ough with Mr. Clifford, but
Phebe would not go with them, in spite of their earnest desire; and Jean
Merle, their kinsman, was absent, only coming home the night before they
bade their last farewell to their birth-place. He appeared to them a
very silent and melancholy man, keeping himself quite in the background,
and unwilling to talk much about his own country and his relationship
with their grandmother's family. But they had not time to pay much
attention to him; the engrossing interest of spending the few last hours
amid these familiar places, so often and so fondly to be remembered in
the coming years, made them less regardful of this stranger, who was
watching them with undivided and despairing interest. No word or look
escaped him, as he accompanied them from room to room, and about the
garden walks, unable to keep himself away from this unspeakable torture.
Mr. Clifford wept, as old men weep, when they bade him good-by; but
Felix was astonished by the fixed and mournful expression of inward
anguish in Jean Merle's eyes, as he held his hand in a grasp that would
not let him go.

"I may never see you again," he said, "but I shall hear of you."

"Yes," answered Felix, "we shall write frequently to Mr. Clifford, and
you will answer our letters for him."

"God bless you!" said Jean Merle. "God grant that you may be a truer
and a happier man than your father was."

Felix started. This man, then, knew of his father's crime; probably knew
more of it than he did. But there was no time to question him now; and
what good would it do to hear more than he knew already? Hilda was
standing near to him waiting to say good-by, and Jean Merle, turning to
her, took her into his arms, and pressed her closely to his heart. A
sudden impulse prompted her to put her arm round his neck as she had
done round old Mr. Clifford's, and to lift up her face for his kiss. He
held her in his embrace for a few moments, and then, without another
word spoken to them, he left them and they saw him no more. The marriage
was celebrated a few days after this visit, and not long before the time
fixed for the Bishop and his large band of emigrants to sail. Under
these circumstances the ceremony was a quiet one. The old rectory was in
disorder, littered with packing cases, and upset from cellar to garret.
Even when the wedding was over both Phebe and Hilda were too busy for
sentimental indulgence. The few remaining days were flying swiftly past
them a