"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; "but there is still something unexplained, and I am afraid things may not go smoothly just now. I am very sorry, my little Amy, that such a cloud should have come over you, she added, smoothing fondly the long, soft hair, sad at heart to see the cares and griefs of womanhood gathering over 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 childish simplicity of manner, "I can"t bear them to vex him. I wish Philip would let papa settle it alone. Guy will be angry, and grieved afterwards."

They were interrupted by the dinner-bell, but Amy ran into her own room for one moment.

"I said I would learn to bear," said she to herself, "or I shall never be fit for him. Yes, I will, even though it is the thinking he is unhappy. He said I must be his Verena; I know what that means; I ought not to be uneasy, for he will bear it beautifully, and say he is glad of it 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 off upon politics, which lasted till the ladies could escape into the drawing-room. In another minute Philip brought in Charles, set him down, and departed. Amy, who was standing by the window, resting her forehead against the gla.s.s, and gazing into the darkness, turned round hastily, and left the room, but in pa.s.sing her brother, she put her hand into his, and received a kind pressure. Her mother followed her, and the other three all began to wonder. Charles said he had regularly been turned out of the dining-room by Philip, who announced that he wanted to speak to his uncle, and carried him off.

They conjectured, and were indignant at each other"s conjectures, till their 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 c.o.c.katrice egg, and Philip was hatching it; and Laura could not trust herself to defend Philip, lest she should do it too vehemently. They could all agree in desire to know the truth, in hope that Guy was not culpable, and, above all, in feeling for Amy; but by tacit consent they were silent on the three shades of opinion in their minds. Laura was confident that Philip was acting for the best; Mrs.

Edmonstone thought he might be mistaken in his premises, but desirous of Guy"s real good; and Charles, though sure he would allege nothing which he did not believe to be true, also thought him ready to draw the worst conclusions from small grounds, and to take pleasure in driving Mr.

Edmonstone to the most rigorous measures.

Philip, meanwhile, was trying to practise great moderation and forbearance, not bringing forward at first what was most likely to incense 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, touched by the sight of his little Amy, returning to his first favourable view of Guy"s letter, ready to overlook everything, accept the justification, and receive his ward on the same footing as before, though he was at the same time ashamed that Philip should see him relent, and desirous of keeping up his character for firmness, little guessing how his nephew felt his power over him, and knew that he could wield him at will.

Perceiving and pitying his feebleness, and sincerely believing strong measures the only rescue for Amy, the only hope for Guy, Philip found himself obliged to work on him by the production of another letter from his sister. He would rather, if possible, have kept this back, so much did his honourable feeling recoil from what had the air of slander and mischief-making; but he regarded firmness on his uncle"s part as the only chance for Guy or for his cousin, and was resolved not to let him swerve 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 he was 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 rea.s.sured my sister. I have told her that, let the boy do what he will, he shall never make me guilty of his death."

"You have heard from him, then?"

"No; I suppose a night"s reflection convinced him that he had no rational grounds for violent proceedings, and he had sense enough not to expose himself to such an answer as I should have given. What caused his wrath to be directed towards me especially, I cannot tell, nor can my sister," said Philip, looking full at his uncle; "but I seem to have come in for a full share of it."

He proceeded to read the description of Guy"s pa.s.sion, and the expressions he had used. Violent as it had been, it did not lose in Mrs. Henley"s colouring; and what made the effect worse was that she had omitted to say she had overheard his language, so that it appeared as if he had been unrestrained even by gentlemanly feeling, and had thus spoken of her brother and uncle in her presence.

Mr. Edmonstone was resentful now, really displeased, and wounded to the quick. The point on which he was especially sensitive was his reputation for sense and judgment; and that Guy, who had shown him so much respect and affection, whom he had treated with invariable kindness, and received into his family like a son, that he should thus speak of him shocked him extremely. He was too much overcome even to break out into exclamations at first, he only drank off his gla.s.s of wine hastily, and said, "I would never have thought it!"

With these words, all desire for forbearance and toleration departed. If Guy 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 with Amy, 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 the exaggerations of his imagination in a manner which appeared highly n.o.ble, considering how Guy had spoken of him. Before they parted that night, another letter had been written, which stood thus,--

"DEAR SIR GUY,--Since you refuse the confidence which I have a right to demand, since you elude the explanation I asked, and indulge yourself in speaking in disrespectful terms of me and my family, I have every reason to suppose that you have no desire to continue on the same footing as heretofore at Hollywell. As your guardian, I repeat that I consider myself bound to keep a vigilant watch over your conduct, and, if possible, to recover you from the unhappy course in which you have involved yourself: but all other intercourse between you and this family must 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 would hardly be prevailed on to consent to enter on no further reproaches.

He insisted on banishing Deloraine, as well as on the mention of Guy"s disrespect, both against his nephew"s opinion; but it was necessary to let him have his own way on these points, and Philip thought himself fortunate in getting a letter written which was in any degree rational and moderate.

They had been so busy, and Mr. Edmonstone so excited, that Philip thought it best to accept the offer of tea being sent them in the dining-room, and it was not till nearly midnight that their conference broke up, when Mr. Edmonstone found his wife sitting up by the dressing-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 settling matters in my absence." So he proceeded with the narration, mixing the facts undistinguishably with his own surmises, and overwhelming his wife with dismay. If a quarter of this was true, defence of Guy was out of the question; and it was still more impossible to wish Amy"s attachment to him to continue; and though much was incredible, it was no time to say 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 Amy must be ordered to give up all thoughts of Guy, and she perceived that the 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 an unjust imputation, and she thought he might have been drawn into some sc.r.a.pe to serve a friend; but she could never suppose him capable of all Mr. Edmonstone imagined.

The first attempt to plead his cause, however, brought on her an angry reply; for Philip, by a hint, that she never saw a fault in Guy, had put it into his uncle"s head that she would try to lead him, and made him particularly 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 the dressing-room. Between obedience to her husband, her conviction of Guy"s innocence, and her tenderness to her daughter, Mrs. Edmonstone had a hard task, and she could scarcely check her tears as Amy nestled up for her morning kiss.

"O mamma! what is it?"

"Dearest, I told you a cloud was coming. Try to bear it. Your papa is not satisfied with Guy"s answer, and it seems he spoke some hasty words of papa and Philip; they have displeased papa very much, and, my dear child, you must try to bear it, he has written to tell Guy he must not think any more of you."

"He has spoken hasty words of papa!" repeated Amy, as if she had not heard the rest. "How sorry he must be!"

As she spoke, Charles"s door was pushed open, and in he came, half dressed, scrambling on, with but one crutch, to the chair near which she stood, with drooping head and clasped hands.

"Never mind, little Amy, he said; "I"ll lay my life "tis only some monstrous 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"t cry, 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 own feeling, "it is not the best or kindest way to do her good by telling her 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;" and Mrs. Edmonstone related what she knew; glad to address herself to any one but Amy, who stood still, meanwhile, her hands folded on the back of her 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. Amy heard and hoped, and his mother, who had great confidence in his clear sight, was so cheered as almost to expect that today"s post might carry a conciliatory letter.

Meantime, Laura and Philip met in the breakfast-room, and in answer to her anxious inquiry, he had given her an account of Guy, which, though harsh enough, was far more comprehensible than what the rest had been able 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 her humility and her love. Do you know, Philip, I was almost jealous for a moment that all should be so easy for them; and I blamed poverty; but oh! there are worse things than poverty!"

He did not speak, but his dark blue eye softened with the tender look known only to her; and it was one of the precious moments for which she lived. She was happy till the rest came down, and then a heavy cloud seemed to hang on them at breakfast time.

"Charles, who found anxiety on Guy"s account more exciting, though considerably less agreeable, than he had once expected, would not go away 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, and poured out a confused torrent of Guy"s imagined misdeeds, while Philip explained and modified his exaggerations.