the bonds of love and duty towards
him. She had not had the strength either way to be consistent, to carry
out one steady policy. It was cruel of John to say this, for but for him
and his remonstrances Elinor would, or might have, fled, and avoided
this last ordeal. But he had not done so, and now here she was in the
middle of her life, her frail ship of safety driven about among the
rocks, dependent upon the magnanimity of the husband from whom she had
fled, and the child whom she had deceived.

"Your mother is very tired, Philip," he said, when the boy appeared. "I
was to tell you to go up and bid her good-night before you went out; for
it will probably be late before you get back, if you think you are game
to sit out the debate."

"I will sit it out," said Philip, with no laughter in his eye, with
an almost solemn air, as if announcing a grave resolution. He went
up-stairs, not three steps at a time, as was his wont, but soberly,
as if his years had been forty instead of eighteen. And he showed no
surprise to find the room darkened, though Elinor was a woman who loved
the light. He gave his mother a kiss and smoothed her pillow with a
tender touch of pity. "Is your head very bad?" he said.

"It is only that I am dreadfully tired, Pippo. I hope I shall sleep: and
it will help me to think you are happy with Uncle John."

"Then I shall try to be happy with Uncle John," he said, with a sort of
smile. "Good-night, mother; I hope you'll be better to-morrow."

"Oh, yes," she said. "To-morrow is always a new day."

He seemed in the half light to nod his head, and then to shake it, as
one that assents, but doubts--having many troubled thoughts and
questions in his mind. But Pippo did not at all expect to be happy with
Uncle John.

CHAPTER XLVI.

It cannot be said that Uncle John was very happy with Philip, but that
was a thing the others did not take into account. John Tatham was doing
for the boy as much as a man could do. A great debate was expected that
evening, in which many eminent persons were to speak, and Mr. Tatham
gave Philip a hasty dinner in the House so that he should lose nothing,
and he found him a corner in the distinguished strangers' gallery,
telling him with a smile that he expected him hereafter to prove his
title to such a place. But Philip's smile in return was very unlike the
flush of pleasure that would have lighted it up only yesterday. John
felt that the boy was not at all the deligh