"So the fact is," said Charles, at length, "that Guy has asked for his own money, and when in lieu of it he received a letter full of unjust charges, he declared Philip was a meddling c.o.xcomb. I advise you not to justify his opinion."

Philip disdained to reply, and after a few more of Mr. Edmonstone"s exclamations 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 own sister?" 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 harm he did his friend"s cause, by recalling the affront which his father, at least, felt most deeply. Mr. Edmonstone grew angry with him for disregarding the insulting term applied to himself; and Charles, who, though improved in many points, still sometimes showed the effects of early habits of disrespect to his father, answered hastily, that no one could wonder at Guy"s resenting such suspicions; he deserved no blame at all, and would have been a blockhead to bear it tamely.

This was more than Charles meant, but his temper was fairly roused, and he said much more than was right or judicious, so that his advocacy only injured the cause. He had many representations to make on the injustice of condemning Guy unheard, of not even laying before him the proofs on which the charges were founded, and on the danger of actually driving him into mischief, by shutting the doors of Hollywell against him. "If you wanted to make him all you say he is, you are taking the very best means."

Quite true; but Charles had made his father too angry to pay attention.

This stormy discussion continued for nearly two hours, with no effect save inflaming the minds of all parties. At last Mr. Edmonstone was called 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 his senses.

"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 do not 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 desired to go up-stairs.

"People who always come when they are not wanted!" he muttered, as he went 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 you promote this unfortunate attachment."

"Take care what you say!" exclaimed Charles, flushing with anger, as he threw himself forward, with an impatient movement, trusting to his crutch rather than retain his cousin"s arm; but the crutch slipped, he missed his grasp at the bal.u.s.ters, and would have fallen to the bottom of the flight if Philip had not been close behind. Stretching out his foot, 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 way as easily as if he had been a child. The noise brought Amy out of the dressing-room, much frightened, though she did not speak till Charles was deposited on the sofa, and a.s.sured them he was not in the least hurt, but he would hardly thank his cousin for having so dexterously saved 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 alone with Amy. "A pretty thing for me to talk of being of any use, when I can"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 of presumption that uttered it."

"Oh, don"t speak so" began Amy; and at that moment Philip was close to them, set down the crutch that had been dropped, and went without speaking.

"I don"t care who hears," said Charles; "I say there is no greater misery in this world than to have the spirit of a man and the limbs of a cripple. I know if I was good for anything, things would not long be in this state. I should be at St. Mildred"s by this time, at the bottom of the 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 of talking? 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 of being attended to."

"O Charlie!" cried Amy, caressingly, and much distressed, "don"t talk so. Indeed, I can"t bear it! You know it is not so."

"Do I? Have not I been talking myself hoa.r.s.e, showing up their injustice, saying all a man could say to bring them to reason, and not an inch could I move them. I do believe Philip has driven my father stark mad with these abominable stories of his sister"s, which I verily believe 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, "to see Philip lay hold of my father, and twist him about as he chooses, and set every one down with his authority."

"Philip soon goes abroad," said Amy, who could not at the moment say anything more charitable.

"Ay! there is the hope. My father will return to his natural state provided they don"t drive Guy, in the meantime, to do something desperate."

"No, they won"t," whispered Amy.

"Well, give me the blotting-book. I"ll write to him this moment, and tell him we are not all the tools of Philip"s malice."

Amy gave the materials to her brother, and then turning away, busied herself in silence as best she might, in the employment her mother had recommended her, of sorting some garden-seeds for the cottagers. After an 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 think I ought."

"What?" asked Charles, not catching her very low tones, as she sat behind 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 with tears.

"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 there be 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 care what 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 they are persecuting, and slandering, and acting in the most outrageous way against 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 my father fancies he has done. Then I believe you don"t care a rush for him, and never want to see him again, and believe the whole monstrous farrago. I vow I"ll say so."

"O Charles, you are very cruel!" said Amy, with an irrepressible burst of weeping.

"Then, if you don"t believe it, why can"t you send one word to comfort him?"

She wept in silence for some moments; at last she said,--

"It would not comfort him to think me disobedient. He will trust me without, and he will know what you think. You are very kind, dear Charlie; but don"t persuade me any more, for I can"t bear it. I am going away now; but don"t fancy I am angry, only I don"t think I can sit by while you write that letter."

Poor little Amy, she seldom knew worse pain than at that moment, when she was obliged to go away to put it out of her power to follow the promptings of her heart to send the few kind words which might prove that nothing could shake her love and trust.