my sport if
we meet!" and bustled off into the inn, whistling "God save the king!"

Philip started, then tried to bring to mind the faces which he had seen
at the "strange place," and thought he recalled the features of his
fellow-traveller. However, he did not seek to renew the acquaintance,
but inquired the way to Mr. Morton's house, and thither he now
proceeded.

He was directed, as a short cut, down one of those narrow passages at
the entrance of which posts are placed as an indication that they
are appropriated solely to foot-passengers. A dead white wall, which
screened the garden of the physician of the place, ran on one side; a
high fence to a nursery-ground was on the other; the passage was lonely,
for it was now the hour when few persons walk either for business or
pleasure in a provincial town, and no sound was heard save the fall of
his own step on the broad flagstones. At the end of the passage in the
main street to which it led, he saw already the large, smart, showy
shop, with the hot sum shining full on the gilt letters that conveyed
to the eyes of the customer the respectable name of "Morton,"--when
suddenly the silence was broken by choked and painful sobs. He turned,
and beneath a compo portico, jutting from the wall, which adorned the
physician's door, he saw a child seated on the stone steps weeping
bitterly--a thrill shot through Philip's heart! Did he recognise,
disguised as it was by pain and sorrow, that voice? He paused, and laid
his hand on the child's shoulder: "Oh, don't--don't--pray don't--I am
going, I am indeed:" cried the child, quailing, and still keeping his
hands clasped before his face.

"Sidney!" said Philip. The boy started to his feet, uttered a cry of
rapturous joy, and fell upon his brother's breast.

"O Philip!--dear, dear Philip! you are come to take me away back to my
own--own mamma; I will be so good, I will never tease her again,--never,
never! I have been so wretched!"

"Sit down, and tell me what they have done to you," said Philip,
checking the rising heart that heaved at his mother's name.

So, there they sat, on the cold stone under the stranger's porch, these
two orphans: Philip's arms round his brother's waist, Sidney leaning
on his shoulder, and imparting to him--perhaps with pardonable
exaggeration, all the sufferings he had gone through; and, when he came
to that morning's chastisement, and showed the wale across the little
hands which he had vainly held up