Edmonstone, coming in haste, found it was indeed the beginning of a frightful hysterical attack. The bodily frame had been overwrought to obey the mental firmness andcomposure, and now nature asserted her rights; the hysterics returnedagain and again, and when it seemed as if exhaustion had at lengthproduced quiet, the opening of a door, or a sound in the distance, wouldrenew all again. 

It was not till night had closed in that Mrs. Edmonstone was at allsatisfied about her, and had at length the comfort of seeing herfall into a sound deep sleep; such an unbroken dreamless sleep as hadscarcely visited her since she first went to Recoara. Even this sleepdid not restore her; she became very unwell, and both Dr. Mayerne andher mother insisted on her avoiding the least exertion or agitation. Shewas quite submissive, only begging earnestly to be allowed to seeMr. Ross, saying she knew it would do her good rather than harm, andpromising to let him leave her the instant she found it too much forher; and though Mrs. Edmonstone was reluctant and afraid, they agreedthat as she was so reasonable and docile, she ought to be allowed tojudge for herself. 

She begged that he might come after church on All Saints' day. He came, and after his first greeting of peace, Mrs. Edmonstone signed to him toread at once, instead of speaking to her. The beautiful lesson for theday overcame Mrs. Edmonstone so much that she was obliged to go out ofAmabel's sight, but as the words were read, Amy's face recovered oncemore the serenity that had been swept away by the sight of the flowers. Peace had returned, and when the calm every-day words of the servicewere over, she held out her hand to Mr. Ross, and said, 'Thank you, thatwas very nice. Now talk to me. '

It was a difficult request, but Mr. Ross understood her, and talked toher as she sought, in a gentle, deep, high strain of hope and faith, very calm and soothing, and with a fatherly kindness that was verypleasant from him who had baptized her, taught her, and whom she hadlast seen blessing her and her husband. It ended by her looking up tohim when it was time for him to go, and saying, 'Thank you. You willcome again when you have time, I hope. My love to dear Mary, I shouldlike to see her soon, but I knew you would do me more good than anybody, and know better how it feels. '

Mr. Ross knew she meant that he must better understand her loss, becausehe was a widower, and was greatly touched, though he only answered by ablessing, a farewell, and a promise to come very soon to see her again. 

Amabel was right, the peace which he had recalled, and the power ofresignation that had returned, had a better effect on her than all hermother's precautions; she began to improve, and in a few days more wasable to leave her bed, and lie on the sofa in the dressing-room, thoughshe was still so weak and languid that this was as much as she couldattempt. Any exertion was to be carefully guarded against, and her tearsnow flowed so easily, that she was obliged to keep a check on them lestthey might again overpower her. Mr. Ross came again and again, and shewas able to tell him much of the grounds for her great happiness in Guy, hear how entirely he had understood him, and be assured that she haddone right, and not taken an undue responsibility on herself by theargument she had used to summon Philip, that last evening. She had begunto make herself uneasy about this; for she said she believed she wasthinking of nothing but Guy, and had acted on impulse; and she wasvery glad Mr. Ross did not think it wrong, while Mr. Ross meanwhilewas thinking how fears and repentance mingle with the purest sweetest, holiest deeds. 

She was able now to take pleasure in seeing Mary Ross; she wrote toPhilip at Corfu, and sent for Markham to begin to settle the executor'sbusiness. Poor Markham! the Edmonstones thought he looked ten yearsolder when he arrived, and after his inquiry for Lady Morville, hisgrunt almost amounted to a sob. The first thing he did was to give Mrs. Edmonstone a note, and a little box sent from Mrs. Ashford. The note wasto say that Mrs. Ashford had intended for her wedding present, a littlecross made out of part of the wood of the wreck, which she now thoughtit beat to send to Mrs. Edmonstone, that she might judge whether LadyMorville would like to see it. 

Mrs. Edmonstone's judgment was to carry it at once to Amabel, andshe was right, for the pleasure she took in it was indescribable. Shefondled it, set it up by her on her little table, made Charlotte putit in different places that she might see what point of view suited itbest, had it given back to her, held it in her hands caressingly, and said she must write at once to Mrs. Ashford to thank her forunderstanding her so well. There was scarcely one of the mourners to bepitied more than Markham, for the love he had set on Sir Guy hadbeen intense, compounded of feudal affection, devoted admiration, andpaternal care--and that he, the very flower of the whole race, shouldthus have been cut down in the full blossom of his youth and hopes, wasalmost more than the old man could bear or understand. It was a greatsorrow, too, that he should be buried so far away from his forefathers;and the hearing it was by his own desire, did not satisfy him, he sighedover it still, and seemed to derive a shade of comfort only when he wastold there was to be a tablet in Redclyffe church to the memory of Guy, sixth baronet. 

In the evening Markham became very confidential with Charles; tellinghim about the grievous mourning and lamentation at Redclyffe, when thebells rung a knell instead of greeting the young master and his bride, and how there was scarcely one in the parish that did not feel as ifthey had lost a son or a brother. He also told more and more of SirGuy's excellence, and talked of fears of his own, especially lastChristmas; that the boy was too unlike other people, too good to live;and lastly, he indulged in a little abuse of Captain Morville, whichdid Charles's heart good, at the same time as it amused him to think howMarkham would recollect it, when he came to hear of Laura's engagement. 

In the course of the next day, Markham had his conference with LadyMorville in the dressing-room, and brought her two or three preciousparcels, which he would not, for the world, have given into any otherhands. He could hardly bear to look at her in her widow's cap, andbehaved to her with a manner varying between his deference and respectto the Lady of Redclyffe, and his fatherly fondness for the wife of'his boy. ' As to her legal powers, he would have thought them foolishlybestowed, if they had been conferred by any one save his own Sir Guy, and he began by not much liking to act with her; but he found her soclear-headed, that he was much surprised to find a woman could have somuch good sense, and began to look forward with some satisfaction tobeing her prime minister. They understood each other very well; Amabel'sgood sense and way of attending to the one matter in hand, kept her frompuzzling and alarming herself by thinking she had more to do than shecould ever understand or accomplish; she knew it was Guy's work, and acharge he had given her, --a great proof of his confidence, --and shedid all that was required of her very well, so that matters were put intrain to be completed when she should be of age, in the course of thenext January. 

When Markham left her she was glad to be alone, and to open her parcels. There was nothing here to make her hysterical, for she was going tocontemplate the living soul, and felt almost, as if it was again beingalone with her husband. There were his most prized and used books, covered with marks and written notes; there was Laura's drawing ofSintram, which had lived with him in his rooms at Oxford; there was aroll of music, and there was his desk. The first thing when she openedit was a rough piece of spar, wrapped in paper, on which was written, 'M. A. D. , Sept. 18. ' She remembered what he had told her of littleMarianne's gift. The next thing made her heart thrill, for it was a slipof pencilling in her own writing, 'Little things, on little wings, bearlittle souls to heaven. '

Her own letters tied up together, those few that she had written in theshort time they were separated just before their marriage! Could thatbe only six months ago? A great bundle of Charles's and of Mrs. Edmonstone's; those she might like to read another time, but not now. Many other papers letters signed S. B. Dixon, which she threw aside, notes of lectures, and memoranda, only precious for the handwriting; butwhen she came to the lower division; she found it full of verses, almostall the poetry he had ever written. 

There were the classical translations that used to make him inaccurate, a scrap of a very boyish epic about King Arthur, beginning with a stormat Tintagel, sundry half ballads, the verses he was suspected of, andnever would show, that first summer at Hollywell, and a very touchingvision of his fair young mother. Except a translation or two, some wordswritten to suit their favourite airs (a thing that used to seem to comeas easily to him as singing to a bird), and a few lively mock heroicaccounts of walks or parties, which had all been public property, therewas no more that she could believe to have been composed till last year, for he was more disposed to versify in sorrow than in joy. There werea good many written during his loneliness, for his reflections had atendency to flow into verse, and pouring them out thus had been a greatsolace. The lines were often imperfect and irregular, but not one thatwas not deep, pure, and genuine, and here and there scattered withpassages of exquisite beauty and harmony, and full of power and grace. No one could have looked at them without owning in them the marks of athorough poet, but this was not what the wife was seeking, and whenshe perceived it, though it made her face beam with a sort of satisfiedpride, it was a secondary thing. She was studying not his intellect, buthis soul; she did not care whether he would have been a poet, what shelooked for was the record of the sufferings and struggles of the sad sixmonths when his character was established, strengthened, and settled. 

She found it. There was much to which she alone had the clue, too deep, and too obscurely hinted, to be understood at a glance. She met withsuch evidence of suffering as made her shudder and weep, tokens ofthe dark thoughts that had gathered round him, of the manful spirit ofpenitence and patience that had been his stay, and of the gleams thatlighted his darkest hours, and showed he had never been quite forsaken. Now and then came a reference which brought home what he had told her;how the thought of his Verena had cheered him when he dared not hope shewould be restored. Best of all were the lines written when the radianceof Christmas was, once for all, dispersing the gloom, and the visionopening on him, which he was now realizing. In reading them, she feltthe same marvellous sympathy of subdued wondering joy in the victory ofwhich she had partaken as she knelt beside his death-bed. These werethe last. He had been too happy for poetry, except one or two scrapsin Switzerland, and these had been hers from the time she had detectedthem. 

No wonder Amabel almost lived on those papers! It would not be too muchto say she was very happy in her own way when alone with them; the deskon a chair by her sofa. They were too sacred for any one else; she didnot for many weeks show one even to her mother; but to her they werelike a renewal of his presence, soothing the craving after him that hadbeen growing on her ever since the first few days when his sustainingpower had not passed away. As she sorted them, and made out their dates, finding fresh stores of meaning at each fresh perusal she learnt throughthem, as well as through her own trial, so patiently borne, to enterinto his character even more fully than when he was in her sight. Mrs. Edmonstone, who had at first been inclined to dread her constantdwelling on them, soon perceived that they were her great aids throughthis sad winter. 

She had much pleasure in receiving the portrait, which was sent her byMr. Shene. It was a day or two before she could resolve to look at it, or feel that she could do so calmly. It was an unfinished sketch, takenmore with a view to the future picture than to the likeness; but Guy'swas a face to be better represented by being somewhat idealized, thanby copying merely the material form of the features. An ordinary artistmight have made him like a Morville, but Mr. Shene had shown allthat art could convey of his individual self, with almost one of hisunearthly looks. The beautiful eyes, with somewhat of their peculiarlightsomeness, the flexible look of the lip, the upward pose of thehead, the set of that lock of hair that used to wave in the wind, theanimated position, 'just ready for a start, ' as Charles used to call it, were recalled as far as was in the power of chalk and crayon, but so asto remind Amabel of him more as one belonging to heaven than to earth. The picture used to be on her mantel-shelf all night, the shipwreckcross before it, and Sintram and Redclyffe on each side; and shebrought it into the dressing-room with her in the morning, setting it upopposite to the sofa, before settling herself. 

Her days were much alike. She felt far from well, or capable ofexertion, and was glad it was thought right to keep her entirelyupstairs; she only wished to spare her mother anxiety, by beingsubmissive to her care, in case these cares should be the last for her. She did not dwell on the future, nor ask herself whether she looked forlife or death. Guy had bidden her not desire the last, and she believedshe did not form a wish; but there was repose to her in the belief thatshe ought not to conceal from herself that there was more than ordinaryrisk, and that it was right to complete all her affairs in this world, and she was silent when her mother tried to interest her in prospectsthat might cheer her; as if afraid to fasten on them, and finding morepeace in entire submission, than in feeding herself on hope that must becoupled with fear. 

Christmas-day was not allowed to pass without being a festival forher, in her quiet room, where she lay, full of musings on his lonelyChristmas night last year, his verses folded among her precious books, and the real joy of the season more within her grasp than in the turmoilof last year. She was not afraid now to let herself fancy his voice inthe Angel's Song, and the rainbow was shining on her cloud. 

CHAPTER 38

 The coldness from my heart is gone, But still the weight is there, And thoughts which I abhor will come To tempt me to despair. --SOUTHEY

Amabel's one anxiety was for Philip. For a long time nothing was heardof him at Hollywell, and she began to fear that he might have been lessfit to take care of himself than he had persuaded her to believe. Whenat length tidings reached them, it was through the De Courcys. 'PoorMorville, ' wrote Maurice, 'had been carried ashore at Corfu, in thestupor of a second attack of fever. He had been in extreme danger forsome time, and though now on the mend, was still unable to give anyaccount of himself. '

In effect, it was a relapse of the former disease, chiefly affectingthe brain, and his impatience to leave Recoara, and free himself fromArnaud, had been a symptom of its approach, though it fortunately didnot absolutely overpower him till after he had embarked for Corfu, andwas in the way to be tended with the greatest solicitude. Long after thefever was subdued, and his strength returning, his mind was astray, andeven when torturing delusions ceased, and he resumed the perception ofsurrounding objects, memory and reflection wavered in dizzy confusion, more distressing than either his bodily weakness, or the perpetual painin his head, which no remedy could relieve. 

The first date to which he could afterwards recur, though for more thana week he had apparently been fully himself, was a time when he wassitting in an easy-chair by the window, obliged to avert his heavy eyesfrom the dazzling waters of the Corcyran bay, where Ulysses' transformedship gleamed in the sunshine, and the rich purple hills of Albaniasloped upwards in the distance. James Thorndale was, as usual, with him, and was explaining that there had been a consultation between the doctorand the colonel, and they had decided that as there was not much chanceof restoring his health in that climate in the spring. 

'Spring!' he interrupted, with surprise and eagerness, 'Is it spring?'

'Hardly--except that there is no winter here. This is the 8th ofJanuary. '

He let his head fall on his hand again, and listened with indifferencewhen told he was to be sent to England at once, under the care of hisservant, Bolton, and Mr. Thorndale himself, who was resolved to see himsafe in his sister's hands. He made no objection; he had become usedto be passive, and one place was much the same to him as another; so hemerely assented, without a question about the arrangements. Presently, however, he looked up, and inquired for his letters. Though he had doneso before, the request had always been evaded, until now he spoke in amanner which decided his friend on giving him all except one with broadblack edges, and Broadstone post-mark; the effect of which, it wasthought, might be very injurious to his shattered nerves and spirits. 

However, he turned over the other letters without interest, justglancing languidly through them, looked disappointed, and exclaimed--

'None from Hollywell! Has nothing been heard from them? Thorndale, I insist on knowing whether De Courcy has heard anything of LadyMorville. '

'He has heard of her arrival in England. '

'My sister mentions that--more than two months ago--I can hardly believeshe has not written, if she was able. She promised, yet how canI expect--' then interrupting himself, he added, authoritatively, 'Thorndale, is there no letter for me? I see there is. Let me have it. '

His friend could not but comply, and had no reason to regret having doneso; for after reading it twice, though he sighed deeply, and the tearswere in his eyes, he was more calm and less oppressed than he had beenat any time since his arrival in Corfu. He was unable to write, butColonel Deane had undertaken to write to Mrs. Henley to announce hiscoming; and as the cause of his silence must be known at Hollywell, heresolved to let Amabel's letter wait for a reply till his arrival inEngland. 

It was on a chilly day in February that Mrs. Henley drove to the stationto meet her brother, looking forward with a sister's satisfaction tonursing his recovery, and feeling (for she had a heart, after all) as ifit was a renewal of the days, which she regarded with a tenderness mixedwith contempt, when all was confidence between the brother and sister, the days of nonsense and romance. She hoped that now poor Philip, whohad acted hastily on his romance, and ruined his own prospects for hersake in his boyish days, had a chance of having it all made up to him, and reigning at Redclyffe according to her darling wish. 

As she anxiously watched the arrival of the train, she recognizedMr. Thorndale, whom she had known in his school-days as Philip'sprotege--but could that be her brother? It was his height, indeed; buthis slow weary step as he crossed the platform, and left the care of hisbaggage to others, was so unlike his prompt, independent air, thatshe could hardly believe it to be himself, till, with his friend, heactually advanced to the carriage, and then she saw far deeper tracesof illness than she was prepared for. A confusion of words took place;greetings on one hand, and partings on the other, for James Thorndalewas going on by the train, and made only a few minutes' halt in which toassure Mrs. Henley that though the landing and the journey had knockedup his patient to-day, he was much better since leaving Corfu, and tobeg Philip to write as soon as possible. The bell rang, he rushed back, and was whirled away. 

'Then you are better, ' said Mrs. Henley, anxiously surveying herbrother. 'You are sadly altered! You must let us take good care of you. '

'Thank you! I knew you would be ready to receive me, though I fear I amnot very good company. '

'Say no more, my dearest brother. You know both Dr. Henley and myselfhave made it our first object that our house should be your home. '

'Thank you. '

'This salubrious air must benefit you, ' she added. 'How thin you are!Are you very much fatigued?'

'Rather, ' said Philip, who was leaning back wearily; but the next momenthe exclaimed, 'What do you hear from Hollywell?'

'There is no news yet. '

'Do you know how she is? When did you hear of her?'

'About a week ago; when she wrote to inquire for you. '

'She did? What did she say of herself?'

'Nothing particular, poor little thing; I believe she is always on thesofa. My aunt would like nothing so well as making a great fuss abouther. '

'Have you any objection to show me her letter?' said Philip, unable tobear hearing Amabel thus spoken of, yet desirous to learn all he couldrespecting her. 

'I have not preserved it, ' was the answer. 'My correspondence is soextensive that there would be no limit to the accumulation if I did notdestroy the trivial letters. '

There was a sudden flush on Philip's pale face that caused his sister topause in her measured, self-satisfied speech, and ask if he was in pain. 

'No, ' he replied, shortly, and Margaret pondered on his strange manner, little guessing what profanation her mention of Amabel's letter hadseemed to him, or how it jarred on him to hear this exaggerated likenessof his own self-complacent speeches. 

She was much shocked and grieved to see him so much more unwell than shehad expected. He was unfit for anything but to go to bed on his arrival. Dr. Henley said the system had received a severe shock, and it would belong before the effects would be shaken off; but that there was no fearbut his health would be completely restored if he would give himselfentire rest. 

There was no danger that Margaret would not lavish care enough on herbrother. She waited on him in his room all the next day, bringing himeverything he could want, and trying to make him come down-stairs, forshe thought sitting alone there very bad for his spirits; but he saidhe had a letter to write, and very curious she was to know why he wasso long doing it, and why he did not tell her to whom it was addressed. However, she saw when it was put into the post-bag, that it was for LadyMorville. 

At last, too late to see any of the visitors who had called to inquire, when the evening had long closed in, she had the satisfaction of seeingPhilip enter the drawing-room, and settling him in the most comfortableof her easy-chairs on one side of the fire to wait till the Doctorreturned for dinner. The whole apartment was most luxurious, spacious, and richly furnished; the fire, in its brilliant steel setting, glancingon all around, and illuminating her own stately presence, and rich glacesilk, as she sat opposite her brother cutting open the leaves of one ofthe books of the club over which she presided. She felt that this wassomething like attaining one of the objects for which she used to sayand think she married, --namely, to be able to receive her brother in acomfortable home. If only he would but look more like himself. 

'Do you like a cushion for your head, Philip? Is it better?'

'Better since morning, thank you. '

'Did those headaches come on before your second illness?'

'I can't distinctly remember. '

'Ah! I cannot think how the Edmonstones could leave you. I shall alwaysblame them for that relapse. '

'It had nothing to do with it. Their remaining was impossible. '

'On Amabel's account? No, poor thing, I don't blame her, for she musthave been quite helpless; but it was exactly like my aunt, to have butone idea at a time. Charles used to be the idol, and now it is Amy, Isuppose. '

'If anything could have made it more intolerable for me, it would havebeen detaining them there for my sake, at such a time. '

'Ah! I felt a great deal for you. You must have been very sorry for thatpoor little Amy. She was very kind in writing while you were ill. Howdid she contrive, poor child? I suppose you took all the head work forher?'

'I? I was nothing but a burden. '

'Were you still so very ill?' said Margaret, tenderly. 'I am sure youmust have been neglected. '

'Would that I had!' muttered Philip, so low that she did not catch thewords. Then aloud, --'No care could have been greater than was taken forme. It was as if no one had been ill but myself, and the whole thoughtof every one had been for me. '

'Then Amabel managed well, poor thing! We do sometimes see those weaksoft characters--'

'Sister!' he interrupted. '

'Have not you told me so yourself?'

'I was a fool, or worse, ' said he, in a tone of suffering. 'No words candescribe what she proved herself. '

'Self-possessed? energetic?' asked Mrs. Henley, with whom those were thefirst of qualities; and as her brother paused from repugnance to speakof Amabel to one so little capable of comprehending her, she proceeded:'No doubt she did the best she could, but she must have been quiteinexperienced. It was a very young thing in the poor youth to make herexecutrix. I wonder the will was valid; but I suppose you took care ofthat. '

'I did nothing. '

'Did you see it?'

'My uncle showed it to me. '

'Then you can tell me what I want to hear, for no one has told meanything. I suppose my uncle is to be guardian?'

'No; Lady Morville. '

'You don't mean it? Most lover-like indeed. That poor girl to managethat great property? Everything left to her!' said Mrs. Henley, continuing her catechism in spite of the unwillingness of his replies. 'Were there any legacies? I know of Miss Wellwood's. '

'That to Dixon's daughter, and my own, ' he answered. 

'Yours? How was it that I never heard of it? What is it?'

'Ten thousand, ' said Philip, sadly. 

'I am delighted to hear it!' cried Margaret. 'Very proper of SirGuy--very proper indeed, poor youth. It is well thought of to soften thedisappointment. '

Philip started forward. 'Disappointment!' exclaimed he, with horror. 

'You need not look as if I wished to commit murder, ' said his sister, smiling. 'Have you forgotten that it depends on whether it is a son ordaughter?'

His dismay was not lessened. 'Do you mean to say that this is to come onme if the child is a daughter?'

'Ah! you were so young when the entail was made, that you knew nothingof it. Female heirs were expressly excluded. There was some aunt whomold Sir Guy passed over, and settled the property on my father and you, failing his own male heirs. '

'No one would take advantage of such a chance, ' said Philip. 

'Do not make any rash resolutions, my dear brother, whatever you do, 'said Margaret. 'You have still the same fresh romantic generous spiritof self-sacrifice that is generally so soon worn out, but you must notlet it allow you--'

'Enough of this, ' said Philip, hastily, for every word was a dagger. 

'Ah! you are right not to dwell on the uncertainty. I am almost sorryI told you, ' said Margaret. 'Tell me about Miss Wellwood's legacy, ' shecontinued, desirous of changing the subject. 'I want to know the truthof it, for every one is talking of it. ''How comes the world to know ofit?'

'There have been reports ever since his death, and now it has been paid, whatever it is, on Lady Morville's coming of age. Do you know whatit is? The last story I was told was, that it was £2O, OOO, to found aconvent to pray for his grand--'

'Five thousand for her hospital, ' interrupted Philip. 'Sister!' headded; speaking with effort, 'it was for that hospital that he made therequest for which we persecuted him. '

'Ah! I thought so, I could have told you so!' cried Margaret, triumphantin her sagacity, but astonished, as her brother started up and stoodlooking at her, as if he could hardly resolve to give credit to herwords. 

'You--thought--so, ' he repeated slowly. 

'I guessed it from the first. He was always with that set, and I thoughtit a very bad thing for him; but as it was only a guess, it was notworth while to mention it: besides, the cheque seemed full evidence. Itwas the general course, not the individual action. '

'If you thought so, why not mention it to me? Oh! sister, what would younot have spared me!'

'I might have done so if it had appeared that it might lead to hisexculpation, but you were so fully convinced that his whole courseconfirmed the suspicions, that a mere vague idea was not worth dwellingon. Your general opinion, of him satisfied me. '

'I cannot blame you, ' was all his reply, as he sat down again, with hisface averted from the light. 

And Mrs. Henley was doubtful whether he meant that she had beenjudicious! She spoke again, unconscious of the agony each wordinflicted. 

'Poor youth! we were mistaken in those facts, and of course, all isforgiven and forgotten now; but he certainly had a tremendous temper. I shall never forget that exhibition. Perhaps poor Amabel is saved muchunhappiness. '

'Once for all, ' said Philip, sternly, 'let me never hear you speak ofhim thus. We were both blind to a greatness of soul and purity of heartthat we shall never meet again. Yours was only prejudice; mine I mustcall by a darker name. Remember, that he and his wife are only to bespoken of with reverence. '

He composed himself to silence; and Margaret, after looking at him forsome moments in wonder, began in a sort of exculpatory tone:

'Of course we owe him a great deal of gratitude. It was very kind andproper to come to you when you were ill, and his death must have beena terrible shock. He was a fine young man; amiable, very attractive inmanner. '

'No more!' muttered Philip. 

'That, you always said of him, ' continued she, not hearing, 'but youhave no need to reproach yourself. You always acted the part of a truefriend, did full justice to his many good qualities, and only sought hisreal good. '

'Every word you speak is the bitterest satire on me, ' said Philip, goaded into rousing himself for a moment. 'Say no more, unless you woulddrive me distracted!'

Margaret was obliged to be silent, and marvel, while her brother satmotionless, leaning back in his chair, till Dr. Henley came in; andafter a few words to him, went on talking to his wife, till dinner wasannounced. Philip went with them into the dining-room, but hadscarcely sat down before he said he could not stay, and returned to thedrawing-room sofa. He said he only wanted quiet and darkness, and senthis sister and her husband back to their dinner. 

'What has he been doing?' said the Doctor; 'here is his pulse up to ahundred again. How can he have raised it?'

'He only came down an hour ago, and has been sitting still ever since. '

'Talking?'

'Yes; and there, perhaps, I was rather imprudent. I did not knowhe could so little bear to hear poor Sir Guy's name mentioned; and, besides, he did not know, till I told him, that he had so much chance ofRedclyffe. He did not know the entail excluded daughters. '

'Did he not! That accounts for it. I should like to see the man whocould hear coolly that he was so near such a property. This suspense isunlucky just now; very much against him. You must turn his thoughts fromit as much as possible. '

All the next day, Mrs. Henley wondered why her brother's spirits were somuch depressed, resisting every attempt to amuse or cheer them; but, onthe third, she thought some light was thrown on the matter. She wasat breakfast with the Doctor when the post came in, and there was ablack-edged letter for Captain Morville, evidently from Amabel. She tookit up at once to his room. He stretched out his hand for it eagerly, but laid it down, and would not open it while she was in the room. Theinstant she was gone, however, he broke the seal and read:--

 'Hollywell, February 20th. 

'MY DEAR PHILIP, --Thank you much for writing to me. It was a greatcomfort to see your writing again, and to hear of your being safe in ourown country. We had been very anxious about you, though we did not hearof your illness till the worst was over. I am very glad you are atSt. Mildred's, for I am sure Margaret must be very careful of you, andStylehurst air must be good for you. Every one here is well; Charlesgrowing almost active, and looking better than I ever saw him. I wishI could tell you how nice and quiet a winter it has been; it has beena great blessing to me in every way, so many things have come to me toenjoy. Mr. Ross has come to me every Sunday, and often in the week, andhas been so very kind. I think talking to him will be a great pleasureto you when you are here again. You will like to hear that Mr. Shene hassent me the picture, and the pleasure it gives me increases every day. Indeed, I am so well off in every way, that you must not grieve yourselfabout me, though I thank you very much for what you say. Laura reads tome all the evening from dinner to tea. I am much better than I was inthe winter, and am enjoying the soft spring air from the open window, making it seem as if it was much later in the year. 'Good-bye, my dearcousin; may God bless and comfort you. Remember, that after all, it wasGod's will, not your doing; and therefore, as he said himself, all is asit should be, and so it will surely be. 

 'Your affectionate cousin, 'AMABEL F. MORVILLE. '

Childishly simple as this letter might be called, with its set of factswithout comment, and the very commonplace words of consolation, it spokevolumes to Philip of the spirit in which it was written--resignation, pardon, soothing, and a desire that her farewell, perhaps her last, should carry with it a token of her perfect forgiveness. Everything fromAmabel did him good; and he was so perceptibly better, that his sisterexclaimed, when she was next alone with Dr. Henley, 'I understand itall, poor fellow; I thought long ago, he had some secret attachment; andnow I see it was to Amabel Edmonstone. '

'To Lady Morville?'

'Yes. You know how constantly he was at Hollywell, my aunt so fond ofhim? I don't suppose Amy knew of it; and, of course, she could not beblamed for accepting such an offer as Sir Guy's; besides, she never hadmuch opinion of her own. '

'How? No bad speculation for him. She must have a handsome jointure; butwhat are your grounds?'

'Everything. Don't you remember he would not go to the marriage? Hementions her almost like a saint; can't hear her name from any oneelse--keeps her letter to open alone, is more revived by it thananything else. Ah! depend upon it, it was to avoid her, poor fellow, that he refused to go to Venice with them. '

'Their going to nurse him is not as if Sir Guy suspected it. '

'I don't suppose he did, nor Amy either. No one ever had so much powerover himself. '

Philip would not have thanked his sister for her surmise, but it was sofar in his favour that it made her avoid the subject, and he was thusspared from hearing much of Amabel or of Redclyffe. It was bad enoughwithout this. Sometimes in nursery tales, a naughty child, under thecare of a fairy, is chained to an exaggeration of himself and his ownfaults, and rendered a slave to this hateful self. The inflictionhe underwent in his sister's house was somewhat analogous, for Mrs. Henley's whole character, and especially her complacent speeches, were astrong resemblance of his own in the days he most regretted. He had eversince her marriage regarded her as a man looks at a fallen idol, butnever had her alteration been so clear to him, as he had not spent muchtime with her, making her short visits, and passing the chief of eachday at Stylehurst. Now, he was almost entirely at her mercy, and herunvarying kindness to him caused her deterioration to pain him all themore; while each self-assertion, or harsh judgment, sounded on his earlike a repetition of his worst and most hateful presumption. She littleguessed what she made him endure, for he had resumed his wonted stoicismof demeanour, though the hardened crust that had once grown over hisfeelings had been roughly torn away, leaving an extreme soreness andtenderness to which an acute pang was given whenever he was reminded, not only of his injuries to Guy, but of the pride and secret envy thathad been their root. 

At the same time he disappointed her by his continued reserve anddepression. The confidence she had forfeited was never to be restored, and she was the last person to know how incapable she was of receivingit, or how low she had sunk in her self-exaltation. 

He was soon able to resume the hours of the family, but was still farfrom well; suffering from languor, pain in the head, want of sleep andappetite; and an evening feverishness. He was unequal to deep reading, and was in no frame for light books; he could not walk far, and hissister's literary coteries, which he had always despised, were atpresent beyond his powers of endurance. She hoped that society woulddivert his thoughts and raise his spirits, and arranged her parties witha view to him; but he never could stay long in the room, and Dr. Henley, who, though proud of his wife and her talents, had little pleasure inher learned circle, used to aid and abet his escape. 

Thus Philip got through the hours as best he might, idly turning thepages of new club-books, wandering on the hills till he tired himself, sitting down to rest in the damp air, coming home chilled and fatigued, and lying on the sofa with his eyes shut, to avoid conversation, all theevening. Neither strength, energy, nor intellect would, serve him formore; and this, with the load and the stings of a profound repentance, formed his history through the next fortnight. 

He used often to stand gazing at the slowly-rising walls of MissWellwood's buildings, and the only time he exerted himself in his oldway to put down any folly in conversation, was when he silenced some ofthe nonsense talked about her, and evinced his own entire approval ofher proceedings. 

CHAPTER 39

 Beneath a tapering ash-tree's shade Three graves are by each other laid. Around the very place doth brood A strange and holy quietude. --BAPTISTERY

Late on the afternoon of the 6th of March, Mary Ross entered by thehalf-opened front door at Hollywell, just as Charles appeared slowlydescending the stairs. 

'Well! how is she?' asked Mary eagerly. 

'Poor little dear!' he answered, with a sigh; 'she looks very nice andcomfortable. '

'What, you have seen her?'

'I am at this moment leaving her room. '

'She is going on well, I hope?'

'Perfectly well. There is one comfort at least, ' said Charles, drawinghimself down the last step. 

'Dear Amy! And the babe--did you see it?'

'Yes; the little creature was lying by her, and she put her hand on it, and gave one of those smiles that are so terribly like his; but I couldnot have spoken about it for the world. Such fools we be!' concludedCharles, with an attempt at a smile. 

'It is healthy?'

'All a babe ought to be, they say, all that could be expected of it, except the not being of the right sort, and if Amy does not mind that, I don't know who should, ' and Charles deposited himself on the sofa, heaving a deep sigh, intended to pass for the conclusion of theexertion. 

'Then you think she is not disappointed?'

'Certainly not. The first thing she said when she was told it was agirl, was, "I am so glad!" and she does seem very happy with it, poorlittle thing! In fact, mamma thinks she had so little expected thatit would go well with herself, or with it, that now it is all like asurprise. '

There was a silence, first broken by Charles saying, 'You must becontent with me--I can't send for anyone. Bustle has taken papa andCharlotte for a walk, and Laura is on guard over Amy, for we have mademamma go and lie down. It was high time, after sitting up two nights, and meaning to sit up a third. '

'Has she really--can she bear it?'

'Yes; I am afraid I have trained her in sitting up, and Amy and all ofus know that anxiety hurts her more than fatigue. She would only lieawake worrying herself, instead of sitting peaceably by the fire, holding the baby, or watching Amy, and having a quiet cry when she isasleep. For, after all, it is very sad!' Charles was trying to bravehis feelings, but did not succeed very well. 'Yesterday morning I wasproperly frightened. I came into the dressing-room, and found mammacrying so, that I fully believed it was all wrong, but she was justcoming to tell us, and was only overcome by thinking of not having himto call first, and how happy he would have been. '

'And the dear Amy herself!'

'I can't tell. She is a wonderful person for keeping herself composedwhen she ought. I see she has his picture in full view, but she says nota word, except that mamma saw her to-day, when she thought no one waslooking, fondling the little thing, and whispering to it--"Guy's baby!"and "Guy's little messenger!"' Charles gave up the struggle, andfairly cried, but in a moment rallying his usual tone, he went on, halflaughing, --'To be sure, what a morsel of a creature it is! It is awfulto see anything so small calling itself a specimen of humanity!'

'It is your first acquaintance with infant humanity, I suppose? Pray, did you ever see a baby?'

'Not to look at. In fact, Mary, I consider it a proof of your being arational woman that you have not asked me whether it is pretty. '

'I thought you no judge of the article. '

'No, it was not to inspect it that Amy sent for me; though after all itwas for a business I would almost as soon undertake, a thing I would notdo for any other living creature. '

'Then I know what it is. To write some kind message to Captain Morville. Just like the dear Amy!'

'Just like her, and like no one else, except--Of course my father wrotehim an official communication yesterday, very short; but the fact musthave made it sweet enough, savage as we all were towards him, as therewas no one else to be savage to, unless it might be poor Miss Morville, who is the chief loser by being of the feminine gender, ' said Charles, again braving what he was pleased to call sentimentality. 'Well, by andby, my lady wants to know if any one has written to "poor Philip, " asshe will call him, and, by no means contented by hearing papa had, she sends to ask me to come to her when I came in from wheeling in thegarden; and receives me with a request that I would write and tell himhow well she is, and how glad, and so on. There's a piece of work forme!'

'Luckily you are not quite so savage as you pretend, either to him, oryour poor little niece. '

'Whew! I should not care whether she was niece or nephew but for him;at least not much, as long as she comforted Amy; but to see him atRedclyffe, and be obliged to make much of him at the same time, is morethan I can very well bear; though I may as well swallow it as best Ican, for she will have me do it, as well as on Laura's account. Amy believes, you know, that he will think the inheritance a greatmisfortune; but that is only a proof that she is more amiable than anyone else. '

'I should think he would not rejoice. '

'Not exactly; but I have no fear that he will not console himself bythinking of the good he will do with it. I have no doubt that he wasthoroughly cut up, and I could even go the length of believing thatdistress of mind helped to bring on the relapse, but it is some timeago. And as to his breaking his heart after the first ten minutes atfinding himself what he has all his life desired to be, in a situationwhere the full influence of his talents may be felt, ' said Charles, witha shade of imitation of his measured tones, 'why that, no one but sillylittle Amy would ever dream of. '

'Well, I dare say you will grow merciful as you write. '

'No, that is not the way to let my indignation ooze out at my fingers'ends. I shall begin by writing to condole with Markham. Poor man! whata state he must be in; all the more pitiable because he evidently hadentirely forgotten that there could ever be a creature of the lessworthy gender born to the house of Morville; so it will take him quiteby surprise. What will he do, and how will he ever forgive Mrs. Ashford, who, I see in the paper, has a son whom nobody wants, as if for theexpress purpose of insulting Markham's feelings! Well-a-day! I shouldhave liked to have had the sound of Sir Guy Morville still in my ears, and yet I don't know that I could have endured its being applied to alittle senseless baby! And, after all, we are the gainers; for it wouldhave been a forlorn thing to have seen Amy go off to reign queen-motherat Redclyffe, --and most notably well would she have reigned, with thatclear little head. I vow 'tis a talent thrown away! However, I can'tgrumble. She is much happier without greatness thrust on her, and formy own part, I have my home-sister all to myself, with no rival but thatsmall woman--and how she will pet her!'

'And how you will! What a spoiling uncle you will be! But now, havingheard you reason yourself into philosophy, I'll leave you to write. Wewere so anxious, that I could not help coming. I am so glad that littleone thrives! I should like to leave my love for Amy, if you'll rememberit. '

'The rarity of such a message from you may enable me. I was lyinghere alone, and received the collected love of five Harpers to conveyup-stairs, all which I forgot; though in its transit by Arnaud and hisFrench, it had become "that they made their friendships to my lady andMrs. Edmonstone. "'

Charles had not talked so like himself for months; and Mary felt thatAmabel's child, if she had disappointed some expectations, had come likea spring blossom, to cheer Hollywell, after its long winter of sorrowand anxiety. She seemed to have already been received as a messenger tocomfort them for the loss, greatest of all to her, poor child, thoughshe would never know how great. Next Mary wondered what kind of letterCharles would indite, and guessed it would be all the kinder for theoutpouring he had made to her, the only person with whom he ventured toindulge in a comfortable abuse of Philip, since his good sense taughthim that, ending as affairs must, it was the only wise way to make thebest of it, with father, mother, and Charlotte, all quite sufficientlydisposed to regard Philip with aversion without his help. 

Philip was at breakfast with the Henleys, on the following morning, aSunday, --or rather, sitting at the breakfast-table, when the letterswere brought in. Mrs. Henley, pretending to be occupied with her own, had an eager, watchful eye on her brother, as one was placed before him. She knew Mr. Edmonstone's writing, but was restrained from exclaimingby her involuntary deference for her brother. He flushed deep red onemoment, then turned deadly pale, his hand, when first he raised it, trembled, but then became firm, as if controlled by the force of hisresolution. He broke the black seal, drew out the letter, paused anotherinstant, unfolded it, glanced at it, pushed his chair from the table, and hastened to me door. 

'Tell me, tell me, Philip, what is it?' she exclaimed, rising to followhim. 

He turned round, threw the letter on the table, and with a sign thatforbade her to come with him, left the room. 

'Poor fellow! how he feels it! That poor young creature!' said she, catching up the letter for explanation. 

'Ha! No! Listen to this, Dr. Henley. Why, he must have read it wrong!'

 'Hollywell, March 5th. 

'DEAR PHILIP, --I have to announce to you that Lady Morville was safelyconfined this morning with a daughter. I shall be ready to send all thepapers and accounts of the Redclyffe estate to any place you may appointas soon as she is sufficiently recovered to transact business. Both sheand the infant are as well as can be expected. 

 --Yours sincerely, 'C. EDMONSTONE. '

'A daughter!' cried Dr. Henley. 'Well, my dear, I congratulate you! Itis as fine a property as any in the kingdom. We shall see him pick upstrength now. '

'I must go and find him. He surely has mistaken!' said Margaret, hastening in search of him; but he was not to be found, and she saw himno more till she found him in the seat at church. 

She hardly waited to be in the churchyard, after the service, before shesaid, 'Surely you mistook the letter!'

'No, I did not. '

'You saw that she is doing well, and it is a girl. '

'I--'

'And will you not let me congratulate you?'

She was interrupted by some acquaintance; but when she looked round hewas nowhere to be seen, and she was obliged to be content with tellingevery one the news. One or two of her many tame gentlemen came homewith her to luncheon, and she had the satisfaction of dilating on thegrandeur of Redclyffe. Her brother was not in the drawing-room, butanswered when she knocked at his door. 

'Luncheon is ready. Will you come down?'

'Is any one there?'

'Mr. Brown and Walter Maitland. Shall I send you anything, or do youlike to come down?'

'I'll come, thank you, ' said he, thus secured from a tete-a-tete. 

'Had you better come? Is not your head too bad?'

'It will not be better for staying here; I'll come. '

She went down, telling her visitors that, since his illness, her brotheralways suffered so much from excitement that he was too unwell to havederived much pleasure from the tidings: and when he appeared his aircorresponded with her account, for his looks were of the gravest andsternest. He received the congratulations of the gentlemen withoutthe shadow of a smile, and made them think him the haughtiest and mostdignified landed proprietor in England. 

Mrs. Henley advised strongly against his going to church, but withouteffect, and losing him in the crowd coming out, saw him no more tilljust before dinner-time. He had steeled himself to endure all that sheand the Doctor could inflict on him that evening, and he had a hope ofpersuading Amabel that it would be only doing justice to her child tolet him restore her father's inheritance, which had come to him throughcircumstances that could not have been foreseen. He was determined to donothing like an act of possession of Redclyffe till he had implored herto accept the offer; and it was a great relief thus to keep it in doubta little longer, and not absolutely feel himself profiting by Guy'sdeath and sitting in his seat. Not a word, however, must be said to lethis sister guess at his resolution, and he must let her torture him inthe meantime. He was vexed at having been startled into betraying hissuffering, and was humiliated at the thought of the change from thatiron imperturbability, compounded of strength, pride, and coldness inwhich he had once gloried. 

Dr. Henley met him with a shake of the hand, and hearty exclamation:--

'I congratulate you, Sir Philip Morville. '

'No; that is spared me, ' was his answer. 

'Hem! The baronetcy?'

'Yes, ' said Margaret, 'I thought you knew that only goes to the directheir of old Sir Hugh. But you must drop the "captain" at least. You willsell out at once?'

He patiently endured the conversation on the extent and beauty ofRedclyffe, wearing all the time a stern, resolute aspect, that hissister knew to betoken great unhappiness. She earnestly wished tounderstand him, but at last, seeing how much her conversation increasedhis headache, she desisted, and left him to all the repose his thoughtscould give him. He was very much concerned at the tone of the note fromhis uncle, as if it was intended to show that all connection with thefamily was to be broken off. He supposed it had been concerted with someone; with Charles, most likely, --Charles, who had judged him too truly, and with his attachment to Guy, and aversion to himself, was doubtlessstrengthening his father's displeasure, all the more for this hatefulwealth. And Laura? What did she feel?

Monday morning brought another letter. At first, he was struck withthe dread of evil tidings of Amabel or her babe, especially when herecognized Charles's straggling handwriting; and, resolved not to beagain betrayed, he carried it up to read in his own room before hissister had noticed it. He could hardly resolve to open it, for surelyCharles would not write to him without necessity; and what, save sorrow, could cause that necessity? He saw that his wretchedness might be evenmore complete! At length he read it, and could hardly believe his owneyes as he saw cheering words, in a friendly style of interest andkindliness such as he would never have expected from Charles, moreespecially now. 

 'Hollywell, March 6th. 

'MY DEAR PHILIP, --I believe my father wrote to you in haste yesterday, but I am sure you will be anxious for further accounts, and when thereis good news there is satisfaction in conveying it. I know you will beglad to hear our affairs are very prosperous; and Amy, whom I have justbeen visiting, is said by the authorities to be going on as well aspossible. She begs me to tell you of her welfare, and to assure you thatshe is particularly pleased to have a daughter; or, perhaps, it will bemore satisfactory to have her own words. "You must tell him how wellI am, Charlie, and how very glad. And tell him that he must not vexhimself about her being a girl, for that is my great pleasure; and Ido believe, the very thing I should have chosen if I had set to work towish. " You know Amy never said a word but in all sincerity, so you musttrust her, and I add my testimony that she is in placid spirits, and maywell be glad to escape the cares of Redclyffe. My father says he desiredMarkham to write to you on the business matters. I hope the sea-breezesmay do you good. All the party here are well; but I see little of themnow, all the interest of the house is upstairs. 

--Your affectionate, 'C. M, EDMONSTONE. 

P. S. The baby is very small, but so plump and healthy, that no oneattempts to be uneasy about her. '

Never did letter come in better time to raise a desponding heart. OfAmabel's forgiveness he was already certain; but that she should havemade Charles his friend was a wonder beyond all others. It gave him morehope for the future than he had yet been able to entertain, and showedhim that the former note was no studied renunciation of him, but only anebullition of Mr. Edmonstone's disappointment. 

It gave him spirit enough to undertake what he had long been meditating, but without energy to set about it--an expedition to Stylehurst. Hitherto it had been his first walk on coming to St. Mildred's, but nowthe distance across the moor was far beyond his powers; and even thatlength of ride was a great enterprise. It was much further by thecarriage road, and his sister never liked going there. He had neverfailed to visit his old home till last year, and he felt almost gladthat he had not carried his thoughts, at that time, to his father'sgrave. It was strange that, with so many more important burdens onhis mind, it had been this apparent trivial omission, this slight toStylehurst, that, in both his illnesses, had been the most frequentlyrecurring idea that had tormented him in his delirium. So deeply, securely fixed is the love of the home of childhood in men of his mould, in whom it is perhaps the most deeply rooted of all affections. 

Without telling his sister his intention, he hired a horse, and pursuedthe familiar moorland tracks. He passed South Moor Farm; it gave him toogreat a pang to look at it; he rode on across the hills where he used towalk with his sisters, and looked down into narrow valleys where hehad often wandered with his fishing-rod, lost in musings on plans forattaining distinction, and seeing himself the greatest man of his day. Little had he then guessed the misery which would place him in the wayto the coveted elevation, or how he would loathe it when it lay withinhis grasp. 

There were the trees round the vicarage, the church spire, the cottages, whose old rough aspect, he knew so well, the whole scene, once 'redolentof joy and youth:' but how unable to breathe on him a second spring! Heput up his horse at the village inn, and went to make his first call onSusan, the old clerk's wife, and one of the persons in all the world wholoved him best. He knocked, opened the door, and saw her, startled fromher tea-drinking, looking at him as a stranger. 

'Bless us! It beant never Master Philip!' she exclaimed, her headshaking very fast, as she recognized his voice. 'Why, sir, what a turnyou give me! How bad you be looking, to be sure!'

He sat down and talked with her, with feelings of comfort. Tidings ofSir Guy's death had reached the old woman, and she was much grieved forthe nice, cheerful-spoken young gentleman, whom she well remembered; forshe, like almost every one who had ever had any intercourse with him, had an impression left of him, as of something winning, engaging, brightening, like a sunbeam. It was a refreshment to meet with one whowould lament him for his own sake, and had no congratulations for Philiphimself; and the 'Sure, sure, it must have been very bad for you, ' withwhich old Susan heard of the circumstances, carried more of the comfortof genuine sympathy than all his sister's attempts at condolence. 

She told him how often Sir Guy had been at Stylehurst, how he had talkedto her about the archdeacon; and especially she remembered his helpingher husband one day when he found him trimming the ash over thearchdeacon's grave. He used to come very often to church there, more inthe latter part of his stay; there was one Sunday--it was the one beforeMichaelmas--he was there all day, walking in the churchyard, and sittingin the porch between services. 

'The Sunday before Michaelmas!' thought Philip, the very time when hehad been most earnest in driving his uncle to persecute, and delightinghimself in having triumphed over Guy at last, and obtained tangibledemonstration of his own foresight, and his cousin's vindictive spirit. What had he been throwing away? Where had, in truth, been the hostilespirit?

He took the key of the church, and walked thither alone, standing forseveral minutes by the three graves, with a sensation as if his fatherwas demanding of him an account of the boy he had watched, and broughtto his ancestral home, and cared for through his orphaned childhood. Butfor the prayer-book, the pledge that there had been peace at the last, how could he have borne it?

Here was the paved path he had trodden in early childhood, holding hismother's hand, where, at each recurring vacation during his school days, he had walked between his admiring sisters, in the consciousness that hewas the pride of his family and of all the parish. Of his family? Did henot remember his return home for the last time before that when he wassummoned thither by his father's death? He had come with a whole freightof prizes, and letters full of praises; and as he stood, in expectationof the expression of delighted satisfaction, his father laid his handon his trophy, the pile of books, saying, gravely, --' All this would Igive, Philip, for one evidence of humility of mind. '

It had been his father's one reproof. He had thought it unjust andunreasonable, and turned away impatiently to be caressed and admired byMargaret. His real feelings had been told to her, because she flatteredthem and shared them, he had been reserved and guarded with thefather who would have perceived and repressed that ambition and theself-sufficiency which he himself had never known to exist, nor regardedas aught but sober truth. It had been his bane, that he had been alwaystoo sensible to betray outwardly his self-conceit, in any form thatcould lead to its being noticed. 

He opened the church door, closed it behind him, and locked himself in. 

He came up to the communion rail, where he had knelt for the first timetwelve years ago, confident in himself, and unconscious of the fearswith which his father's voice was trembling in the intensity of hisprayer for one in whom there was no tangible evil, and whom othersthought a pattern of all that could be desired by the fondest hopes. 

He knelt down, with bowed head, and hands clasped. Assuredly, if hisfather could have beheld him then, it would have been with rejoicing. Hewould not have sorrowed that robust frame was wasted, and great strengthbrought low; that the noble features were worn, the healthful cheekpale, and the powerful intellect clouded and weakened; he would hardlyhave mourned for the cruel grief and suffering, such would have beenhis joy that the humble, penitent, obedient heart had been won at last. Above all, he would have rejoiced that the words that most soothed thatwounded spirit were, --'A broken and contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt notdespise. '

There was solace in that solemn silence; the throbs of head and heartwere stilled in the calm around. It was as if the influences of theprayers breathed for him by his father, and the forgiveness and lovingspirit there won by Guy, had been waiting for him there till he came totake them up, for thenceforth the bitterest of his despair was over, andhe could receive each token of Amabel's forgiveness, not as heaped coalsof fire, but as an earnest of forgiveness sealed in heaven. 

The worst was over, and though he still had much to suffer, he wasbecoming open to receive comfort; the blank dark remorse in which he hadbeen living began to lighten, and the tone of his mind to return. 

He spoke more cheerfully to Susan when he restored the key; but she hadbeen so shocked at his appearance, that when, the next day, a reportreached her that Mr. Philip was now a grand gentleman, and very rich, she answered, --

'Well, if it be so, I am glad of it, but he said never a word of it tome, and it is my belief he would give all the money as ever was coined, to have the poor young gentleman back again. Depend upon it, he hatesthe very sound of it. '

At the cost of several sheets of paper, Philip at length completed aletter to Mr. Edmonstone, which, when he had sent it, made his suspensemore painful. 

 'St. Mildred's, March 12th. 

'MY DEAR MR. Edmonstone, --It is with a full sense of the unfitness ofintruding such a subject upon you in the present state of the family, that I again address you on the same topic as that on which I wrote toyou from Italy, at the first moment at which I have felt it possibleto ask your attention. I was then too ill to be able to express mycontrition for all that has passed; in fact, I doubt whether it was eventhen so deep as at present, since every succeeding week has but addedto my sense of the impropriety of my conduct, and my earnest desire forpardon. I can hardly venture at such a time to ask anything further, butI must add that my sentiments towards your daughter are unaltered, andcan never cease but with my life, and though I know I have renderedmyself unworthy of her, and my health, both mental and bodily, is farfrom being re-established, I cannot help laying my feelings beforeyou, and entreating that you will put an end to the suspense which hasendured for so many months, by telling me to hope that I have not forever forfeited your consent to my attachment. At least, I trust to yourkindness for telling me on what terms I am for the present to stand withyour family. I am glad to hear such favourable reports of Lady Morville, and with all my heart I thank Charles for his letter. 

 'Yours ever affectionately, 'P. H. MORVILLE. '

He ardently watched for a reply. He could not endure the idea ofreceiving it where Margaret's eyes could scan the emotion he couldnow only conceal by a visible rigidity of demeanour, and he dailywent himself to the post-office, but in vain. He received nothing butbusiness letters, and among them one from Markham, with as much defianceand dislike in its style as could be shown, in a perfectly formal, proper letter. Till he had referred to Lady Morville, he would notmake any demonstration towards Redclyffe, and evaded all his sister'squestions as to what he was doing about it, and when he should takemeasures for leaving the army, or obtaining a renewal of the baronetcy. 

Anxiety made him look daily more wretchedly haggard; the Doctor was atfault, Mrs. Henley looked sagacious, while his manner became so dryand repellent that visitors went away moralizing on the absurdity of"nouveaux riches" taking so much state on them. 

He wondered how soon he might venture to write to Amabel, on whom alonehe could depend; but he felt it a sort of profanity to disturb her. 

He had nearly given up his visits to the post in despair, when onemorning he beheld what never failed to bring some soothing influence, namely, the fair pointed characters he had not dared to hope for. Hewalked quickly into the promenade, sat down, and read:--

 'Hollywell, March 22nd. 

'MY DEAR PHILIP, --Papa does not answer your letter, because he saysspeaking is better than writing, and we hope you are well enough tocome to us before Sunday week. I hope to take our dear little girl tobe christened on that day, and I want you to be so kind as to beher godfather. I ask it of you, not only in my own name, but in herfather's, for I am sure it is what he would choose. Her Aunt Laura andMary Ross are to be her godmothers, I hope you will not think me veryfoolish and fanciful for naming her Mary Verena, in remembrance of ourold readings of Sintram. She is a very healthy, quiet creature, and I amgetting on very well. I am writing from the dressing-room, and I expectto be down-stairs in a few days. If you do not dislike it very much, could you be so kind as to call upon Miss Wellwood, and pay littleMarianne Dixon's quarter for me? It is £1O, and it will save troubleif you would do it; besides that, I should like to hear of her and thelittle girl. I am sorry to hear you are not better, --perhaps coming heremay do you good. --Four o'clock. I have been keeping my letter in hopesof persuading papa to put in a note, but he says he had rather send amessage that he is quite ready to forgive and forget, and it will bebest to talk it over when you come. "

'Your affectionate cousin, 'A. F. MORVILLE. '

It was well he was not under his sister's eye, for he could not readthis letter calmly, and he was obliged to take several turns alongthe walk before he could recover his composure enough to appear in thebreakfast-room, where he found his sister alone, dealing her lettersinto separate packets of important and unimportant. 

'Good morning, Philip. Dr. Henley is obliged to go to Bramshaw thismorning, and has had an early breakfast. Have you been out?'

'Yes, it is very fine--I mean it will be--the haze is clearing. '

Margaret saw that he was unusually agitated, and not by grief; appliedherself to tea-making, and hoped his walk had given him an appetite; butthere seemed little chance of this so long were his pauses between eachmorsel, and so often did he lean back in his chair. 

'I am going to leave you on--on Friday, ' he said at length, abruptly. 

'Oh, are you going to Redclyffe?'

'No; to Hollywell. Lady Morville wishes me to be her little girl'ssponsor; I shall go to London on Friday, and on, the next day. '

'I am glad they have asked you. Does she write herself? Is she prettywell?

'Yes; she is to go down-stairs in a day or two. '

'I am rejoiced that she is recovering so well. Do you know whether sheis in tolerable spirits?'

'She writes cheerfully. '

'How many years is it since I saw her? She was quite a child, but verysweet-tempered and attentive to poor Charles, ' said Mrs. Henley, feelingmost amiably disposed towards her future sister-in-law. 

'Just so. Her gentleness and sweet temper were always beautiful; andshe has shown herself under her trials what it would be presumptuous topraise. '

Margaret had no doubt now, and thought he was ready for more opensympathy. 

'You must let me congratulate you now on this unexpected dawn of hope, after your long trial, my dear brother. It is a sort of unconsciousencouragement you could hardly hope for. '

'I did not know you knew anything of it, ' said Philip. 

'Ah! my dear brother, you betrayed yourself. You need not bedisconcerted; only a sister could see the real cause of your want ofspirits. Your manner at each mention of her, your anxiety, coupled withyour resolute avoidance of her--'

'Of whom? Do you know what you are talking of, sister!' said Philip, sternly. 

'Of Amabel, of course. '

Philip rose, perfectly awful in his height and indignation. 

'Sister!' he said--paused, and began again. 'I have been attached toLaura Edmonstone for years past, and Lady Morville knows it. '

'To Laura!' cried Mrs. Henley, in amaze. 'Are you engaged?' and, as hewas hardly prepared to answer, she continued, 'If you have not gone toofar to recede, only consider before you take any rash step. You comeinto this property without ready money, you will find endless claims, and if you marry at once, and without fortune, you will never be clearfrom difficulties. '

'I have considered, ' he replied, with cold loftiness that would havesilenced any one, not of the same determined mould. 

'You are positively committed, then!' she said, much vexed. 'Oh, Philip!I did not think you would have married for mere beauty. '

'I can hear no more discussion on this point, ' answered Philip, in theserious, calm tone that showed so much power over himself and every oneelse. 

It put Margaret to silence, though she was excessively disappointed tofind him thus involved just at his outset, when he might have marriedso much more advantageously. She was sorry, too, that she had shown heropinion so plainly, since it was to be, and hurt his feelings just ashe seemed to be thawing. She would fain have learned more; but he wascompletely shut up within himself, and never opened again to her. Shehad never before so grated on every delicate feeling in his mind; andhe only remained at her house because in his present state of health, he hardly knew where to bestow himself till it was time for him to go toHollywell. 

He went to call on Miss Wellwood, to whom his name was no slightrecommendation, and she met him eagerly, asking after Lady Morville, who, she said, had twice written to her most kindly about littleMarianne. 

It was a very pleasant visit, and a great relief. He looked at theplans, heard the fresh arrangements, admired, was interested, and tookpleasure in having something to tell Amabel. He asked for Marianne, andheard that she was one of the best of children--amiable, well-disposed, only almost too sensitive. Miss Wellwood said it was remarkable howdeep an impression Sir Guy had made upon her, and how affectionately sheremembered his kindness; and her distress at hearing of his death hadbeen far beyond what such a child could have been supposed to feel, bothin violence and in duration. 

Philip asked to see her, knowing it would please Amabel, and in shecame--a long, thin, nine-year-old child, just grown into the encumberingshyness, that is by no means one of the graces of "la vieillesse del'enfance". 

He wished to be kind and encouraging; but melancholy, added to hisnatural stateliness, made him very formidable; and poor Marianne wascapable of nothing beyond 'yes' or 'no. '

He told her he was going to see Lady Morville and her little girl, whereat she eagerly raised her eyes, then shrank in affright at anythingso tall, and so unlike Sir Guy. He said the baby was to be christenednext Sunday, and Miss Wellwood helped him out by asking the name. 

'Mary, ' he said, for he was by no means inclined to explain the Verena, though he knew not half what it conveyed to Amabel. 

Lastly, he asked if Marianne had any message; when she hung down herhead, and whispered to Miss Wellwood, what proved to be 'My love to dearlittle cousin Mary. '

He promised to deliver it, and departed, wishing he could more easilyunbend. 

CHAPTER 40

 Blest, though every tear that falls Doth in its silence of past sorrow tell, And makes a meeting seem most like a dear farewell. --WORDSWORTH

On Saturday afternoon, about half-past five, Philip Morville foundhimself driving up to the well-known front door of Hollywell. At thedoor he heard that every one was out excepting Lady Morville, who nevercame down till the evening, save for a drive in the carriage. 

He entered the drawing-room, and gazed on the scene where he had spentso many happy hours, only darkened by that one evil spot, that hadgrown till it not only poisoned his own mind, but cast a gloom over thatbright home. 

All was as usual. Charles's sofa, little table, books, and inkstand, thework-boxes on the table, the newspaper in Mr. Edmonstone's old folds. Only the piano was closed, and an accumulation of books on the hingetold how long it had been so; and the plants in the bay window werebrown and dry, not as when they were Amabel's cherished nurslings. Heremembered Amabel's laughing face and abundant curls, when she carriedin the camellia, and thought how little he guessed then that he shouldbe the destroyer of the happiness of her young life. How should he meether--a widow in her father's house--or look at her fatherless child?He wondered how he had borne to come thither at all, and shrank at thethought that this very evening, in a few hours, he must see her. 

The outer door opened, there was a soft step, and Amabel stood beforehim, pale, quiet, and with a smile of welcome. Her bands of hair lookedglossy under her widow's cap, and the deep black of her dress wasrelieved by the white robes of the babe that lay on her arm. She heldout her hand, and he pressed it in silence. 

'I thought you would like just to see baby, ' said she, in a voicesomething like apology. 

He held out his arms to take it, for which Amy was by no means prepared. She was not quite happy even in trusting it in her sister's arms, andshe supposed he had never before touched an infant. But that was allnonsense, and she would not vex him with showing any reluctance; so shelaid the little one on his arm, and saw his great hand holding it mostcarefully, but the next moment he turned abruptly from her. Poor sillylittle Amy, her heart beat not a little till he turned back, restoredthe babe, and while he walked hastily to the window, she saw that twolarge tear-drops had fallen on the white folds of its mantle. She didnot speak; she guessed how much he must feel in thus holding Guy'schild, and, besides, her own tears would now flow so easily that shemust be on her guard. She sat down, settled the little one on her knee, and gave him time to recover himself. 

Presently he came and stood by her saying, in a most decided tone, 'Amabel, you must let me do this child justice. '

She looked up, wondering what he could mean. 

'I will not delay in taking steps for restoring her inheritance, ' saidhe, hoping by determination to overpower Amabel, and make her believe ita settled and a right thing. 

'O Philip, you are not thinking of that!'

'It is to be done. '

'You would not be so unkind to this poor little girl, ' said Amy, with apersuasive smile, partaking of her old playfulness, adding, very muchin earnest, 'Pray put it out of your head directly, for it would be verywrong. '

The nurse knocked at the door to fetch the baby, as Amabel had desired. When this interruption was over, Philip came and sat down opposite toher, and began with his most decided manner:--

'You must listen to me, Amy, and not allow any scruples to prevent youfrom permitting your child to be restored to her just rights. You mustsee that the estate has come to me by circumstances such that no honestman can be justified in retaining it. The entail was made to excludefemales, only because of the old Lady Granard. It is your duty toconsent. '

'The property has always gone in the male line, ' replied Amabel. 

'There never was such a state of things. Old Sir Guy could never havethought of entailing it away from his own descendant on a distantcousin. It would be wrong of me to profit by these unforeseencontingencies, and you ought not, in justice to your child, to object. '

He spoke so forcibly and decidedly that he thought he must haveprevailed. But not one whit convinced, Amabel answered, in her owngentle voice, but beginning with a business-like argument:--'Such apossibility was contemplated. It was all provided for in the marriagesettlements. Indeed, I am afraid that, as it is, she will be a greatdeal too rich. Besides, Philip, I am sure this is exactly what Guy wouldhave chosen, ' and the tears rose in her eyes. 'The first thing that cameinto my head when she was born, was, that it was just what he wished, that I should have her for myself, and that you should take care ofRedclyffe. I am certain now that he hoped it would be so. I know--indeedI do--that he took great pleasure in thinking of its being in yourhands, and of your going on with all he began. You can't have forgottenhow much he left in your charge? If you were to give it up, it would beagainst his desire; and with that knowledge, how could I suffer it?Then think what a misfortune to her, poor little thing, to be a greatheiress, and how very bad for Redclyffe to have no better a managerthan me! Oh, Philip, can you not see it is best as it is, and just as hewished?'

He almost groaned--'If you could guess what a burden it is. '

'Ah! but you must carry it, not throw it down on such hands as mine andthat tiny baby's, ' said she, smiling. 

'It would have been the same if it had been a boy. '

'Yes; then I must have done the best I could, and there would have beenan end to look to, but I am so glad to be spared. And you are so fit forit, and will make it turn to so much use to every one. '

'I don't feel as if I should ever be of use to any one, ' said Philip, ina tone of complete dejection. 

'Your head is aching, ' said she, kindly. 

'It always does, more or less, ' replied he, resting it on his hand. 

'I am so sorry. Has it been so ever since you were ill? But you arebetter? You look better than when I saw you last. '

'I am better on the whole, but I doubt whether I shall ever be as strongas I used to be. That ought to make me hesitate, even if--' then came apause, while he put his hand over his face, and seemed struggling withirrepressible emotion; and after all he was obliged to take two walks tothe window before he could recover composure, and could ask in a voicewhich he tried to make calm and steady, though his face was deeplyflushed--'Amy, how is Laura?'

'She is very well, ' answered Amabel. 'Only you must not be taken bysurprise if you see her looking thinner. '

'And she has trusted--she has endured through all?' said he, withinquiring earnestness. 

'O yes!'

'And they--your father and mother--can forgive?'

'They do--they have. But, Philip, it was one of the things I came downto say to you. I don't think you must expect papa to begin about ithimself. You know he does not like awkwardness, though he will be veryglad when once it is done, and ready to meet you half way. ' He did notanswer, and after a silence Amabel added, 'Laura is out of doors. Sheand Charlotte take very long walks. '

'And is she really strong and well, or is it that excited overdoing ofemployment that I first set her upon?' he asked, anxiously. 

'She is perfectly well, and to be busy has been a great help to her, 'said Amabel. 'It was a great comfort that we did not know how ill youhad been at Corfu, till the worst was over. Eveleen only mentioned itwhen you were better. I was very anxious, for I had some fears from thenote that you sent by Arnaud. I am very glad to see you safe here, for Ihave felt all along that we forsook you; but I could not help it. '

'I am very glad you did not stay. The worst of all would have been thatyou should have run any risk. '

'There is the carriage, ' said Amy. 'Mamma and Charlie have been toBroadstone. They thought they might meet you by the late train. '

Philip's colour rose. He stood up--sat down; then rising once more, leant on the mantel-piece, scarcely knowing how to face either ofthem--his aunt, with her well-merited displeasure, and Charles, whowhen he parted with him had accused him so justly--Charles, who had seenthrough him and had been treated with scorn. 

A few moments, and Charles came in, leaning on his mother. They bothshook hands, exclaimed at finding Amabel downstairs, and Mrs. Edmonstoneasked after Philip's health in her would-be cordial manner. The twoladies then went up-stairs together, and thus ended that conference, in which both parties had shown rare magnanimity, of which they wereperfectly unconscious; and perhaps the most remarkable part of allwas that Philip quietly gave up the great renunciation and so-calledsacrifice, with which he had been feeding his hopes, at the simplebidding of the gentle-spoken Amabel--not even telling her that heresigned it. He kept the possessions which he abhorred, and gave up therenunciation he had longed to make, and in this lay the true sacrifice, the greater because the world would think him the gainer. 

When the mother and daughter were gone, the cousins were silent, Philipresting his elbow on the mantel-shelf and his head on his hand, andCharles sitting at the end of the sofa, warming first one hand, then theother, while he looked up to the altered face, and perceived in it griefand humiliation almost as plainly as illness. His keen eyes read thatthe sorrow was indeed more deeply rooted than he had hitherto believed, and that Amabel's pity had not been wasted; and he was also struck bythe change from the great personal strength that used to make nothing oflifting his whole weight. 

'I am sorry to see you so pulled down, ' said he. 'We must try if we candoctor you better than they did at St. Mildred's. Are you getting on, doyou think?'

He had hardly ever spoken to Philip, so entirely without eitherbitterness or sarcasm, and his manner hardly seemed like that of thesame person. 

'Thank you, I am growing stronger; but as long as I cannot get rid ofthis headache, I am good for nothing. '

'You have had a long spell of illness indeed, ' said Charles. 'You can'texpect to shake off two fevers in no time. Now all the anxiety is over, you will brighten like this house. '

'But tell me, what is thought of Amabel? Is she as well as she ought tobe?'

'Yes, quite, they say--has recovered her strength very fast, and isin just the right spirits. She was churched yesterday, and was notthe worse for it. It was a trial, for she had not been to East-hillsince--since last May. '

'It is a blessing, indeed, ' said Philip, earnestly. 

'She has been so very happy with the baby, ' said Charles. 'You hear whatits name is to be?'

'Yes, she told me in her letter. '

'To avoid having to tell you here, I suppose. Mary is for common wear, Verena is for ourselves. She asked if it would be too foolish to givesuch a name, and mamma said the only question was, whether she wouldlike indifferent people to ask the reason of it. '

Philip lapsed into thought, and presently said, abruptly, 'When last weparted you told me I was malignant. You were right. '

'Shake hands!' was all Charles's reply, and no more was said tillCharles rose, saying it was time to dress. Philip was about to help him, but he answered, 'No, thank you, I am above trusting to anything but myown crutches now; I am proud to show you what feats I can perform. '

Charles certainly did get on with less difficulty than heretofore, butit was more because he wanted to spare Philip fatigue than because hedisdained assistance, that he chose to go alone. Moreover, he did whathe had never done for any one before--he actually hopped the wholelength of the passage, beyond his own door to do the honours of Philip'sroom, and took a degree of pains for his comfort that seemed toomarvellous to be true in one who had hitherto only lived to be attendedon. 

By the time he had settled Philip, the rest of the party had come home, and he found himself wanted in the dressing-room, to help his motherto encourage his father to enter on the conversation with Philip in theevening, for poor Mr. Edmonstone was in such a worry and perplexity, that the whole space till the dinner-bell rang was insufficient toconsole him in. Laura, meanwhile, was with Amabel, who was trying tocheer her fluttering spirits and nerves, which, after having been solong harassed, gave way entirely at the moment of meeting Philip again. How would he regard her after her weakness in betraying him for wantof self-command? Might he not be wishing to be free of one who had sodisappointed him, and only persisting in the engagement from a sense ofhonour! The confidence in his affection, which had hitherto sustainedher, was failing; and not all Amabel could say would reassure her. Noone could judge of him but herself, his words were so cautious, and hehad so much command over himself, that nobody could guess. Of course hefelt bound to her; but if she saw one trace of his being only influencedby honour and pity, she would release him, and he should never see thestruggle. 

She had worked herself up into almost a certainty that so it would be, and Amabel was afraid she would not be fit to go down to dinner; but thesound of the bell, and the necessity of moving, seemed to restore thehabit of external composure in a moment. She settled her countenance, and left the room. 

Charlotte, meantime, had been dressing alone, and raging against Philip, declaring she could never bear to speak to him, and that if she was Amyshe would never have chosen him for a godfather. And to think of hismarrying just like a good hero in a book, and living very happy everafter! To be sure she was sorry for poor Laura; but it was all verywrong, and now they would be rewarded! How could Charlie be so provokingas to talk about his sorrow! She hoped he was sorry; and as to hisillness, it served him right. 

All this Charlotte communicated to Bustle; but Bustle had heard somemysterious noise, and insisted on going to investigate the cause; andCharlotte, finding her own domain dark and cold, and private conferencesgoing on in Amabel's apartment and the dressing-room, was fain to followhim down-stairs, as soon as her toilet was complete, only hoping Philipwould keep out of the way. 

But, behold, there he was; and even Bustle was propitiated, for shefound him, his nose on Philip's knee, looking up in his face, andwagging his tail, while Philip stroked and patted him, and could hardlybear the appealing expression of the eyes, that, always wistful, nowseemed to every one to be looking for his master. 

To see this attention to Bustle won Charlotte over in a moment. 'How areyou, Philip? Good dog, dear old Bustle!' came in a breath, and they wereboth making much of the dog, when she amicably asked if he had seen thebaby, and became eager in telling about the christening. 

The dinner-bell brought every one down but Amabel. The trembling handsof Philip and Laura met for a moment, and they were in the dining-room. 

Diligently and dutifully did Charles and Mrs. Edmonstone keep up theconversation; the latter about her shopping, the former about theacquaintances who had come to speak to him as he sat in the carriage. Assoon as possible, Mrs. Edmonstone left the dining-room, then Laura flewup again to the dressing-room, sank down on a footstool by Amabel'sside, and exclaiming, 'O Amy, he is looking so ill!' burst into a floodof tears. 

The change had been a shock for which Laura had not been prepared. Amy, who had seen him look so much worse, had not thought of it, andit overcame Laura more than all her anxieties, lest his love should beforfeited. She sobbed inconsolably over the alteration, and it was longbefore Amabel could get her to hear that his face was much less thinnow, and that he was altogether much stronger; it was fatigue andanxiety to-night, and to-morrow he would be better. Laura proceededto brood over her belief that his altered demeanour, his settledmelancholy, his not seeking her eye, his cold shake of the hand, allarose from the diminution of his love, and his dislike to be encumberedwith a weak, foolish wife, with whom he had entangled himself when hedeemed her worthy of him. She dwelt on all this in silence, as shesat at her sister's feet, and Amy left her to think, only now and thengiving some caress to her hair or cheek, and at each touch the desolatewaste of life that poor Laura was unfolding before herself was renderedless dreary by the thought, 'I have my sister still, and she knowssorrow too. ' Then she half envied Amy, who had lost her dearest bydeath, and held his heart fast to the last; not, like herself, doomed tosee the love decay for which she had endured so long--decay at the verymoment when the suspense was over. 

Laura might justly have envied Amabel, though for another reason; it wasbecause in her cup there was no poison of her own infusing. 

There she stayed till Charlotte came to summon her to tea, saying thegentlemen, except Charles, were still in the dining-room. 

They had remained sitting over the fire for a considerable space, waiting for each other to begin, Mr. Edmonstone irresolute, Philipstriving to master his feelings, and to prevent increasing pain andconfusion from making him forget what he intended, to say. At last, Mr. Edmonstone started up, pulled out his keys, took a candle, and said, 'Come to the study--I'll give you the Redclyffe papers. '

'Thank you, ' said Philip, also rising, but only because he could not sitwhile his uncle stood. 'Not to-night, if you please. I could not attendto them. '

'What, your head? Eh?'

'Partly. Besides, there is another subject on which I hope you will setme at rest before I can enter on any other. '

'Yes--yes--I know, ' said Mr. Edmonstone, moving uneasily. 

'I am perfectly conscious how deeply I have offended. '

Mr. Edmonstone could not endure the apology. 

'Well, well, ' he broke in nervously, 'I know all that, and it can't behelped. Say no more about it. Young people will be foolish, and I havebeen young and in love myself. '

That Captain Morville should live to be thankful for being forgiven inconsideration of Mr. Edmonstone's having been young!

'May I then consider myself as pardoned, and as having obtained yoursanction?'

'Yes, yes, yes; and I hope it will cheer poor Laura up again a little. Four years has it gone on? Constancy, indeed! and it is time it shouldbe rewarded. We little thought what you were up to, so grave and demureas you both were. So you won't have the papers to-night? I can't sayyou do look fit for business. Perhaps Laura may suit you better--eh, Philip?'

Love-making was such a charming sight to Mr. Edmonstone, that havingonce begun to look on Philip and Laura as a pair of lovers, he could nothelp being delighted, and forgetting, as well as forgiving, all that hadbeen wrong. 

They did not, however, exactly answer his ideas; Laura did not once lookup, and Philip, instead of going boldly to take the place next her, satdown, holding his hand to his forehead, as if too much overpowered byindisposition to think of anything else. Such was in great measure thecase; he was very much fatigued with the journey, and these differentagitating scenes had increased the pain in his head to a violent degree;besides which, feeling that his aunt still regarded him as she didat Recoara, he could not bear to make any demonstration towards Laurabefore her, lest she might think it a sort of triumphant disregard ofher just displeasure. 

Poor Laura saw in it both severe suffering and dislike to her; and themore she understood from her father's manner what had passed in theother room, the more she honoured him for the sacrifice he was making ofhimself. 

Mrs. Edmonstone waited on the headache with painful attention, but theyall felt that the only thing to be done for the two poor things wasto let them come to an explanation; so Charlotte was sent to bed, hermother went up to Amy, Charles carried off his father to the study, andthey found themselves alone. 

Laura held down her face, and struggled to make her palpitating heartand dry tongue suffer her to begin the words to which she had woundherself up. Philip raised his hands from his eyes as the door shut, thenrose up, and fixed them on Laura. She, too, looked up, as if to begin;their eyes met, and they understood all. He stepped towards her, andheld out his hands. The next moment both hers were clasped in his--hehad bent down and kissed her brow. 

No words of explanation passed between them. Laura knew he was her own, and needed no assurance that her misgivings had been vain. There was astart of extreme joy, such as she had known twice before, but it couldbe only for a moment while he looked so wretchedly unwell. It did butgive her the right to attend to him. The first thing she said was to beghim to lie down on the sofa; her only care was to make him comfortablewith cushions, and he was too entirely worn out to say anything he hadintended, capable only of giving himself up to the repose of knowing herentirely his own, and of having her to take care of him. There he layon the sofa, with his eyes shut, and Laura's hand in his, while she satbeside him, neither of them speaking; and, excepting that she withdrewher hand, neither moved when the others returned. 

Mrs. Edmonstone compassionated him, and showed a great deal ofsolicitude about him, trying hard to regard him as she used to do, yetunable to bring back the feeling, and therefore, do what she would, failing to wear its semblance. 

Laura, sad, anxious, and restless, had no relief till she went to wishher sister good night. Amabel, who was already in bed, stretched out herhand with a sweet look, beaming with affection and congratulation. 

'You don't want to be convinced now that all is right!' said she. 

'His head is so dreadfully bad!' said Laura. 

'Ah! it will get better now his mind is at rest. '

'If it will but do so!'

'And you know you must be happy to-morrow, because of baby. '

'My dear, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, coming in, 'I am sorry to prevent yourtalk, but Amy must not be kept awake. She must keep her strength forto-morrow. '

'Good night, then, dear, dear Laura. I am so glad your trouble is over, and you have him again!' whispered Amabel, with her parting kiss; andLaura went away, better able to hope, to pray, and to rest, than shecould have thought possible when she left the drawing-room. 

'Poor dear Laura, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, sighing; 'I hope he will soonbe better. '

'Has it been very uncomfortable?'

'I can't say much for it, my dear. He was suffering terribly with hishead, so that I should have been quite alarmed if he had not said it wasapt to get worse in the evening; and she, poor thing, was only watchinghim. However, it is a comfort to have matters settled; and papa andCharlie are well pleased with him. But I must not keep you awake afterdriving Laura away. You are not over-tired to-night I hope, my dear?'

'Oh, no; only sleepy. Good night, dearest mamma. '

'Good night, my own Amy;' then, as Amy put back the coverings to showthe little face nestled to sleep on her bosom, 'good night, you littledarling! don't disturb your mamma. How comfortable you look! Good night, my dearest!'

Mrs. Edmonstone looked for a moment, while trying to check the tearsthat came at the thought of the night, one brief year ago, when she leftAmy sleeping in the light of the Easter moon. Yet the sense of peace andserenity that had then given especial loveliness to the maiden'schamber on that night, was there still with the young widow. It was dimlamplight now that beamed on the portrait of her husband, casting on itthe shade of the little wooden cross in front, while she was shaded bythe white curtains drawn from her bed round the infant's little cot, so as to shut them both into the quiet twilight, where she lay withan expression of countenance that, though it was not sorrow, made Mrs. Edmonstone more ready to weep than if it had been; so with her last goodnight she left her. 

And Amabel always liked to be shut in by herself, dearly as she lovedthem all, and mamma especially; there was always something pleasant inbeing able to return to her own world, to rest in the thoughts of herhusband, and in the possession of the little unconscious creature thathad come to inhabit that inner world of hers, the creature that was onlyhis and hers. 

She had from the first always felt herself less lonely when quitealone, before with his papers, and now with his child; and could Mrs. Edmonstone have seen her face, she would have wept and wondered more, asAmy fondled and hushed her babe, whispering to it fond words which shecould never have uttered in the presence of any one who could understandthem, and which had much of her extreme youthfulness in them. Not onewas so often repeated or so endearing as 'Guy's baby! Guy's own dearlittle girl!' It did not mean half so much when she called it her baby;and she loved to tell the little one that her father had been the bestand the dearest, but he was gone away, and would she be contented to beloving and good with only her mother to take care of her, and tell her, as well as she could, what a father hers was, when she was old enough toknow about him?

To-night, Amy told her much in that soft, solemn, murmuring tone, aboutwhat was to befall her to-morrow, and the great blessings to be givento her, and how the poor little fatherless one would be embraced in thearms of His mercy, and received by her great Father in heaven:--'Ay, andbrought nearer to your own papa, and know him in some inner way, and hewill know his little child then, for you will be as good and pure andbright as he, and you will belong to the great communion of saintsto-morrow, you precious little one, and be so much nearer to him as youwill be so much better than I. Oh! baby, if we can but both endure tothe end!'

With such half-uttered words, Amabel Morville slept the night before herbabe's christening. 

CHAPTER 41

 A stranger's roof to hold thy head, A stranger's foot thy grave to tread; Desert and rock, and Alp and sea, Spreading between thy home and thee. --SEWELL

Mary Ross was eager for the first report from Hollywell the nextmorning, and had some difficulty in keeping her attention fixed on herclass at school. Laura and Charlotte came in together in due time, andsatisfied her so far as to tell her that Amy was very well. 

'Is Captain Morville come?' thought Mary. 'No, I cannot guess by Laura'simpressive face. Never mind, Charles will tell me all between services. '

The first thing she saw on coming out of school was the pony carriage, with Charles and Captain Morville himself. Charlotte, who was allexcitement, had time to say, while her sister was out of hearing, --

'It is all made up now, Mary, and I really am very sorry for Philip. '

It was fortunate that Mary understood the amiable meaning this speechwas intended to convey, and she began to enter into its grounds in theshort conference after church, when she saw the alteration in the wholeexpression of countenance. 

'Yes, ' said Charles, who as usual remained at the vicarage during thetwo services, and who perceived what passed in her mind, 'if it is anysatisfaction to you to have a good opinion of your fellow-sponsor, Iassure you that I am converted to Amy's opinion. I do believe the blackdog is off his back for good and all. '

'I never saw any one more changed, ' said Mary. 

'Regularly tamed, ' said Charles. He is something more like his old selfto-day than last night, and yet not much. He was perfectly overpoweredthen--so knocked up that there was no judging of him. To-day he has allhis sedateness and scrupulous attention, but all like a shadow of formertime--not a morsel of sententiousness, and seeming positively gratefulto be treated in the old fashion. '

'He looks very thin and pale. Do you think him recovered?'

'A good way from it, ' said Charles. 'He is pretty well to-day, comparatively, though that obstinate headache hangs about him. If thischange last longer than that and his white looks, I shall not evengrudge him the sponsorship Amy owed me. '

'Very magnanimous!' said Mary. 'Poor Laura! I am glad her suspense isover. I wondered to see her at school. '

'They are very sad and sober lovers, and it is the best way of notmaking themselves unbearable, considering--Well, that was a differentmatter. How little we should have believed it, if any one had told uslast year what would be the state of affairs to-day. By the bye, Amy'sgodson is christened to-day. '

'Who?'

'Didn't you hear that the Ashfords managed to get Amy asked if she woulddislike their calling their boy by that name we shall never hear again, and she was very much pleased, and made offer in her own pretty way tobe godmother. I wonder how Markham endures it! I believe he is nearlycrazy. He wrote me word he should certainly have given up all concernwith Redclyffe, but for the especial desire of--. What a state of mindhe will be in, when he remembers how he has been abusing the captain tome!'

The afternoon was fresh and clear, and there was a spring brightness inthe sunshine that Amabel took as a greeting to her little maiden, asshe was carried along the churchyard path. Many an eye was bent on themother and child, especially on the slight form, unseen since she hadlast walked down the aisle, her arm linked in her bridegroom's. 

'Little Amy Edmonstone, ' as they had scarcely learnt to cease fromcalling her, before she was among them again, the widowed Lady Morville;and with those kind looks of compassion for her, were joined manyaffectionate mourning thoughts of the young husband and father, lyingfar away in his foreign grave, and endeared by kindly remembrances toalmost all present. There was much of pity for his unconscious infant, and tears were shed at the thought of what the wife must be suffering;but if the face could have been seen beneath the thick crape foldsof her veil, it would have shown no tears--only a sweet, calm look ofpeace, and almost gladness. 

The babe was on her knees when the time for the christening came; shewas awake, and now and then making a little sound and as she was quieterwith her than any one else, Amabel thought she might herself carry herto the font. 

It was deep, grave happiness to stand there, with her child in her arms, and with an undefined sense that she was not alone as if in some mannerher husband was present with her; praying with her prayers, and joiningin offering up their treasure; when the babe was received into Mr. Ross's arms, and Amy, putting back her veil, gazed up with a wistful butserene look. 

'To her life's end?' Therewith came a vision of the sunrise at Recoara, and the more glorious dawn that had shone in Guy's dying smile, andAmabel knew what would be her best prayer for his little Mary Verena, asshe took her back, the drops glistening on her brow, her eyes open, andarms outspread. It was at that moment that Amabel was first thrilledwith a look in her child that was like its father. She had earnestly andoften sought a resemblance without being able honestly to own that sheperceived any; but now, though she knew not in what it consisted, therewas something in that baby face that recalled him more vividly thanpicture or memory. 

'Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace. '

Those words seemed to come from her own heart. She had brought Guy'sdaughter to be baptized, and completed his work of pardon, and she had ayearning to be departing in peace, whither her sunshine was gone. But hehad told her not to wish that his child should be motherless; she hadto train her to be fit to meet him. The sunshine was past, but shehad plenty to do in the shade, and it was for his sake. She would, therefore, be content to remain to fulfil her duties among the dear onesto whom he had trusted her for comfort, and with the sense of renewedcommunion with him that she had found in returning again to church. 

So felt Amabel, as she entered into the calm that followed the one yearin which she had passed through the great events of life, and known thechief joy and deepest grief that she could ever experience. 

It was far otherwise with her sister. Laura's term of trouble seemed tobe ending, and the spring of life beginning to dawn on her. 

Doubt and fear were past, she and Philip were secure of each other, he was pardoned, and they could be together without apprehension, orplaying tricks with their consciences; but she had as yet scarcely beenable to spend any time with him; and as Charles said, their ways werefar more grave and less lover-like than would have seemed natural aftertheir long separation. 

In truth, romantic and uncalculating as their attachment was, theynever had been lover-like. They had never had any fears or doubts; hersurrender of her soul had been total, and every thought, feeling, andjudgment had taken its colour from him as entirely as if she had been awife of many years' standing. She never opened her mind to perceive thathe had led her to act wrongly, and all her unhappiness had been fromanxiety for him, not repentance on her own account; for so complete washer idolatry, that she entirely overlooked her failure in duty to herparents. 

It took her by surprise when, as they set out together that evening towalk home from East-hill, he said, as soon as they were apart from thevillage--

'Laura, you have more to forgive than all. '

'Don't, speak so, Philip, pray don't. Do you think I would not haveborne far more unhappiness willingly for your sake? Is it not allforgotten as if it had not been?'

'It is not unhappiness I meant, ' he replied, 'though I cannot bearto think of what you have undergone. Unhappiness enough have I causedindeed. But I meant, that you have to forgive the advantage I took ofyour reliance on me to lead you into error, when you were too young toknow what it amounted to. '

'It was not an engagement, ' faltered Laura. 

'Laura, don't, for mercy's sake, recall my own hateful sophistries, 'exclaimed Philip, as if unable to control the pain it gave him; 'I havehad enough of that from my sister;' then softening instantly: 'it wasself-deceit; a deception first of myself, then of you. You had notexperience enough to know whither I was leading you, till I had involvedyou; and when the sight of death showed me the fallacy of the salve tomy conscience, I had nothing for it but to confess, and leave you tobear the consequences. O Laura! when I think of my conduct towards you, it seems even worse than that towards--towards your brother-in-law!'

His low, stern tone of bitter suffering and self-reproach was somethingnew and frightful to Laura. She clung to his arm and tried to say--'O, don't speak in that way! You know you meant the best. You could not helpbeing mistaken. '

'If I did know any such thing, Laura! but the misery of perceiving thatmy imagined anxiety for his good, --his good, indeed! was but a cloak formy personal enmity--you can little guess it. '

Laura tried to say that appearances were against Guy, but he would nothear. 

'If they were, I triumphed in them. I see now that a shade of honestdesire to see him exculpated would have enabled me to find the clue. IfI had gone to St. Mildred's at once--interrogated him as a friend--seenWellwood--but dwelling on the _ifs_ of the last two years can bringnothing but distraction, ' he added, pausing suddenly. 

'And remember, ' said Laura, 'that dear Guy himself was always gratefulto you. He always upheld that you acted for his good. Oh! the way hetook it was the one comfort I had last year. '

'The acutest sting, and yet the only balm, ' murmured Philip; 'see, Laura, ' and he opened the first leaf of Guy's prayer-book, which he hadbeen using at the christening. 

A whispered 'Dear Guy!' was the best answer she could make, and thetears were in her eyes. 'He was so very kind to me, when he saw me thatunhappy wedding-day. '

'Did Amy tell you his last words to me?'

'No, ' said Laura. 

'God bless you and my sister!' he repeated, so low that she could hardlyhear. 

'Amy left that for you to tell, ' said Laura, as her tears streamed fast. How can we speak of her, Philip?'

'Only as an angel of pardon and peace!' he answered. 

'I don't know how to tell you of all her kindness, ' said Laura; 'halfthe bitterness of it seemed to be over when once she was in the houseagain, and, all the winter, going into her room was like going into somepeaceful place where one must find comfort. '

'"Spirits of peace, where are ye" I could have said, when I saw herdrive away at Recoara, and carry all good angels with her except thosethat could not but hover round that grave. '

'How very sad it must have been! Did--'

'Don't speak of it; don't ask me of it' said Philip, hastily. 'Thereis nothing in my mind but a tumult of horror and darkness that it ismadness to remember. Tell me of yourself--tell me that you have not beenhurt by all that I have brought on you. '

'Oh, no!' said Laura 'besides, that is all at an end. '

'All an end! Laura, I fear in joining your fate to mine, you will findcare and grief by no means at an end. You must be content to marry asaddened, remorseful man, broken down in health and spirits, hiswhole life embittered by that fatal remembrance, forced to endure aninheritance that seems to have come like the prosperity of the wicked. Yet you are ready to take all this? Then, Laura, that precious, mostprecious love, that has endured through all, will be the one drop ofcomfort through the rest of my life. 

She could but hear such words with thrills of rejoicing affection; andon they walked, Laura trembling and struck with sorrow at the depth ofrepentance he now and then disclosed, though not in the least able tofathom it, thinking it all his nobleness of mind, justifying him toherself, idolizing him too much to own he had ever been wrong; yet theinnate power of tact and sympathy teaching her no longer to combathis self-reproaches, and repeat his former excuses, but rather to saysomething soothing and caressing, or put in some note of thankfulnessand admiration of Amy and Guy. This was the best thing she could dofor him, as she was not capable, like Amy, of acknowledging that hisrepentance was well-founded. She was a nurse, not a physician, tothe wounded spirit; but a very good and gentle nurse she was, and thethorough enjoyment of her affection and sympathy, the opening intoconfidence, and the freedom from doubt and suspense, were comforts thatwere doing him good every hour. 

The christening party consisted only of the Rosses, and Dr. Mayerne, who had joined them at East-hill church, and walked home with Mr. Edmonstone. They could not have been without him, so grateful were theyfor his kindness all through their anxious winter, and Mr. Edmonstonewas well pleased to tell him on the way home that they might look tohaving a wedding in the family; it had been a very long attachment, constancy as good as a story, and he could all along have told what wasthe matter, when mamma was calling in the doctor to account for Laura'slooking pale. 

The doctor was not surprised at the news, for perhaps he, too, had hadsome private theory about those pale looks; but, knowing pretty wellthe sentiments Charles had entertained the winter before last, he wascurious to find out how he regarded this engagement. Charles spoke ofit in the most ready cordial way. 'Well, doctor, so you have heard ournews! I flatter myself we have as tall and handsome a pair of lovers toexhibit here, as any in the United Kingdom, when we have fattened him alittle into condition. '

'Never was there a better match, ' said Dr. Mayerne. 'Made for eachother all along. One could not see them without feeling it was the firstchapter of a novel. '

When Mrs. Edmonstone came in, the doctor was a little taken aback. Hethought her mind must be with poor Sir Guy, and was afraid the lovershad been in such haste as to pain Lady Morville; for there was astaidness and want of "epanchement du coeur" of answering that was veryunlike her usual warm manner. At dinner, Mr. Edmonstone was in highspirits, delighted at Amy's recovery, happy to have a young man aboutthe house again, charmed to see two lovers together, pleased that Laurashould be mistress of Redclyffe, since it could not belong to Amy'schild; altogether, as joyous as ever. His wife, being at ease about Amy, did her best to smile, and even laugh, though sad at heart all the time, as she missed the father from the christening feast, and thought howhappy she had been in that far different reunion last year. It might bethe same with Charles; but the outward effect was exhibited in livelynonsense; Charlotte's spirits were rising fast, and only Philip andLaura themselves were grave and silent, she, the more so, because shewas disappointed to find that the one walk back from East-hill, much ashe had enjoyed it, had greatly tired Philip. However, the others talkedenough without them; and Mr. Edmonstone was very happy, drinking thehealth of Miss Morville, and himself carrying a bit of the christeningcake to the mamma in the drawing-room. 

There sat Amabel by the fire, knowing that from henceforth she mustexert herself to take part in the cheerfulness of the house, and willingto join the external rejoicing in her child's christening, or at leastnot to damp it by remaining up-stairs. Yet any one but Mr. Edmonstonewould have seen more sadness than pleasure in the sweet smile withwhich she met and thanked him; but they were cheerful tones in which shereplied, and in her presence everything was hushed and gentle, subdued, yet not mournful. The spirit of that evening was only recognized afterit was past, and then it ever grew fairer and sweeter in recollection, so as never to be forgotten by any of those who shared it. 

CHAPTER 42

 She was not changed when sorrow came, That awed the sternest men; It rather seemed she kept her flame To comfort us till then. 

 But sorrow passed, and others smiled With happiness once more; And she drew back the spirit mild She still had been before. --S. R. 

Philip's marriage could not take place at once. No one said, but everyone felt, that it must not be talked of till the end of Amabel's firstyear of widowhood; and in the meantime Philip remained at Hollywell, gaining strength every day, making more progress in one week than he haddone in six at St. Mildred's, finding that, as his strength returned, his mind and memory regained their tone, and he was as capable as everof applying to business, and, above all, much settled and comforted bysome long conversations with Mr. Ross. 

Still he could not endure the thought of being at Redclyffe. Thebusiness connected with it was always performed with pain and dislike, and he shrank with suffering at every casual mention of his goingthither. Mrs. Edmonstone began to wonder whether he could mean to lingerat Hollywell all the summer, and Amabel had some fears that it would endin his neglecting Redclyffe, till a letter arrived from Lord Thorndale, saying that his brother, the member for Moorworth, had long beenthinking of giving up his seat, and latterly had only waited inhopes that the succession at Redclyffe might come to Philip Morville. Moorworth was entirely under the Thorndale and Morville interest, andLord Thorndale wrote to propose that Philip should come forward at once, inviting him to Thorndale instead of going to his own empty house. 

To be in parliament had been one of the favourite visions of Philip'syouth, and for that very reason he hesitated, taking it as one of thestrange fulfilments of his desires that had become punishments. He couldnot but feel that as this unhappy load of wealth had descended on him, he was bound to make it as beneficial as he could to others, and notseeking for rest or luxury, to stand in the gap where every good man andtrue was needed. But still he dreaded his old love of distinction. Hedisliked a London life for Laura, and he thought that, precarious ashis health had become, it might expose her to much anxiety, since hewas determined that if he undertook it at all, he would never be an idlemember. 

It ended in his referring the decision to Laura, who, disliking London, fearful for his health, eager for his glory, and reluctant to keep backsuch a champion from the battle, was much perplexed, only desirous tosay what he wished, yet not able to make out what that might be. Shecarried her doubts to Charles and Amabel, who both pronounced that thethought of going to Redclyffe seemed far worse for him than any degreeof employment--that occupation of the mind was the best thing for hisspirits; and ended by recommending that Dr. Mayerne should be consulted. 

He was of the same opinion. He said a man could hardly have two feversfollowing, and one of them upon the brain, without having reason toremember them. That his constitution had been seriously weakened, andthere was an excitability of brain and nerves which made care requisite;but depression of spirits was the chief thing to guard against, and aLondon life, provided he did not overwork himself, was better for himthan solitude at Redclyffe. 

Accordingly Philip went to Thorndale, and was returned for Moorworthwithout opposition. Markham sent his nephew to transact business withhim at Thorndale, for he could not bear to meet him himself, and whilethere was any prospect of his coming to Redclyffe, walked about inparoxysms of grunting and ill-humour. The report that Mr. Morville wasengaged to the other Miss Edmonstone did but render him more furious, for he regarded it as a sort of outrage to Lady Morville's feelingsthat a courtship should be carried on in the house with her. She was atpresent the object of all his devoted affection for the family, and hewould not believe, but that she had been as much disappointed at thebirth of her daughter, as he was himself. He would not say one wordagainst Mr. Morville, but looked and growled enough to make Mr. Ashfordafraid that the new squire would find him very troublesome. 

The Ashfords were in a state of mind themselves to think that Mr. Morville ought to be everything excellent to make up for succeeding SirGuy; but having a very high opinion of him to begin with, they were verysorry to find all Redclyffe set against him. In common with the parish, they were very anxious for the first report of his arrival and at lengthhe came. James Thorndale, as before, drove him thither, coming to theAshfords while he was busy with Markham. He would not go up to the Park, he only went through some necessary business with Markham, and thenwalked down to the Cove, afterwards sitting for about ten minutes inMrs. Ashford's drawing-room. 

The result of the visit was that old James Robinson reported that thenew squire took on as much about poor Sir Guy as any one could do, andturned as pale as if he had been going into a swoon, when he spoke hisname and gave Ben his message. And as to poor Ben, the old man said, heregularly did cry like a child, and small blame to him, to hear thatSir Guy had took thought of him at such a time and so far away; and heverily believed Ben could never take again to his bad ways, after such amessage as that. 

Markham was gruff with the Robinsons for some time after and was evenheard to mutter something about worshipping the rising sun, an act ofidolatry of which he could not be accused, since it was in the mostgrudging manner that he allowed, that Mr. Morville's sole anxiety seemedto be to continue all Sir Guy had undertaken; while Mrs. Ashford, on theother hand was much affected by the account her cousin James had beengiving her of the grief that he had suffered at Sir Guy's death, hislong illness, his loss of spirits, the reluctance he had shown to comehere at all, and his present unconquerable dread of going to the Park. 

He was soon after in London, where, as far as could be judged in suchearly days, he seemed likely to distinguish himself according to thefondest hopes that Margaret or Laura could ever have entertained. Laurawas only afraid he was overworking himself, especially as, having atpresent little command of ready money, he lived in a small lodging, keptno horse, and did not enter into society; but she was reassured whenhe came to Hollywell for a day or two at Whitsuntide, not having indeedregained flesh or colour, but appearing quite well, in better spirits, and very eager about political affairs. 

All would have been right that summer, but that, as Philip observed, thefirst evening of his arrival, Amabel was not looking as well as she haddone at the time of the christening. She had, just after it, triedher strength and spirits too much, and had ever since been not exactlyunwell, but sad and weary, more dejected than ever before, unable tobear the sight of flowers or the sound of music, and evidently sufferingmuch under the recurrence of the season, which had been that ofher great happiness--the summer sunshine, the long evenings, thenightingale's songs. She was fatigued by the most trifling exertion, andseemed able to take interest in nothing but her baby, and a young widowin the village, who was in a decline; and though she was willing to doall that was asked of her, it was in a weary, melancholy manner, as ifshe had no peace but in being allowed to sit alone, drooping over herchild. 

From society she especially shrunk, avoiding every chance of meetingvisitors, and distressed and harassed when her father brought home someof his casual dinner guests, and was vexed not to see her come into thedrawing-room in the evening. If she did make the effort of coming, toplease him, she was so sure to be the worse for it, that her motherwould keep her up-stairs the next time, and try to prevent her fromknowing that her father was put out, and declared it was nonsense toexpect poor Amy to get up her spirits, while she never saw a livingsoul, and only sat moping in the dressing-room. 

A large dinner-party did not interfere with her, for even he could notexpect her to appear at it, and one of these he gave during Philip'svisit, for the pleasure of exhibiting such company as the M. P. ForMoorworth. After dinner, Charlotte told Mary Ross to go and see Amy. Not finding her in the dressing-room, she knocked at her own door. 'Comein, ' answered the low soft voice; and in the window, overhung by thelong shoots of the roses, Amabel's close cap and small head were seenagainst the deep-blue evening sky, as she sat in the summer twilight, her little one asleep in her cot. 

'Thank you for coming, ' said she. 'I thought you would not mind sittinghere with baby and me. I have sent Anne out walking. '

'How pretty she looks!' said Mary, stooping over the infant. 'Sleep isgiving her quite a colour; and how fast she grows!'

'Poor little woman!' said Amy, sighing. 

'Tired, Amy?' said Mary, sitting down, and taking up the littlelambswool shoe, that Amy had been knitting. 

'N--no, thank you, ' said Amy, with another sigh. 

'I am afraid you are. You have been walking to Alice Lamsden's again. '

'I don't think that tires me. Indeed, I believe the truth is, ' and hervoice sounded especially sad in the subdued tone in which she spoke, that she might not disturb the child, 'I am not so much tired with whatI do, which is little enough, as of the long, long life that is beforeme. '

Mary's heart was full, but she did not show her thought otherwise thanby a look towards the babe. 

'Yes, poor little darling, ' said Amabel, 'I know there is doublequantity to be done for her, but I am so sorry for her, when I think shemust grow up without knowing him. '

'She has you, though, ' Mary could not help saying, as she felt thatAmabel was superior to all save her husband. 

Perhaps Amy did not hear; she went up to the cot, and went on:--'If hehad but once seen her, if she had but had one kiss, one touch that Icould tell her of by and by, it would not seem as if she was so veryfatherless. Oh no, baby, I must wait, that you may know something about, him; for no one else can tell you so well what he was, though I can'ttell much!' She presently returned to her seat. 'No, I don't believe Ireally wish I was like poor Alice, ' said she; 'I hope not; I am sure Idon't for her sake. But, Mary, I never knew till I was well again howmuch I had reckoned on dying when she was born. I did not think I waswishing it, but it seemed likely, and I was obliged to arrange thingsin case of it. Then somehow, as he came back last spring, after that sadwinter, it seemed as if this spring, though he would not come back tome, I might be going to him. '

'But then she comforted you. '

'Yes, that she did, my precious one; I was so glad of her, it was a sortof having him again, and so it is still sometimes, and will be more so, I dare say. I am very thankful for her, indeed I am; and I hope I am notrepining, for it does not signify after all, in the end, if I am wearyand lonely sometimes. I wish I was sure it was not wrong. I know I don'twish to alter things. '

'No, I am sure you don't. '

'Ah!' said Amabel, smiling, 'it is only the old, silly little Amy thatdoes feel such a heart-aching and longing for one glance of his eye, ortouch of his hand, or sound of his foot in the passage. Oh, Mary, theworst of all is to wake up, after dreaming I have heard his voice. Thereis nothing for it but to take our baby and hold her very tight. '

'Dearest Amy! But you are not blaming yourself for these feelings. Itmight be wrong to indulge them and foster them; but while you strugglewith them, they can't in themselves be wrong. '

'I hope not, ' said Amabel pausing to think. 'Yes, I have "the joy" atthe bottom still; I know it is all quite right, and it came straightfrom heaven, as he said. I can get happy very often when I am by myself, or at church, with him; it is only when I miss his bright outsideand can't think myself into the inner part, that it is so forlorn anddreary. I can do pretty well alone. Only I wish I could help being sotroublesome and disagreeable to everybody' said Amy, concluding in amatter-of-fact tone. 

'My dear!' said Mary, almost laughing. 

'It is so stupid of me to be always poorly, and making mamma anxiouswhen there's nothing the matter with me. And I know I am a check onthem down-stairs--papa, and Charlotte, and all--they are very kind, considerate, and yet'--she paused--'and it is a naughty feeling; butwhen I feel all those dear kind eyes watching me always, and wanting meto be happy, it is rather oppressive, especially when I can't; but if Itry not to disappoint them, I do make such a bad hand of it, and am sureto break down afterwards, and that grieves mamma all the more. '

'It will be better when this time of year is over, ' said Mary. 

'Perhaps, yes. He always seemed to belong to summer days, and to comewith them. Well, I suppose trials always come in a different shape fromwhat one expects; for I used to think I could bear all the doom withhim, but, I did not know it would be without him, and yet that is thebest. Oh, baby!'

'I should not have come to disturb her. '

'No--never mind; she never settles fairly to sleep till we are shut inby ourselves. Hush! hush, darling--No? Will nothing do but being takenup? Well, then, there! Come, and show your godmamma what a black fringethose little wakeful eyes are getting. '

And when Mary went down it was with the conviction that those blackeyelashes, too marked to be very pretty in so young a babe, were more ofa comfort to Amabel than anything she could say. 

The evening wore on, and at length Laura came into her sister's room. She looked fagged and harassed, the old face she used to wear in thetime of disguise and secrecy, Amabel asked if it had been a tiresomeparty. 

'Yes--no--I don't know. Just like others, ' said Laura. 

'You are tired, at any rate, ' said Amabel. 'You took too long a ridewith Philip. I saw you come in very late. '

'I am not in the least tired, thank you. '

'Then he is, ' said Amabel. 'I hope he has not one of his headachesagain. '

'No, ' said Laura, still in a dissatisfied, uncomfortable tone. 

'No? Dear Laura, I am sure there is something wrong;' and with a littlemore of her winning, pleading kindness, she drew from Laura that Philiphad told her she idolized him. He had told her so very gently andkindly, but he had said she idolized him in a manner that was neithergood for herself nor him; and he went on to blame himself for it, whichwas what she could not bear. It had been rankling in her mind ever sincethat he had found fault with her for loving him so well, and it hadmade her very unhappy. She _could_ not love him less, and how should sheplease him? She had much rather he had blamed her than himself. 

'I think I see what he means' said Amy, thoughtfully. 'He has grownafraid of himself, and afraid of being admired now. '

'But how am I to help that, Amy?' said Laura, with tears in her eyes:'he cannot help being the first, the very first of all with me--'

'No, no, ' said Amy, quickly, 'not the very first, or what would you doif you were to be--like me? Don't turn away, dear Laura; I don't thinkI over could bear this at all, if dear Guy had not kept it always beforemy eyes from the very first that we were to look to something elsebesides each other. '

'Of course I meant the first earthly thing, ' said Laura; but it was notheartfelt--she knew she ought, therefore she thought she did. 

'And so, ' proceeded Amy, 'I think if that other is first, it would makeyou have some other standard of right besides himself, then you would bea stay and help to him. I think that is what he means. '

'Amy! let me ask you, ' said Laura, a little entreatingly, yet as if shemust needs put the question--'surely, you never thought Guy had faults?'

Her colour deepened. 'Yes, Laura, ' she answered, firmly. 'I could nothave understood his repentance if I had not thought so. And, dearLaura, if you will forgive me for saying it, it would be much better foryourself and Philip if you would see the truth. '

'I thought you forgave him, ' murmured Laura. 

'Oh, Laura! but does not that word "forgive" imply something? I couldnot have done anything to comfort him that day, if I had not believedhe had something to be comforted for. It can't be pleasant to him to seeyou think his repentance vain. '

'It is noble and great. '

'But if it was not real, it would be thrown away. Besides, dear Laura, do let me say this for once. If you would but understand that you lethim lead you into what was not right, and be really sorry for that, andshow mamma that you are, I do think it would all begin much more happilywhen you are married. '

'I could never have told, till I was obliged to betray myself, ' saidLaura. 'You know, Amy, it was no engagement. We never wrote to eachother, we had but one walk; it was no business of his to speak till hecould hope for papa's consent to our marriage. It would have been allconfusion if he had told, and that would have been only that we hadalways loved each other with all our hearts, which every one knewbefore. '

'Yet, Laura, it was what preyed on him when he thought he was dying. '

'Because it was the only thing like a fault he could think of, ' saidLaura, excited by this shade of blame to defend him vehemently--'becausehis scruples are high and noble and generous. '

She spoke so eagerly, that the baby's voice again broke on theconversation, and she was obliged to go away; but though her idolatrywas complete, it did not seem to give full satisfaction or repose. As toPhilip, though his love for her was unchanged, it now and then wasfelt, though not owned by him, that she was not fully a helpmeet, onlya 'Self'; not such a 'Self' as he had left at St. Mildred's, but stillreflecting on him his former character, instead of aiding him to a newone. 

CHAPTER 43

 But nature to its inmost part Faith had refined; and to her heart A peaceful cradle given, Calm as the dew drops free to rest Within a breeze-fanned rose's breast Till it exhales to heaven. --WORDSWORTH

It had long been a promise that Mr. Edmonstone should take Charlotte tovisit her grandmamma, in Ireland. They would have gone last autumn, but for Guy's illness, and now Aunt Charlotte wrote to hasten theperformance of the project. Lady Mabel was very anxious to see them, she said; and having grown much more infirm of late, seemed to thinkit would be the last meeting with her son. She talked so much of Mrs. Edmonstone and Laura, that it was plain that she wished extremely for avisit from them, though she did not like to ask it, in the present stateof the family. 

A special invitation was sent to Bustle; indeed, Charles said Charlottecould not have gone without his permission, for he reigned like a tyrantover her, evidently believing her created for no purpose but to wait onhim, and take him to walk. 

Laura was a great favourite at the cottage of Kilcoran, and felt sheought to offer to go. Philip fully agreed, and held out home hopes offollowing as soon as the session, was over, and he had been to Redclyffeabout some business that had been deferred too long. 

And now it appeared that Mr. Edmonstone had a great desire to takehis wife, and she herself said, that under any other circumstances sheshould have been very desirous of going. She had not been to Irelandfor fifteen years, and was sorry to have seen so little of hermother-in-law; and now that it had been proved that Charles could existwithout her, she would not have hesitated to leave him, but for Amabel'sstate of health and spirits, which made going from home out of thequestion. 

Charles and Amabel did not think so. It was not to be endured, that whengrandmamma wished for her, she should stay at home for them without realnecessity; besides, the fatigue, anxiety, and sorrow she had undergoneof late, had told on her, and had made her alter perceptibly, from beingremarkably fresh and youthful, to be somewhat aged; and the change to anew scene, where she could not be distressing herself at every failurein cheerfulness of poor Amy's, was just the thing to do her good. 

Amabel was not afraid of the sole charge of Charles or of the baby, forshe had been taught but too well to manage for herself, she understoodCharles very well, and had too much quiet good sense to be fancifulabout her very healthy baby. Though she was inexperienced, with oldnurse hard by, and Dr. Mayerne at Broadstone, there was no fear ofher not having good counsel enough. She was glad to be of some use, byenabling her mother to leave Charles, and her only fear was of beingdull company for him; but as he was so kind as to bear it, she woulddo her best, and perhaps their neighbours would come and enliven himsometimes. 

Charles threw his influence into the same scale. His affectionateobservation had shown him that it oppressed Amabel's spirits to be theobject of such constant solicitude, and he was convinced it would bebetter for her, both to have some necessary occupation and to be freefrom that perpetual mournful watching of her mother's that caused herto make the efforts to be cheerful which did her more harm than anythingelse. 

To let her alone to look and speak as she pleased without the fear ofpaining and disappointing those she loved, keep the house quiet, andgive her the employment of household cares and attending on himself, was, he thought, the best thing for her; and he was full of eagernessand pleasure at the very notion of being of service to her, if only bybeing good for nothing but to be waited on. He thought privately thatthe spring of his mother's mind had been so much injured by the griefshe had herself suffered for 'her son Guy, ' her cruel disappointment inLaura, and the way in which she threw herself into all Amy's affliction, that there was a general depression in her way of observing andattending Amy, which did further harm; and that to change the current ofher thoughts, and bring her home refreshed and inspirited, would be thebeginning of improvement in all. Or, as he expressed it to Dr. Mayerne, 'We shall set off on a new tack. '

His counsel and Mr. Edmonstone's wishes at length decided mamma, oncondition that Mary Ross and Dr. Mayerne would promise to write onalternate weeks a full report, moral and physical, as Charles calledit. So in due time the goods were packed, Mrs. Edmonstone cried heartilyover the baby, advised Amabel endlessly about her, and finally lookedback through her tears, as she drove away, to see Charles nodding andwaving his hand at the bay-window, and Amabel standing with her partingsmile and good-bye on the steps. 

The reports, moral and physical, proved that Charles had judged wisely. Amabel was less languid as she had more cause for exertion, andseemed relieved by the absence of noise and hurry, spending more timedown-stairs, and appearing less weary in the evening. She still avoidedthe garden, but she began to like short drives with her brother in thepony-carriage, when he drove on in silence, and let her lean back andgaze up into the sky, or into the far distance, undisturbed. Nowand then he would be rejoiced by a bright, genuine smile, perfectlyrefreshing, at some of the pretty ways of the babe, a small but plumpand lively creature, beginning to grasp with her hands, laugh and gazeabout with eyes that gave promise of the peculiar colour and brilliancyof her father's. Amabel was afraid she might be tempted into givingCharles too much of the little lady's society; but he was very fond ofher, regarding her with an odd mixture of curiosity and amusement, muchentertained with watching what he called her unaccountable manners, and greatly flattered when he could succeed in attracting her notice. Indeed, the first time she looked full at him with a smile on the vergeof a laugh, it completely overcame him, by the indescribably forciblemanner in which it suddenly recalled the face which had always shone onhim like a sunbeam. Above all, it was worth anything to see the looksshe awoke in her mother, for which he must have loved her, even had shenot been Guy's child. 

In the evening, especially on Sunday, Amabel would sometimes talk to himas she had never yet been able to do, about her last summer's journey, and her stay at Recoara, and his way of listening and answering had init something that gave her great pleasure; while, on his side, he deemedeach fresh word of Guy's a sort of treasure for which to be gratefulto her. The brother and sister were a great help and happiness to eachother; Amabel found herself restored to Charles, as Guy had liked tothink of her, and Charles felt as if the old childish fancies werefulfilled, in which he and Amy were always to keep house together. Hewas not in the least dull; and though his good-natured visitors in themorning were welcome, and received with plenty of his gay lively talk, he did not by any means stand in need of the compassion they felt forhim, and could have done very well without them; while the eveningsalone with Amy had in them something so pleasant that they were almostbetter than those when Mr. Ross and Mary came to tea. He wrote word tohis mother that she might be quite at ease about them, and he thoughtAmy would get through the anniversaries of September better while thehouse was quiet, so that she need not think of trying to hurry home. 

He was glad to have done so, for the letters, which scarcely missed aday in being written by his mother and Charlotte, seemed to show thattheir stay was likely to be long. Lady Mabel was more broken than theyhad expected, and claimed a long visit, as she was sure it would betheir last, while the Kilcoran party had taken possession of Laura andCharlotte, as if they never meant to let them go. Charlotte wrote herbrother very full and very droll accounts of the Iricisms around herwhich she enjoyed thoroughly, and Charles, declaring he never expectedto see little Charlotte come out in the character of the facetiouscorrespondent, used to send Mary Ross into fits of laughing by what heread to her. Mr. Fielder, the tutor, wrote Charlotte, was very nearlyequal to Eveleen's description of him, but very particularly agreeable, in fact, the only man who had any conversation, whom she had seen sinceshe had been at Kilcoran. 

'Imagine, ' said Charles, 'the impertinent little puss setting up forintellectual conversation, forsooth!'

'That's what comes of living with good company, ' said Mary. 

The brother and sister used sometimes to drive to Broadstone to fetchtheir letters by the second post. 

'Charlotte, of course, ' said Charles, as he opened one. 'My LadyMorville, what's yours?'

'Only Mr. Markham, ' said Amabel, 'about the winding up of our businesstogether, I suppose. What does Charlotte say?'

'Charlotte is in a fit of impudence, for which she deserveschastisement, ' said Charles, unable to help laughing, as he read, --

'Our last event was a call from the fidus Achates, who, it seems, can nolonger wander up and down the Mediterranean without his pius Aeneas, and so has left the army, and got a diplomatic appointment somewhere inGermany. Lord Kilcoran has asked him to come and stay here, and Mabeland I are quite sure he comes for a purpose. Of course he has chosenthis time, in order that he may be able to have his companion before hiseyes, as a model for courtship, and I wish I had you to help me lookon whenever Philip comes, as that laugh I must enjoy alone with Bustle. However, when Philip will come we cannot think, for we have heardnothing of him this age, not even Laura, and she is beginning to lookvery anxious about him. Do tell us if you know anything about him. The last letter was when parliament was prorogued, and he was going toRedclyffe, at least three weeks ago. '

'I wonder if Mr. Markham mentions him, ' said Amabel, hastily unfoldingher letter, which was, as she expected, about the executors' business, but glancing on to the end, she exclaimed, --

'Ah! here it is. Listen, Charlie. "Mr. Morville has been here forthe last few weeks, and is, I fear, very unwell. He has been entirelyconfined to the house, almost ever since his arrival, by violentheadache, which has completely disabled him from attending to business;but he will not call in any advice. I make a point of going to see himevery day, though I believe my presence is anything but acceptable, asin his present state of health and spirits, I cannot think it right thathe should be left to servants. " Poor fellow! Redclyffe has been too muchfor him. '

'Over-worked, I suppose, ' said Charles. 'I thought he was coming itpretty strong these last few weeks. '

'Not even writing to Laura! How very bad he must be! I will write atonce to ask Mr. Markham for more particulars. '

She did so, and on the third day they drove again to fetch the answer. It was a much worse account. Mr. Morville was, said Markham, sufferingdreadfully from headache, and lay on the sofa all day, almost unable tospeak or move, but resolved against having medical advice, though hisown treatment of himself did not at all succeed in relieving him. Therewas extreme depression of spirits, and an unwillingness to see any one. He had positively refused to admit either Lord Thorndale or Mr. Ashford, and would hardly bear to see Markham himself, who, indeed, only forcedhis presence on him from thinking it unfit to leave him entirely to theservants, and would be much relieved if some of Mr. Morville's friendswere present to free him from the responsibility. 

'Hem!' said Charles. 'I can't say it sounds comfortable. '

'It is just as I feared!' said Amy. 'Great excitability of brain andnerve, Dr. Mayerne said. All the danger of a brain fever again! PoorLaura! What is to be done?'

Charles was silent. 

'It is for want of some one to talk to him, ' said Amabel. 'I know howhe broods over his sad recollections, and Redclyffe must make it so muchworse. If mamma and Laura were but at home to go to him, it might savehim, and it would be fearful for him to have another illness, reduced ashe is. How I wish he was here!'

'He cannot come, I suppose, ' said Charles, 'or he would be in Ireland. '

'Yes. How well Guy knew when he said it would be worse for him than forme! How I wish I could do something now to make up for running away fromhim in Italy. If I was but at Redclyffe!'

'Do you really wish it?' said Charles, surprised. 

'Yes, if I could do him any good. '

'Would you go there?'

'If I had but papa or mamma to go with me. '

'Do you think I should do as well?'

'Charlie!'

'If you think there would be any use in it, and choose to take thetrouble of lugging me about the country, I don't see why you shouldnot. '

'Oh! Charlie, how very, kind! How thankful poor Laura will be to you! Ido believe it will save him!' cried Amabel, eagerly. 

'But, Amy, '--he paused--'shall you like to see Redclyffe?'

'Oh! that is no matter, ' said she, quickly. 'I had rather see afterPhilip than anything. I told you how he was made my charge, you know. And Laura! Only will it not be too tiring for you?'

'I can't see how it should hurt me. But I forget, what is to be doneabout your daughter?'

'I don't know what harm it could do her, ' said Amy, considering. 'Mrs. Gresham brought a baby of only three months old from Scotland the otherday, and she is six. It surely cannot hurt her, but we will ask Dr. Mayerne. '

'Mamma will never forgive us if we don't take the doctor into ourcouncils. '

'Arnaud can manage for us. We would sleep in London, and go on by anearly train, and we can take our--I mean my--carriage, for the journeyafter the railroad. It would not be too much for you. How soon could wego?'

'The sooner the better, ' said Charles. 'If we are to do him any good, itmust be speedily, or it will be a case of shutting the stable-door. Whynot to-morrow?'

The project was thoroughly discussed that evening, but still with thefeeling as if it could not be real, and when they parted at night theysaid, --'We will see how the scheme looks in the morning. '

Charles was still wondering whether it was a dream, when the first thinghe heard in the court below his window was--

'Here, William, here's a note from my lady for you to take to Dr. Mayerne. '

'They be none of them ill?' answered William's voice. 

'O no; my lady has been up this hour, and Mr. Charles has rung his bell. Stop, William, my lady said you were to call at Harris's and bring homea "Bradshaw". '

Reality, indeed, thought Charles, marvelling at his sister, and hiselastic spirits throwing him into the project with a sort of enjoyment, partaking of the pleasure of being of use, the spirit of enterprise, andthe 'fun' of starting independently on an expedition unknown to all thefamily. 

He met Amabel with a smile that showed both were determined. Heundertook to announce the plan to his mother, and she said she wouldwrite to tell Mr. Markham that as far as could be reckoned on two suchfrail people, they would be at Redclyffe the next evening, and he mustuse his own discretion about giving Mr. Morville the note which sheenclosed. 

Dr. Mayerne came in time for breakfast, and the letter from Markham wasat once given to him. 

'A baddish state of things, eh, doctor!' said Charles. 'Well, what doyou think this lady proposes? To set off forthwith, both of us, to takecharge of him. What do you think of that, Dr. Mayerne?'

'I should say it was the only chance for him, ' said the doctor, lookingonly at the latter. 'Spirits and health reacting on each other, I seeit plain enough. Over-worked in parliament, doing nothing in moderation, going down to that gloomy old place, dreaming away by himself, goingjust the right way to work himself into another attack on the brain, andthen he is done for. I don't know that you could do a wiser thing thango to him, for he is no more fit to tell what is good for him than achild. ' So spoke the doctor, thinking only of the patient till lookingup at the pair he was dismissing to such a charge, the helpless, crippled Charles, unable to cross the room without crutches, and Amabel, her delicate face and fragile figure in her widow's mourning, lookinglike a thing to be pitied and nursed with the tenderest care, with thatyoung child, too, he broke off and said--'But you don't mean you are inearnest?'

'Never more so in our lives, ' said Charles; on which Dr. Mayerne lookedso wonderingly and inquiringly at Amabel, that she answered, --

'Yes that we are, if you think it safe for Charles and baby. '

'Is there no one else to go? What's become of his sister?'

'That would never do, ' said Charles, 'that is not the question;' and hedetailed their plan. 

'Well, I don't see why it should not succeed, ' said the doctor, 'or howyou can any of you damage yourselves. '

'And baby?' said Amy. 

'What should happen to her, do you think?' said the doctor withhis kind, reassuring roughness. 'Unless you leave her behind in thecarriage, I don't see what harm she could come to, and even then, ifyou direct her properly, she will come safe to hand. ' Amabel smiled, andsaying she would fetch her to be inspected, ran up-stairs with the lightnimble step of former days. 

'There goes one of the smallest editions of the wonders of the world!'said Charles, covering a sigh with a smile. 'You don't think it will doher any harm?'

'Not if she wishes it. I have long thought a change, a break, wouldbe the best thing for her--poor child!--I should have sent her to thesea-side if you had been more movable, and if I had not seen every fussabout her made it worse. '

'That's what I call being a reasonable and valuable doctor, ' saidCharles. 'If you had routed the poor little thing out to the sea, shewould have only pined the more. But suppose the captain turns out toobad for her management, for old Markham seems in a proper taking?'

'Hem! No, I don't expect it is come to that. '

'Be that as it may, I have a head, if nothing else, and some one iswanted. I'll write to you according as we find Philip. '

The doctor was wanted for another private interview, in which to assureAmabel that there was no danger for Charles, and then, after promisingto come to Redclyffe if there was occasion, and engaging to write andtell Mrs. Edmonstone they had his consent, he departed to meet them byand by at the station, and put Charles into the carriage. 

A very busy morning followed; Amabel arranged household affairs asbefitted the vice-queen; took care that Charles's comforts were providedfor; wrote many a note; herself took down Guy's picture, and laid it inher box, before Anne commenced her packing; and lastly, walked down tothe village to take leave of Alice Lamsden. 

Just as the last hues of sunset were fading, on the following evening, Lady Morville and Charles Edmonstone were passing from the moor intothe wooded valley of Redclyffe. Since leaving Moorworth not a word hadpassed. Charles sat earnestly watching his sister; though there was toomuch crape in the way for him to see her face, and she was perfectlystill, so that all he could judge by was the close, rigid claspingtogether of the hands, resting on the sleeping infant's white mantle. Each spot recalled to him some description of Guy's, the church-tower, the school with the two large new windows, the park wall, the risingground within. What was she feeling? He did not dare to address her, till, at the lodge-gate, he exclaimed--'There's Markham;' and, at thesame time, was conscious of a feeling between hope and fear, that thismight after all be a fool's errand, and a wonder how they and the masterof the house would meet if it turned out that they had taken frightwithout cause. 

At his exclamation, Amy leant forward, and beckoned. Markham came up tothe window, and after the greeting on each side, walked along withhis hand on the door, as the carriage slowly mounted the steep hill, answering her questions: 'How is he?'

'No better. He has been putting on leeches, and made himself so giddy, that yesterday he could hardly stand. '

'And they have not relieved him?'

'Not in the least. I am glad you are come, for it has been an absurd wayof going on. '

'Is he up?'

'Yes; on the sofa in the library. '

'Did you give him my note? Does he expect us?'

'No, I went to see about telling him this morning, but found him so lowand silent, I thought it was better not. He has not opened a letter thisweek, and he might have refused to see you, as he did Lord Thorndale. Besides, I didn't know how he would take my writing about him, thoughif you had not written, I believe I should have let Mrs. Henley know bythis time. '

'There is an escape for him, ' murmured Charles to his sister. 

'We have done the best in our power to receive you' proceeded Markham;'I hope you will find it comfortable, Lady Morville, but--'

'Thank you, I am not afraid, ' said Amy, smiling a little. Markham's eyewas on the little white bundle in her lap, but he did not speak ofit, and went on with explanations about Mrs. Drew and Bolton and thesitting-room, and tea being ready. 

Charles saw the great red pile of building rise dark, gloomy, andhaunted-looking before them. The house that should have been Amabel's!Guy's own beloved home! How could she bear it? But she was eagerlyasking Markham how Philip should be informed of their arrival, andMarkham was looking perplexed, and saying, that to drive under thegateway, into the paved court, would make a thundering sound, that hedreaded for Mr. Morville. Could Mr. Charles Edmonstone cross the courton foot? Charles was ready to do so; the carriage stopped, Amabel gavethe baby to Anne, saw Arnaud help Charles out; and turning to Markham, said, 'I had better go to him at once. Arnaud will show my brother theway. '

'The sitting-room, Arnaud' said Markham, and walked on fast with her, while Charles thought how strange to see her thus pass the threshold ofher husband's house, come thither to relieve and comfort his enemy. 

She entered the dark-oak hall. On one side the light shone cheerfullyfrom the sitting-room, the other doors were all shut. Markham hesitated, and stood reluctant. 

'Yes, you had better tell him I am here, ' said she, in the voice, sogentle, that no one perceived its resolution. 

Markham knocked at one of the high heavy doors, and softly opened it. Amabel stood behind it, and looked into the room, more than half dark, without a fire, and very large, gloomy, and cheerless, in the grayautumn twilight, that just enabled her to see the white pillows on thesofa, and Philip's figure stretched out on it. Markham advanced andstood doubtful for an instant, then in extremity, began--'Hem! LadyMorville is come, and--'

Without further delay she came forward, saying--'How are you, Philip?'

He neither moved nor seemed surprised, he only said, 'So you are come toheap more coals on my head. '

A thrill of terror came over her, but she did not show it, as she said, 'I am sorry to find you so poorly. '

It seemed as if before he had taken her presence for a dream; for, entirely roused, he exclaimed, in a tone of great surprise, 'Is it you, Amy?' Then sitting up, 'Why? When did you come here?'

'Just now. We were afraid you were ill, we heard a bad account of you, so we have taken you by storm: Charles, your goddaughter, and I, arecome to pay you a visit. '

'Charles! Charles here?' cried Philip, starting up. 'Where is he?'

'Coming in, ' said Amy; and Philip, intent only on hospitality, hastenedinto the hall, and met him at the door, gave him his arm and conductedhim where the inviting light guided them to the sitting-room. The fullbrightness of lamp and fire showed the ashy paleness of his face; hishair, rumpled with lying on the sofa, had, on the temples, acquired anoticeable tint of gray, his whole countenance bore traces of terriblesuffering; and Amabel thought that even at Recoara she had never seenhim look more wretchedly ill. 

'How did you come?' he asked. 'It was very kind. I hope you will becomfortable. '

'We have taken good care of ourselves, ' said Amy. 'I wrote to Mr. Markham, for I thought you were not well enough to be worried withpreparations. We ought to beg your pardon for breaking on you sounceremoniously. '

'If any one should be at home here--' said Philip, earnestly;--theninterrupting himself, he shaded his eyes from the light, 'I don't knowhow to make you welcome enough. When did you set off?'

'Yesterday afternoon, ' said Charles; 'we slept in London, and came onto-day. '

'Have you dined?' said Philip, looking perplexed to know where thedinner could come from. 

'Yes; at K----, thank you. '

'What will you have? I'll ring for Mrs. Drew. '

'No, thank you; don't tease yourself. Mrs. Drew will take care of us. Never mind; but how bad your head is!' said Amabel, as he sat down onthe sofa, leaning his elbow on his knee, and pressing his hand very hardon his forehead. 'You must lie down and keep quiet, and never mind us. We only want a little tea. I am just going to take off my bonnet, andsee what they have done with baby, and then I'll come down. Pray liestill till then. Mind he does, Charlie. '

They thought she was gone; but the next moment there she was with thetwo pillows from the library sofa, putting them under Philip's head, and making him comfortable; while he, overpowered by a fresh access ofheadache, had neither will nor power to object. She rang, asked for Mrs. Drew, and went. 

Philip lay, with closed eyes, as if in severe pain: and Charles, afraidto disturb him, sat feeling as if it was a dream. That he, with Amy andher child, should be in Guy's home, so differently from their old plans, so very differently from the way she should have arrived. He lookedround the room, and everywhere knew what Guy's taste had prepared forhis bride--piano, books, prints, similarities to Hollywell, all witha fresh new bridal effect, inexpressibly melancholy. They brought athought of the bright eye, sweet voice, light step, and merry whistle;and as he said to himself 'gone for ever, ' he could have hated Philip, but for the sight of his haggard features, gray hairs, and the deeplines which, at seven-and-twenty, sorrow had traced on his brow. Atlength Philip turned and looked up. 

'Charles, ' he said, 'I trust you have not let her run any risk. '

'No: we got Dr. Mayerne's permission. '

'It is like all the rest, ' said Philip, closing his eyes again. Presently he asked: 'How did you know I was not well?'

'Markham said something in a business letter that alarmed Amy. She wroteto inquire, and on his second letter we thought we had better come andsee after you ourselves. '

No more was said till Amabel returned. She had made some stay up-stairs, talking to Mrs. Drew, who was bewildered between surprise, joy, andgrief; looking to see that all was comfortable in Charles's room, makingarrangements for the child, and at last relieving herself by a shortspace of calm, to feel where she was, realize that this was Redclyffe, and whisper to her little girl that it was her father's own home. Sheknew it was the room he had destined for her; she tried, dark as itwas, to see the view of which he had told her, and looked up, over themantel-piece, at Muller's engraving of St. John. Perhaps that was thehardest time of all her trial, and she felt as if, without his childin her arms, she could never have held up under the sense of desolationthat came over her, left behind, while he was in his true home. Left, she told herself, to finish the task he had begun, and to become fit tofollow him. Was she not in the midst of fulfilling his last charge, thatPhilip should be taken, care of? It was no time for giving way, and herewas his own little messenger of comfort looking up with her sleepy eyesto tell her so. Down she must go, and put off 'thinking herself intohappiness' till the peaceful time of rest; and presently she softlyre-entered the sitting-room, bringing to both its inmates in her verypresence such solace as she little guessed, in her straightforwarddesire to nurse Philip, and take care Charles was not madeuncomfortable. 

That stately house had probably never, since its foundation, seenanything so home-like as Amabel making tea and waiting on her twocompanions; both she and Charles pleasing each other by enjoying themeal, and Philip giving his cup to be filled again and again, andwondering why one person's tea should taste so unlike another's. 

He was not equal to conversation, and Charles and Amabel were bothtired, so that tea was scarcely over before they parted for the night;and Amy, frightened at the bright and slipperiness of the dark-oakstairs, could not be at peace till she had seen Arnaud help Charlessafely up them, and made him promise not to come down without assistancein the morning. 

She was in the sitting-room soon after nine next morning, and foundbreakfast on one table, and Charles writing a letter on the other. 

'Well, ' said he, as she kissed him, 'all right with you and littlemiss?'

'Quite, thank you. And are you rested?'

'Slept like a top; and what did you do? Did you sleep like a sensiblewoman?'

'Pretty well, and baby was very good. Have you heard anything ofPhilip?'

'Bolton thinks him rather better, and says he is getting up. '

'How long have you been up?'

'A long time. I told Arnaud to catch Markham when he came up, ashe always does in a morning to see after Philip, and I have had aconference with him and Bolton, so that I can lay the case before Dr. Mayerne scientifically. '

'What do you think of it?'

'I think we came at the right time. He has been getting more and moreinto work in London, taking no exercise, and so was pretty well knockedup when he came here; and this place finished it. He tried to attend tobusiness about the property, but it always ended in his head growingso bad, he had to leave all to Markham, who, by the way, has beenthoroughly propitiated by his anxiety for him. Then he gave up entirely;has not been out of doors, written a note, nor seen a creature the lastfortnight, but there he has lain by himself in the library, given up toall manner of dismal thoughts without a break. '

'How dreadful!' said Annabel, with tears in her eyes. 'Then he would notsee Mr. Ashford? Surely, he could have done something for him. '

'I'll tell you what, ' said Charles, lowering his voice, ' from whatBolton says, I think he had a dread of worse than brain fever. '

She shuddered, and was paler, but did not speak. 

'I believe, ' continued Charles, 'that it is one half nervous and theoppression of this place, and the other half, the over-straining of ahead that was already in a ticklish condition. I don't think there wasany real danger of more than such a fever as he had at Corfu, whichwould probably have been the death of him; but I think he dreaded stillworse, and that his horror of seeing any one, or writing to Laura, arosefrom not knowing how far he could control his words. '

'O! I am glad we came, ' repeated Amabel, pressing her hands together. 

'He has been doctoring himself, ' proceeded Charles; 'and probably haskept off the fever by strong measures, but, of course, the more hereduced his strength, the greater advantage he gave to what was simplylow spirits. He must have had a terrible time of it, and where it wouldhave ended I cannot guess, but it seems to me that most likely, now thathe is once roused, he will come right again. '

Just as Charles had finished speaking, he came down, looking extremelyill, weak, and suffering; but calmed, and resting on that entiredependence on Amabel which had sprung up at Recoara. 

She would not let him go back to his gloomy library, but made him lieon the sofa in the sitting-room, and sat there herself, as she thoughta little quiet conversation between her and Charles would be the bestthing for him. She wrote to Laura, and he sent a message, for he couldnot yet attempt to write; and Charles wrote reports to his mother andDr. Mayerne; a little talk now and then going on about family matters. 

Amabel asked Philip if he knew that Mr. Thorndale was at Kilcoran. 

'Yes, ' he said, 'he believed there was a letter from him, but his eyeshad ached too much of late to read. '

Mrs. Ashford sent in to ask whether Lady Morville would like to see her. Amabel's face flushed, and she proposed going to her in the library; butPhilip, disliking Amy's absence more than the sight of a visitor, beggedshe might come to the sitting-room. 

The Ashfords had been surprised beyond measure at the tidings thatLady Morville had actually come to Redclyffe, and had been very slowto believe it; but when convinced by Markham's own testimony, Mrs. Ashford's first idea had been to go and see if she could be any help tothe poor young thing in that great desolate house, whither Mrs. Ashfordhad not been since, just a year ago, Markham had conducted her to admirehis preparations. There was much anxiety, too, about Mr. Morville, ofwhose condition, Markham had been making a great mystery, and on herreturn, Mr. Ashford was very eager for her report. 

Mr. Morville, she said, did look and seem very far from well, but LadyMorville had told her they hoped it was chiefly from over fatigue, andthat rest would soon restore him. Lady Morville herself was a fragiledelicate creature, very sweet looking, but so gentle and shrinking, apparently, that it gave the impression of her having no character atall, not what Mrs. Ashford would have expected Sir Guy to choose. Shehad spoken very little, and the chief of the conversation had beensustained by her brother. 

'I was very much taken with that young Mr. Edmonstone, ' said Mrs. Ashford; 'he is about three-and-twenty, sadly crippled, but with such apleasing, animated face, and so extremely agreeable and sensible, Ido not wonder at Sir Guy's enthusiastic way of talking of him. Icould almost fancy it was admiration of the brother transferred to thesister. '

'Then after all you are disappointed in her, and don't lament, likeMarkham, that she is not mistress here?'

'No: I won't say I am disappointed; she is a very sweet creature. O yes, very! but far too soft and helpless for such a charge as this property, unless she had her father or brother to help her. But I must tell youthat she took me to see her baby, a nice little lively thing, poorlittle dear! and when we were alone, she spoke rather more, begged meto send her godson to see her, thanked me for coming, but crying stoppedher from saying more. I could grow very fond of her. No, I don't wonderat him, for there is a great charm in anything so soft and dependent. 

Decidedly, Mary Ross had been right when she said, that except Sir Guy, there was no one so difficult to know as Amy. 

In the afternoon, Charles insisted on Amabel's going out for freshair and exercise, and she liked the idea of a solitary wandering; butPhilip, to her surprise, offered to come with her, and she was too gladto see him exert himself, to regret the musings she had hoped for; soout they went, after opening the window to give Charles what he calledan airing, and he said, that in addition he should 'hirple about alittle to explore the ground-floor of the house. '

'We must contrive some way for him to drive out, ' said Philip, as hecrossed the court with Amabel; 'and you too. There is no walk here, butup hill or down. '

Up-hill they went, along the path leading up the green slope, from whichthe salt wind blew refreshingly. In a few minutes, Amabel found herselfon a spot which thrilled her all over. 

There lay before her Guy's own Redclyffe bay; the waves lifting theircrests and breaking, the surge resounding, the sea-birds skimming round, the Shag Rock dark and rugged, the scene which seemed above all thecentre of his home affections, which he had so longed to show her, that it had cost him an effort on his death-bed to resign the hope;the leaping waves that he said he would not change for the white-headedmountains. And now he was lying among those southern mountains, and shestood in the spot where he had loved to think of seeing her; and withPhilip by her side. His sea, his own dear sea, the vision of which hadcheered, his last day, like the face of a dear old friend; his sea, rippling and glancing on, unknowing that the eyes that had loved it sowell would gaze on it no more; the wind that he had longed for tocool his fevered brow, the rock which had been like a playmate in hisboyhood, and where he had perilled his life, and rescued so many. Itwas one of the seasons when a whole gush of fresh perceptions of hisfeelings, like a new meeting with himself, would come on her, her bestof joys; and there she stood, gazing fixedly, her black veil flutteringin the wind, and her hands pressed close together, till Philip, littleknowing what the sight was to her, shivered, saying it was very coldand windy, and without hesitation she turned away, feeling that nowRedclyffe was precious indeed. 

She brought her mind back to listen, while Philip was considering ofmeans of taking Charles out of doors; he supposed there might be somevehicle about the place; but he thought there was no horse. Very unlikewas this to the exact Philip. The great range of stables was beforethem, where the Morvilles had been wont to lodge their horses assumptuously as themselves, and Amabel proposed to go and see what theycould find; but nothing was there but emptiness, till they came toa pony in one stall, a goat in another, and one wheelbarrow in thecoach-house. 

On leaving it, under the long-sheltered sunny wall, they came insight of a meeting between the baby taking the air in Anne's arms, and Markham, who had been hovering about all day, anxious to knowhow matters were going on. His back was towards them, so that he wasunconscious of their approach, and they saw how he spoke to Anne, lookedfixedly at the child, made her laugh, and finally took her in his arms, as he had so often carried her father, studying earnestly her littleface. As soon as he saw them coming, he hastily gave her back to Anne, as if ashamed to be thus caught, but he was obliged to grunt and puthis hand up to his shaggy eyelashes, before he could answer Amabel'sgreeting. 

He could hardly believe his eyes, that here was Mr. Morville, whoyesterday was scarcely able to raise his head from the pillow, and couldattend to nothing. He could not think what Lady Morville had done tohim, when he heard him inquiring and making arrangements about sendingfor a pony carriage, appearing thoroughly roused, and the dread of beingseen or spoken to entirely passed away, Markham was greatly rejoiced, for Mr. Morville's illness, helplessness, and dependence upon himself, had softened and won him to regard him kindly as nothing else would havedone; and his heart was entirely gained when, after they had wished himgood-bye, he saw Philip and Amabel walk on, overtake Anne, Amy take thebaby and hold her up to Philip, who looked at her with the same earnestinterest. From thenceforward Markham knew that Redclyffe was nothing buta burden to Mr. Morville, and he could bear to see it in his possessionsince like himself, he seemed to regard Sir Guy's daughter like adisinherited princess. 

This short walk fatigued Philip thoroughly. He slept till dinner-time, and when he awoke said it was the first refreshing dreamless sleephe had had for weeks. His head was much better, and at dinner he hadsomething like an appetite. 

It was altogether a day of refreshment, and so were the ensuing ones. Each day Philip became stronger, and resumed more of his usual habits. From writing a few lines in Amabel's daily letter to Laura, he proceededto filling the envelope, and from being put to sleep by Charles'sreading, to reading aloud the whole evening himself. The pony carriagewas set up, and he drove Charles out every day, Amabel being thenreleased from attending him, and free to enjoy herself in her own way inrambles about the house and park, and discoveries of the old haunts sheknew so well by description. 

She early found her way to Guy's own room, where she would walk up anddown with her child in her arms, talking to her, and holding up to her, to be admired, the treasures of his boyhood, that Mrs. Drew delighted tokeep in order. One day, when alone in the sitting-room, she thought oftrying the piano he had chosen for her. It was locked, but the key wason her own split-ring, where he had put it for her the day he returnedfrom London. She opened it, and it so happened, that the first note shestruck reminded her of one of the peculiarly sweet and deep tones ofGuy's voice. It was like awaking its echo again, and as it died away, she hid her face and wept. But from that time the first thing she didwhen her brother and cousin were out, was always to bring down herlittle girl, and play to her, watching how she enjoyed the music. 

Little Mary prospered in the sea air, gained colour, took to springingand laughing; and her intelligent lively way of looking about broughtout continually more likeness to her father. Amabel herself was nolonger drooping and pining, her step grew light and elastic, a shade ofpink returned to her cheek, and the length of walk she could take waswonderful, considering her weakness in the summer. Every day she stoodon the cliff and looked at 'Guy's sea, ' before setting out to visit thecottages, and hear the fond rough recollections of Sir Guy, or to wanderfar away into the woods or on the moor, and find the way to the placeshe had loved. One day, when Philip and Charles came in from a drive, they overtook her in the court, her cloak over her arm, her crape limpwith spray, her cheeks brightened to a rosy glow by the wind, and areal smile as she looked up to them. When Charles was on his sofa, shestooped over him and whispered, 'James and Ben Robinson have taken meout to the Shag!'

She saw Mr. Wellwood, and heard a good account of Coombe Prior. She madegreat friends with the Ashfords, especially little Lucy and the baby. She delighted in visits to the cottages, and Charles every day wonderedwhere was the drooping dejection that she could not shake off at home. She would have said that in Guy's own home, 'the joy' had come to her, no longer in fitful gleams and held by an effort for a moment, butsteadily brightening. She missed him indeed, but the power of findingrest in looking forward to meeting him, the pleasure of dwelling on thedays he had been with her, and the satisfaction of doing his work forthe present, had made a happiness for her, and still in him, quiet, grave, and subdued, but happiness likely to bloom more and more brightlythroughout her life. The anniversary of his death was indeed a day oftears, but the tears were blessed ones, and she was more full of thefeeling that had sustained her on that morning, than she had beenthrough all the year before. 

Charles and Philip, meanwhile, proceeded excellently together, each veryanxious for the comfort of the other. Philip was a good deal overwhelmedat first by the quantity of business on his hands, and setting about itwhile his head was still weak, would have seriously hurt himself again, if Charles had not come to his help, worked with a thorough good will, great clearness and acuteness, and surprised Philip by his clevernessand perseverance. He was elated at being of so much use; and begged tobe considered for the future as Philip's private secretary, to whichthe only objection was, that his handwriting was as bad as Philip's wasgood; but it was an arrangement so much to the benefit of both parties, that it was gladly made. Philip was very grateful for such valuableassistance; and Charles amused himself with triumphing in hisimportance, when he should sit in state on his sofa at Hollywell, surrounded with blue-books, getting up the statistics for somemagnificent speech of the honourable member for Moorworth. 

In the meantime, Charles and Amabel saw no immediate prospect oftheir party returning from Ireland, and thought it best to remain atRedclyffe, since Philip had so much to do there; and besides, eventswere occurring at Kilcoran which would have prevented his visit, evenwithout his illness. 

One of the first drives that Charles and Philip took, after the latterwas equal to any exertion, was to Thorndale. There Charles was muchamused by the manner in which Philip was received, and he himself, forhis sake; and as he said to Amabel on his return, there was no questionnow, that the blame of spoiling Philip did not solely rest at Hollywell. 

Finding only Lady Thorndale at home, and hearing that Lord Thorndale wasin the grounds, Philip went out to look for him, leaving Charles on thesofa, under her ladyship's care. Charles, with a little exaggeration, professed that he had never been so flattered in his whole life, ashe was by the compliments that reflected on him as the futurebrother-in-law of Philip; and that he had really begun to think evenLaura not half sensible enough of her own happiness. Lady Thorndaleafterwards proceeded to inquiries about the De Courcy family, especiallyLady Eveleen; and Charles, enlightened by Charlotte, took delight ingiving a brilliant description of his cousin's charms, for which hewas rewarded by very plain intimations of the purpose for which her sonJames was gone to Kilcoran. 

On talking the visit over, as they drove home, Charles asked Philip ifhe had guessed at his friend's intentions. 'Yes, ' he answered. 

'Then you never took the credit of it. Why did you not tell us?'

'I knew it from himself, in confidence. '

'Oh!' said Charles, amusing himself with the notion of the young man'sdutifully asking the permission of his companion, unshaken in allegiancethough the staff might be broken, and the book drowned deeper than didever plummet sound. Philip spoke no more, and Charles would ask nomore, for Philip's own affairs of the kind were not such as to encouragetalking of other people's. No explanation was needed why he should nowpromote an attachment which he had strongly disapproved while JamesThorndale was still in the army. 

A day or two after, however, came a letter from Charlotte, bringingfurther news, at which Charles was so amazed, that he could not helpcommunicating it at once to his companions. 

'So! Eveleen won't have him!'

'What?' exclaimed both. 

'You don't mean that she has refused Thorndale?' said Philip. 

'Even so!' said Charles. 'Charlotte says he is gone. "Poor Mr. Thorndaleleft us this morning, after a day of private conferences, in whichhe seems to have had no satisfaction, for his resolute dignity anddetermination to be agreeable all the evening were"--ahem--"were great. Mabel cannot get at any of the real reasons from Eveleen, though I thinkI could help her, but I can't tell you. "'

'Charlotte means mischief. ' said Charles, as he concluded. 

'I am very sorry!' said Philip. 'I did think Lady Eveleen would havebeen able to estimate Thorndale. It will be a great disappointment--theinclination has been of long standing. Poor Thorndale!'

'It would have been a very good thing for Eva, ' said Amabel. 'Mr. Thorndale is such a sensible man. '

'And I thought his steady sense just what was wanting to bring out allher good qualities that are running to waste in that irregular home, 'said Philip. 'What can have possessed her?'

'Ay! something must have possessed her, ' said Charles. 'Eva was alwaysready to be fallen in love with on the shortest notice, and if therewas not something prior in her imagination, Thorndale would not have hadmuch difficulty. By the bye, depend upon it, 'tis the tutor. '

Philip looked a little startled, but instantly reassuring himself, said, --

'George Fielder! Impossible! You have never seen him!'

'Ah! don't you remember her description!' said Amy, in a low voice, rather sadly. 

The very reason, Amy, ' said Charles; 'it showed that he had attractedher fancy. '

Philip smiled a little incredulously. 

'Ay!' said Charles, 'you may smile, but you handsome men can littleappreciate the attractiveness of an interesting ugliness. It is the wayto be looked at in the end. Mark my words, it is the tutor. '

'I hope not!' said Philip, as if shaken in his confidence. 'Any way itis a bad affair. I am very much concerned for Thorndale. '

So sincerely concerned, that his head began to ache in the midst of somewriting. He was obliged to leave it to Charles to finish, and go out towalk with Amy. 

Amabel came in before him, and began to talk to Charles about his greatvexation at his friend's disappointment. 

'I am almost sorry you threw out that hint about Mr. Fielder, ' said she. 'Don't you remember how he was recommended?'

'Ah! I had forgotten it was Philip's doing; a bit of his spirit ofopposition, ' said Charles. 'Were not the boys to have gone to CoombePrior?'

'Yes' said Amabel, 'that is the thing that seems to have made himso unhappy about it. I am sure I hope it is not true, ' she added, considering, 'for, Charlie, you must know that Guy had an impressionagainst him. '

'Had he?' said Charles, anxiously. 

'It was only an impression, nothing he could accuse him of, or mentionto Lord Kilcoran. He would have told no one but me, but he had seensomething of him at Oxford, and thought him full of conversation, very clever, only not the sort of talk he liked. ' 'I don't like that. Charlotte concurs in testifying to his agreeableness; and in the dearthof intellect, I should not wonder at Eva's taking up with him. He wouldbe a straw to the drowning. It looks dangerous. '

They were very anxious for further intelligence, but received none, except that Philip had a letter from his friend, on which his onlycomment was a deep sigh, and 'Poor Thorndale! She little knows whatshe has thrown away!' Letters from Kilcoran became rare; Laura scarcelywrote at all to Philip, and though Mrs. Edmonstone wrote as usual, shedid not notice the subject; while Charlotte's gravity and constraint, when she did achieve a letter to Charles, were in such contrast to herusual free and would-be satirical style, that such eyes as her brother'scould hardly fail to see that something was on her mind. 

So it went on week after week, Charles and Amabel wondering when theyshould ever have any notice to go home, and what their family could bedoing in Ireland. October had given place to November, and more than aweek of November had passed, and here they still were, without anythinglike real tidings. 

At last came a letter from Mrs. Edmonstone, which Amabel could notread without one little cry of surprise and dismay, and then had somedifficulty in announcing its contents to Philip. 

 'Kilcoran, Nov. 8th. 

'My Dearest Amy, --You will be extremely surprised at what I have to tellyou, and no less grieved. It has been a most unpleasant, disgracefulbusiness from beginning to end, and the only comfort in it to us is thegreat discretion and firmness that Charlotte has shown. I had better, however, begin at the beginning, and tell you the history as far as Iunderstand it myself. You know that Mr. James Thorndale has been here, and perhaps you know it was for the purpose of making an offer toEveleen. Every one was much surprised at her refusing him, and stillmore when, after much prevarication, it came out that the true motivewas her attachment to Mr. Fielder, the tutor. It appeared that they hadbeen secretly engaged for some weeks, ever since they had perceivedMr. Thorndale's intentions, and not, as it was in poor Laura's case, an unavowed attachment, but an absolute engagement. And fancy Evajustifying it by Laura's example! There was of course great anger andconfusion. Lord Kilcoran was furious, poor Lady Kilcoran had nervousattacks, the gentleman was dismissed from the house, and supposed to begone to England, Eva shed abundance of tears, but after a great deal ofvehemence she appeared subdued and submissive. We were all very sorryfor her, as there is much that is very agreeable and likely to attracther in Mr. Fielder, and she always had too much mind to be wasted insuch a life as she leads here. It seemed as if Laura was a comfortto her, and Lady Kilcoran was very anxious we should stay as longas possible. This was all about three weeks or a month ago; Eva wasrecovering her spirits, and I was just beginning a letter to tell you wehoped to be at home in another week, when Charlotte came into my room ingreat distress to tell me that Eveleen and Mr. Fielder were on the vergeof a run-away marriage. Charlotte had been coming back alone from avisit to grandmamma, and going down a path out of the direct way torecall Bustle, who had run on, she said, as if he scented mischief, came, to her great astonishment, on Eveleen walking arm-in-arm with Mr. Fielder! Charlie will fancy how Charlotte looked at them! They shuffled, and tried to explain it away, but Charlotte was too acute for them, orrather, she held steadily to "be that as it may, Lord Kilcoran oughtto know it. " They tried to frighten her with the horrors of betrayingsecrets, but she said none had been confided to her, and mamma wouldjudge. They tried to persuade her it was the way of all lovers, andappealed to Laura s example, but there little Charlotte was less to beshaken than on any point. "I did not think them worthy to hear theirnames, " she said to me, "but I told them, that I had seen that thetruest and deepest of love had a horror of all that was like wrong, and as to Philip and Laura, they little knew what they had suffered;besides, theirs was not half so bad. " I verily believe these were thevery words she used to them. At last Eva threw herself on her mercy, and begged so vehemently that she would only wait another day, that shesuspected, and, with sharpness very like Charlie's, forced from Eva thatthey were to marry the next morning. Then she said it would be a greatdeal better that they should abuse her and call her a spy than do whatthey would repent of all their lives; she begged Eva's pardon, and criedso much that Eva was in hopes she would relent, and then came straightto me, very unhappy, and not in the least triumphant in her discovery. You can guess what a dreadful afternoon we had, I don't think any onewas more miserable than poor Charlotte, who stayed shut up in my roomall day, dreading the sight of any one, and expecting to be universallycalled a traitor. The end was, that after much storming, Lord Kilcoran, finding Eveleen determined, and anxious to save her the discredit of anelopement, has agreed to receive Mr. Fielder, and they are to be marriedfrom this house on the 6th of December, though what they are to liveupon no one can guess. The Kilcorans are very anxious to put the bestface on the matter possible, and have persuaded us, for the sake ofthe family, to stay for the wedding; indeed, poor Lady Kilcoran is socompletely overcome, that I hardly like to leave her till this is over. How unpleasant the state of things in the house is no one can imagine, and very, very glad shall I be to get back to Hollywell and my Amy andCharlie. Dearest Amy, 'Your most affectionate. 

'L. EDMONSTONE. '

The news was at length told, and Philip was indeed thunder-struck atthis fresh consequence of his interference. It threatened at first tooverthrow his scarcely recovered spirits, and but for the presence ofhis guests, it seemed as if it might have brought on a renewal of thestate from which they had restored him. 

'Yes, ' said Charles to Amy, when they talked it over alone, 'It seemsas if good people could do wrong with less impunity than others. It israther like the saying about fools and angels. Light-minded people seethe sin, but not the repentance, so they imitate the one without beingcapable of the other. Here are Philip and Laura finishing off like theend of a novel, fortune and all, and setting a very bad example to theworld in general. '

'As the world cannot see below the surface, ' said Amy, 'how distressedLaura, must be! You see, mamma does not say one word about her. '

Philip had not much peace till he had written to Mr. Thorndale, whowas going at once to Germany, not liking to return home to meet thecondolences. Mrs. Edmonstone had nearly the whole correspondence of thefamily on her hands; for neither of her daughters liked to write, andshe gave the description of the various uncomfortable scenes that tookplace. Lord de Courcy's stern and enduring displeasure, and his father'sfast subsiding violence; Lady Kilcoran's distress, and the youngergirls' excitement and amusement; but she said she thought the veryproper and serious way in which Charlotte viewed it, would keep it fromdoing them much harm, provided, as was much to be feared, Lord Kilcorandid not end by keeping the pair always at home, living upon him till Mr. Fielder could get a situation. In fact, it was difficult to know whatother means there were of providing for them. 

At last the wedding took place, and Mrs. Edmonstone wrote a letter, divided between indignation at the foolish display that had attended it, and satisfaction at being able at length to fix the day for the meetingat Hollywell. No one could guess how she longed to be at home again, andto be once more with Charlie. 

Nor were Charles and Amabel less ready to go home, though they couldboth truly say that they had much enjoyed their stay at Redclyffe. Philip was to come with them, and it was privately agreed that he shouldreturn to Redclyffe no more till he could bring Laura with him. Amabelhad talked of her sister to Mrs. Ashford, and done much to smooth theway; and even on the last day or two, held a few consultations withPhilip, as to the arrangements that Laura would like. One thing, however, she must ask for her own pleasure. 'Philip, ' said she, 'youmust let me have this piano. '

His answer was by look and gesture. 

'And I want very much to ask a question, Philip. Will you tell me whichis Sir Hugh's picture?'

'You have been sitting opposite to it every day at dinner. '

'That!' exclaimed Amy. 'From what I heard, I fully expected to haveknown Sir Hugh's in a moment, and I often looked at that one, but Inever could see more likeness than there is in almost all the picturesabout the house. '

She went at once to study it again, and wondered more. 

'I have seen him sometimes look like it; but it is not at all the stronglikeness I expected. '

Philip stood silently gazing, and certainly the countenance he recalled, pleading with him to desist from his wilfulness, and bending over himin his sickness, was far unlike in expression to the fiery youth beforehim. In a few moments more, Amabel had run up-stairs, and brought downMr. Shene's portrait. There was proved to be more resemblance thaneither of them had at first sight credited. The form of the forehead, nose, and short upper lip were identical, so were the sharply-definedblack eyebrows, the colour of the eyes; and the way of standing in bothhad a curious similarity; but the expression was so entirely different, that strict comparison alone proved, that Guy's animated, contemplative, and most winning countenance, was in its original lineaments entirelythe same with that of his ancestor. Although Sir Hugh's was then farfrom unprepossessing, and bore as yet no trace of his unholy passions, it bought to Amabel's mind the shudder with which Guy had mentionedhis likeness to that picture, and seemed to show her the nature he hadtamed. 

Philip, meanwhile, after one glance at Mr. Shene's portrait, which hehad not before seen, had turned away, and stood leaning against thewindow-frame. When Amy had finished her silent comparison, and wasgoing to take her treasure back, he looked up, and said, 'Do you dislikeleaving that with me for a few minutes?'

'Keep it as long as you like, ' said she, going at once, and she saw himno more till nearly an hour after; when, as she was coming out of herown room, he met her, and gave it into her hands, saying nothing excepta smothered 'Thank you;' but his eyelids were so swollen and heavy, thatCharles feared his head was bad again, while Amy was glad to perceivethat he had had the comfort of tears. 

Every one was sorry to wish Lady Morville and her brother good-bye, onlyconsoling themselves with hoping that their sister might be like them;and as to little Mary, the attention paid to her was so devoted anduniversal, that her mamma thought it very well she should receive thefirst ardour of it while she was too young to have her head turned. 

They again slept a night in London, and in the morning Philip tookCharles for a drive through the places he had heard of, and was muchedified by actually beholding. They were safely at home the sameevening, and on the following, the Hollywell party was once morecomplete, gathered round Charles's sofa in a confusion of welcomes andgreetings. 

Mrs. Edmonstone could hardly believe her eyes, so much had Charles'scountenance lost its invalid look, and his movements were so much moreactive; Amabel, too, though still white and thin, had a life in her eyeand an air of health most unlike her languor and depression. 

Every one looked well and happy but Laura, and she had a worn, faded, harassed aspect, which was not cheered even by Philip's presence;indeed, she seemed almost to shrink from speaking to him. She was theonly silent one of the party that evening, as they gathered round thedinner or tea-table, or sat divided into threes or pairs, talking overthe subjects that would not do to be discussed in public. Charlottegenerally niched into Amy's old corner by Charles, hearing aboutRedclyffe, or telling about Ireland. Mrs. Edmonstone and Amy on theopposite sides of the ottoman, their heads meeting over the centralcushion, talking in low, fond, inaudible tones; Mr. Edmonstone going inand out of the room, and joining himself to one or other group, tellingand hearing news, and sometimes breaking up the pairs; and then Mrs. Edmonstone came to congratulate Charles on Amy's improved looks, orCharlotte pressed up close to Amy to tell her about grandmamma. ForCharlotte could not talk about Eveleen, she had been so uncomfortable atthe part she had had to act, that all the commendation she received wasonly like pain and shame, and her mother was by no means dissatisfiedthat it should be so, since a degree of forwardness had been her chiefcause of anxiety in Charlotte; and it now appeared that without losingher high spirit and uncompromising sense of right, her sixteenth yearwas bringing with it feminine reserve. 

Laura lingered late in Amabel's room, and when her mother had wishedthem good night, and left them together, she exclaimed, 'Oh, Amy! I amso glad to be come back to you. I have been so very miserable!'

'But you see he is quite well, ' said Amy. 'We think him looking betterthan in the summer. '

'O yes! Oh, Amy, what have you not done? If you could guess the reliefof hearing you were with him, after that suspense!' But as if losingthat subject in one she was still more eager about, 'What did he thinkof me?'

'My dear, ' said Amabel, 'I don't think I am the right person to tell youthat. '

'You saw how it struck him when he heard of my share in it. '

'Yours? Mamma never mentioned you. '

'Always kind!' said Laura. 'Oh, Amy! what will you think of me when Itell I knew poor Eva's secret all the time? What could I do, when Evapleaded my own case? It was very different, but she would not see it, and I felt as if I was guilty of all. Oh, how I envied Charlotte. '

'Dear Laura, no wonder you were unhappy!'

'Nothing hitherto has been equal to it! said Laura. 'There was themisery of his silence, and the anxiety that you, dearest, freed me from, then no sooner was that over than this was confided to me. Think what Ifelt when Eva put me in mind of a time when I argued in favour ofsome such concealment in a novel! No, you can never guess what I wentthrough, knowing that he would think me weak, blameable, unworthy!'

'Nay, he blames himself too much to blame you. '

'No, that he must not do! It was my fault from the beginning. If I hadbut gone at once to mamma!'

'Oh, I am so glad!' exclaimed Amy, suddenly. 

'Glad?''

'I mean, ' said Amy, looking down, 'now you have said that, I am sure youwill be happier. '

'Happier, now I feel and see how I have lowered myself even in hissight?' said Laura, drooping her head and hiding her face in her hands, as she went on in so low a tone that Amy could hardly hear her. 'I knowit all now. He loves me still, as he must whatever he has once taken, into that deep, deep heart of his: he will always; but he cannot havethat honouring, trusting, confiding love that--you enjoyed and deserved, Amy--that he would have had if I had cared first for what became me. IfI had only at first told mamma, he would not even have been blamed; hewould have been spared half this suffering and self-reproach; he wouldhave loved me more; Eva might not have been led astray, at least shecould not have laid it to my charge, --and I could lift up my head, ' shefinished, as she hung it almost to her knees. 

Her sister raised the head, laid it on her own bosom, and kissed, thecheeks and brow again and again. 'Dearest, dearest Laura, I am so sorryfor you; but I am sure you must feel freer and happier now you know itall, and see the truth. '

'I don't know!' said Laura, sadly. 

'And at least you will be better able to comfort him. '

'No, no, I shall only add to his self-reproach. He will see more plainlywhat a wretched weak creature he fancied had firmness and discretion. Oh, what a broken reed I have been to him!'

'There is strength and comfort for us all to lean upon, ' said Amy. 'Butyou ought to go to bed. Shall I read to you, Laura? you are so tired, Ishould like to come and read you to sleep. '

Laura was not given to concealments; that fatal one had been her onlyinsincerity, and she never thought of doing otherwise than telling thewhole of her conduct in Ireland to Philip. She sat alone with him thenext morning, explained all, and entreated his pardon, humiliatingherself so much, that he could not bear to hear her. 

'It was the fault of our whole lifetime, Laura, ' said he, recoveringhimself, when a few agitated words had passed on either side. 'I taughtyou to take my dictum for law, and abused your trusty and perverted allthe best and most precious qualities. It is I who stand first to bearthe blame, and would that I could bear all the suffering! But as it is, Laura, we must look to enduring the consequence all our lives, and giveeach other what support we may. '

Laura could hardly brook his self-accusation, but she could no longerargue the point; and there was far more peace and truth before them thanwhen she believed him infallible, and therefore justified herself forall she had done in blind obedience to him. 

CHAPTER 44

 Thus souls by nature pitched too high, By sufferings plunged too low, Meet in the church's middle sky, Halfway 'twixt joy and woe;

 To practise there the soothing lay, That sorrow best relieves, Thankful for all God takes away, Humbled by all He gives. --CHRISTIAN YEAR

One Afternoon, late in April, Charles opened the dressing-room door, andpaused a moment, smiling. There sat Amabel on the floor before the fire, her hand stretched out, playfully holding back the little one, who, withscanty, flossy, silken curls, hazel eyes and jet-black lashes, plump, mottled arms, and tiny tottering feet, stood crowing and shouting inexulting laughter, having just made a triumphant clutch at her mamma'shair, and pulled down all the light, shining locks, while under theirshade the reddening, smiling face recalled the Amy of days long gone by. 

'That's right! cried Charles, delighted, 'pull it all down. Out withmamma's own curls again!'

'No, I can never wear my curls again, ' said Amy, so mournfully, thathe was sorry he had referred to them; and perceiving this, she smiledsweetly, and pulling a tress to its full length, showed how much tooshort it was for anything but being put plainly under the cap, to whichshe restored it. 

'Is Mrs. Henley come?' she asked. 

'As large as life, and that is saying a good deal. She would make two ofPhilip. As tall and twice as broad. I thought Juno herself was advancingon me from the station. '

'How did you get on with her?'

'Famously; I told her all about everything, and how the affair is to bereally quiet, which she had never believed. She could hardly believe myword, when I told her there was to be absolutely no one but ourselvesand Mary Ross. She supposed it was for your sake, and I did not tell herit was for their own. It really was providential that the Kilcoran folkdisgusted my father with grand weddings, for Philip never could endureone. '

'Oh, Miss Mischief, there goes my hair again! You know Philip isexceedingly worried about Mr. Fielder. Lord Kilcoran has been writing toask him to find him a situation. '

'That is an article they will be seeking all the rest of their lives, 'said Charles. 'A man is done for when he begins to look for a situation!Yes, those Fielders will be a drag on Philip and Laura for ever; forthey don't quite like to cast them off, feeling as he does that he ledto her getting into the scrape, by recommending him; and poor Laurathinking she set the example. '

'I wish Eva was away from home, ' said Amy, 'for Aunt Charlotte'saccounts of her vex Laura so much. '

'Ay! trying to eat her cake and have it, expecting to be Mr. Fielder'swife, and reign as the earl's daughter all the same. Poor thing! the daythey get the situation will be a sad one for her. She does not know whatpoortith cauld will be like. '

'Poor Eva!' said Amy. 'I dare say she will shine and be all the betterfor trouble. There is much that is so very nice in her. '

'Ay, if she has not spoilt it all by this time, --as that creature isdoing with your hair! You little monkey, what have you to say to me?'

'Only to wish you good night. Come, baby, we must go to Anne. Goodnight, Uncle Charles. '

Just as Amabel had borne off her little girl, Mrs. Edmonstone andCharlotte came in, after conducting Mrs. Henley to her room. Charlottemade a face of wonder and dismay, and Mrs. Edmonstone asked where Amywas. 

'She carried the baby to the nursery just before you came. I wish youhad seen her. The little thing had pulled down her hair and made herlook so pretty and like herself. '

'How well her spirits keep up! She has been running up and down stairsall day, helping about everything. Well! we little thought how thingswould turn out. '

'And that after all Amy would be the home-bird, ' said Charles. 'I don'tfeel as if it was wrong to rejoice in having her in this sweet, shadybrightness, as she is now. '

'Do you know whether she means to go to church to-morrow? I don't liketo ask. '

'Nor I. '

'I know she does, ' said Charlotte. 'She told me so. '

'I hope it will not be too much for her! Dear Amy. '

'She would say it was wrong to have our heads fuller of her than of ourbride, ' said Charles. 

'Poor Laura!' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'I am glad it is all right at last. They have both gone through a great deal. '

'And not in vain, ' added Charles. 'Philip is--'

'Oh, I say not a word against him!' cried Mrs. Edmonstone. 'He is mostexcellent; he will be very distinguished, --he will make her very happy. Yes. '

'In fact, ' said Charles, 'he is made to be one of the first in thisworld, and to be first by being above it; and the only reason we arealmost discontented is, that we compare him with one who was too goodfor this world. '

'It is not only that. '

'Ah! you did not see him at Redclyffe, or you would do more than simplyforgiving him as a Christian. '

'I am very sorry for him. '

'That is not quite enough, ' said Charles, smiling, with a mischievousair, though fully in earnest. 'Is it, Charlotte? She must take him hometo her mamma's own heart. '

'No, no, that is asking too much, Charlie, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'Onlyone ever was--' then breaking off--'and I can never think of Philip as Iused to do. '

'I like him much better now, ' said Charlotte. 

'For my part, ' said Charles, 'I never liked him--nay, that's too mild, Icould not abide him, I rebelled against him, heart, soul, and taste. Ifit had not been for Guy, his fashion of goodness would have made me intoan extract of gall and wormwood, at the very time you admired him, andyet a great deal of it was genuine. But it is only now that I have likedhim. Nay, I look up to him, I think him positively noble and grand, andwhen I see proofs of his being entirely repentant, I perceive he is athorough great man. If I had not seen one greater, I should follow hisyoung man's example and take him for my hero model. '

'As if you wanted a hero model, ' whispered Charlotte, in a tone betweencaressing and impertinence. 

'I've had one!' returned Charles, also aside. 

'Yes, ' said Mrs. Edmonstone, going on with her own thoughts, 'unlessthere had been a great fund of real goodness, he would never have feltit so deeply. Indeed, even when I best liked Philip, I never thought himcapable of such repentance as he has shown. '

'If mamma wants to like him very much, ' said Charlotte, 'I think she hasonly to look at our other company. '

'Ay!' said Charles, 'we want no more explanation of the tone of the"Thank you, " with which he answered the offer to invite his sister. '

'One comfort is, she can't stay long. She has got a committee meetingfor the Ladies' Literary and Scientific Association, and must go homefor it the day after to-morrow, ' said Charlotte. 

'If you are very good, perhaps she will give you a ticket, Charlotte, 'said her brother, 'and another for Bustle. '

Mrs. Henley was, meanwhile, highly satisfied with the impression shethought she was making on her aunt's family, especially on Charles andCharlotte. The latter she patronized, to her extreme though suppressedindignation, as a clever, promising girl; the former, she discovered tobe a very superior young man, a most valuable assistant to her brotherin his business, and her self-complacency prevented her from finding outhow he was playing her off, whenever neither Philip nor Laura were athand to be hurt by it. 

She thought Laura a fine-looking person, like her own family, and fit tobe an excellent lady of the house; and in spite of the want of fortune, she perceived that her brother's choice had been far better than if hehad married that poor pale little Amabel, go silent and quiet that shenever could make a figure anywhere, and had nothing like the substantivecharacter that her brother must have in a wife. 

Could Mrs. Henley have looked behind the scenes she would havemarvelled. 

'One kiss for mamma; and one for papa, ' was Amy's half-uttered morninggreeting, as she lifted from her cot her little one, with cheeks flushedby sleep. Morning and evening Amy spoke those words, and was happy inthe double kiss that Mary had learnt to connect with them; happy tooin holding her up to the picture, and saying 'papa, ' so that his childmight never recollect a time when he had not been a familiar and belovedidea. 

A little play with the merry child, then came Anne to take her away; andwith a suppressed sigh, Amabel dressed for the first time without herweeds, which she had promised to leave off on Laura's wedding-day. 

'No, I will not sigh!' then she thought, 'it does not put me furtherfrom him. He would be more glad than any one this day, and so I mustshow some sign of gladness. '

So she put on such a dress as would be hers for life--black silk, andface cap over her still plain hair, then with real pleasure she put onCharles's bracelet, and the silver brooch, which she had last worn theevening when the echoes of Recoara had answered Guy's last chant. Soonshe was visiting Laura, cheering her, soothing her agitation, helpingher to dress in her bridal array, much plainer than Amy's own had been, for it had been the especial wish of both herself and Philip that theirwedding should be as quiet and unlike Guy's as possible. Then Amabelwas running down-stairs to see that all was right, thinking thebreakfast-table looked dull and forlorn, and calling Charlotte tohelp her to make it appear a little more festal, with the aid of someflowers. Charlotte wondered to see that she had forgotten how sheshunned flowers last summer, for there she was flitting from one oldfamiliar plant to another in search of the choicest, arranging littlebouquets with her own peculiar grace and taste, and putting them by eachperson's place, in readiness to receive them. 

It was as if no one else could smile that morning, except Mr. Edmonstone, who was so pleased to see her looking cheerful, in heraltered dress, that he kissed her repeatedly, and confidentially toldMrs. Henley that his little Amy was a regular darling, the sweetest girlin the world, poor dear, except Laura. 

Mrs. Henley, in the richest of all silks, looked magnificent andsuperior. Mrs. Edmonstone had tears in her eyes, and attended to everyone softly and kindly, without a word; Charlotte was grave, helpful, and thoughtful; Charles watching every one, and intent on making thingssmooth; Laura looked fixed in the forced composure which she had longago learnt, and Philip, --it was late before he appeared at all, andwhen he came down, there was nothing so plainly written on his face asheadache. 

It was so severe that the most merciful thing was to send him to lieon the sofa in the dressing-room. Amabel said she would fetch himsome camphor, and disappeared, while Laura sat still with her forcedcomposure. Her father fidgeted, only restrained by her presence fromexpressing his fears that Philip was too unwell for the marriage to takeplace to-day, and Charles talked cheerfully of the great improvement inhis general health, saying this was but a chance thing, and that on thewhole he might be considered as quite restored. 

Mrs. Henley listened and answered, but could not comprehend the state ofthings. Breakfast was over, when she heard Amabel speaking to Laura inthe ante-room. 

'It will go off soon. Here is a cup of hot coffee for you to take him. I'll call you when it is time to go. '

Amabel and Charlotte were very busy looking after Laura's packing up, and putting all that was wanted into the carriage, in which the pairwere to set off at once from church, without returning to Hollywell. 

At the last moment she went to warn Philip it was time to go, if hemeant to walk to church alone, the best thing for his head. 

'It is better, ' said Laura, somewhat comforted. 

'Much better for your bathing it, thank you, ' said Philip, rising; then, turning to Amy, --'Do I wish you good-bye now?'

'No, I shall see you at church, unless you don't like to have myblackness there. '

'Would we not have our guardian angel, Laura?' said Philip. 

'You know _he_ would have been there, ' said Amy. 'No one would have beenmore glad, so thank you for letting me come. '

'Thank you for coming, ' said Laura, earnestly. 'It is a comfort. '

They left her, and she stood a few minutes to enjoy the solitude, andto look from the window at her little girl, whom she had sent out withAnne. She was just about to open the window to call to her, and make herlook up with one of her merry shouts of 'Mamma!' when Philip came out atthe garden-door, and was crossing the lawn. Mary was very fond of him, flattered by the attention of the tallest person in the house, and shestretched her arms, and gave a cry of summons. Amabel watched him turninstantly, take her from her nurse, and hold her in a close embrace, whilst her little round arms met round his neck. She was unwilling tobe restored to Anne, and when he left she looked up in his face, andunprompted, held up to him the primroses and violets in her hand. 

Those flowers were in his coat when Amabel saw him again at church, and she knew that this spontaneous proof of affection from Guy's littleunconscious child was more precious to him than all the kindnesses shecould bestow. 

Little space was there for musing, for it was high time to set off forchurch. Mary Ross met the party at the wicket of the churchyard, tookCharles on her arm, and by look and sign inquired for Amy. 

'Bright outwardly, ' he answered, 'and I think so inwardly. Nothing doesher so much good as to represent him. Did you wonder to see her?'

'No' said Mary. 'I thought she would come. It is the crowning point ofhis forgiveness. '

'Such forgiveness that she has forgotten there is anything to forgive, 'said Charles. 

Philip Morville and Laura Edmonstone stood before Mr. Ross. It was notsuch a wedding as the last. There was more personal beauty, but no suchair of freshness, youth, and peace. He was, indeed, a very fine-lookingman, his countenance more noble than it had ever been, though pale andnot only betraying the present suffering of the throbbing, burning brow, but with the appearance of a care-worn, harassed man, looking more as ifhis age was five-and-thirty than eight-and-twenty. And she, in her plainwhite muslin and quiet bonnet, was hardly bridal-looking in dress, andso it was with her face, still beautiful and brilliant in complexion, but with the weight of care permanent on it, and all the shades offeeling concealed by a fixed command of countenance, unable, however, tohide the oppression of dejection and anxiety. 

Yet to the eyes that only beheld the surface, there was nothing butprosperity and happiness in a marriage between a pair who had loved solong and devotedly, and after going through so much for each other'ssake, were united at length, with wealth, honour, and distinction beforethem. His health was re-established, and the last spring had provedthat his talents would place him in such a position as had been thevery object of his highest hopes. Was not everything here for which thefondest and most aspiring wishes could seek? Yet for the very reasonthat there was sadness at almost every heart, not one tear was shed. Mrs. Edmonstone's thoughts were less engrossed with the bride than withthe young slender figure in black, standing in her own drooping way, her head bent down, and the fingers of her right hand clasping tight herwedding-ring, through her white glove. 

The service was over. Laura hung round her mother's neck in an ardentembrace. 

'Your pardon! O, mamma, I see it all now!'

Poor thing! she had too much failed in a daughter's part to go forthfrom her home with the clear, loving, hopeful heart her sister hadcarried from it! Mrs. Edmonstone's kiss was a full answer, however, akiss unlike what it had been with all her efforts for many and many amonth. 

'Amy, pray that it may not be visited!' were the last words breathed toher sister, as they were pressed in each other's arms. 

Philip scarcely spoke, only met their kindnesses with grateful gesturesand looks, and brief replies, and the parting was hastened that he mightas soon as possible be at rest. His only voluntary speech was as he badefarewell to Amabel, --

'My sister now!'

'And _his_ brother, ' she answered. 'Good-bye!'

As soon as Amabel was alone in the carriage with Charles, she leantback, and gave way to a flood of tears. 

'Amy, has it been too much?'

'No, ' she said, recovering herself; 'but I am so glad! It was _his_chief desire. Now everything he wished is fulfilled. '

'And you are free of your great charge. He has been a considerable careto you, but now he is safe on Laura's hands, and well and satisfactory;so you have no care but your daughter, and we settle into our homelife. '

Amabel smiled. 

'Amy, I do wish I was sure you are happy. '

'Yes, dear Charlie, indeed I am. You are all so very kind to me, and itis a blessing, indeed, that my own dear home can open to take in me andbaby. You know _he_ liked giving me back to you. '

'And it is happiness, not only thinking it ought to be! Don't let metease you, Amy, don't answer if you had rather not. '

'Thank you, Charlie, it _is_ happiness. It must be when I remember howvery happy he used to be, and there can be nothing to spoil it. WhenI see how all the duties of his station worry and perplex Philip, I amglad he was spared from it, and had all his freshness and brightnesshis whole life. It beams out on me more now, and it was such perfecthappiness while I had him here, and it is such a pleasure and honour tobe called by his name; besides, there is baby. Oh! Charlie, I must behappy--I am; do believe it! Indeed, you know I have you and mamma andall too. And, Charlie, I think he made you all precious to me over againby the way he loved you all, and sent me back, to you especially. Yes, Charlie, you must not fancy I grieve. I am very happy, for he is, andall I have is made bright and precious by him. '

'Yes, ' said he, looking at her, as the colour had come into her face, and she looked perfectly lovely with eager, sincere happiness; one ofher husband's sweetest looks reflected on her face; altogether, such apicture of youth, joy, and love, as had not been displayed by thebride that morning. 'Amy, I don't believe anything could make you longunhappy!'

'Nothing but my own fault. Nothing else can part me from him, ' shewhispered almost to herself. 

'Yes; no one else had such a power of making happy, ' said Charles, thoughtfully. 'Amy, I really don't know whether even you owe as muchto your husband as I do. You were good for something before, but whenI look back on what I was when first he came, I know that his leading, unconscious as it was, brought out the stifled good in me. What a wretchI should have been; what a misery to myself and to you all by this time, and now, I verily believe, that since he let in the sunlight from heavenon me, I am better off than if I had as many legs as other people. '

'Better off?'

'Yes. Nobody else lives in such an atmosphere of petting, and has solittle to plague them. Nobody else has such a "mamma, " to say nothing ofsilly little Amy, or Charlotte, or Miss Morville. And as to being ofno use, which I used to pine about--why, when the member for Moorworthgoverns the country, I mean to govern him. '

'I am sure you are of wonderful use to every one, ' said Amabel; 'neitherPhilip nor papa could get on without you to do their writing for them. Besides, I want you to help me when baby grows older. '

'Is that the laudable result of that great book on education I saw youreading the other day?' said Charles. 'Why don't you borrow a few hintsfrom Mrs. Henley?'

Amy's clear, playful laugh was just what it used to be. 

'It is all settled, then, that you go on with us! Not that I everthought you were going to do anything so absurd as to set up foryourself, you silly little woman: but it seems to be considered rightto come to a formal settlement about such a grand personage as my LadyMorville. '

'Yes; it was better to come to an understanding, ' said Amabel. 'It wasbetter that papa should make up his mind to see that I can't turn into ayoung lady again. You see Charlotte will go out with him and be the MissEdmonstone for company, and he is so proud of her liveliness and--howpretty she is growing--so that will keep him from being vexed. Sonow you see I can go on my own way, attend to baby, and take Laura'sbusiness about the school, and keep out of the way of company, so thatit is very nice and comfortable. It is the very thing that Guy wished!'

Amabel's life is here pretty well shown. That of Philip and Laura maybe guessed at. He was a distinguished man, one of the most honoured andrespected in the country, admired for his talents and excellence, andregarded universally as highly prosperous and fortunate, the pride ofall who had any connection with him. Yet it was a harassed, anxiouslife, with little of repose or relief; and Laura spent her time betweenwatching him and tending his health, and in the cares and representationbefitting her station, with little space for domestic pleasure andhome comfort, knowing her children more intimately through her sister'sobservation than through her own. 

Perfect and devoted as ever was their love, and they were thought mostadmirable and happy people. There was some wonder at his being a grave, melancholy man, when he had all before him so richly to enjoy, contraryto every probability when he began life. Still there was one who nevercould understand why others should think him stern and severe, and whyeven his own children should look up to him with love that partookof distant awe and respect, one to whom he never was otherwise thanindulgent, nay, almost reverential, in the gentleness of his kindness, and that was Mary Verena Morville. 

 THE END.