rything had been secret, and
that all was mystery--all mystery! and nothing sure in life.

It crossed Philip's mind more than once to question John Tatham upon
this dreadful discovery of his--John, who was a relation, who had been
the universal referee of the household as long as he could remember,
Uncle John must know. But there were two things which held him back:
first, the recollection of his own disdainful offence at the suggestion
that Uncle John, an outsider, could know more than he did of the family
concerns; and partly from the proud determination to ask no questions,
to seek no information that was not freely given to him. He made up his
mind to this while he looked out from his corner upon the lighted House,
seeing men move up and down, and voices going on, and the sound of
restless members coming and going, while the business of the country
went on. It was far more important than any private affairs that could
be passing in an individual brain, and Philip knew with what high-handed
certainty he would have put down the idea that to himself at his age
there could be anything private half so exciting, half so full of
interest, as a debate on the policy of the country which might carry
with it the highest issues. But conviction comes readily on such
subjects when the personal interest comes which carries every other
away. It was while a minister was speaking, and everything hanging on
his words, that the boy made up his mind finally that he would ask no
questions. He would ignore that scene in the Law Courts, as if it had
not been. He would say nothing, try to look as if nothing had passed,
and wait to see if any explanation would come.

It was not, perhaps, then to be wondered at if John found him a much
less interesting companion than ever before, as they walked home
together in the small hours of the night. Mr. Tatham's own speech had
been short, but he had the agreeable consciousness that it had been an
effective one, and he was prepared to find the boy excited by it, and
full of applause and satisfaction. But Philip did not say a word about
the speech. He was only a boy, and it may be supposed that any applause
from him would have had little importance for the famous lawyer--the
highly-esteemed member who kept his independence, and whose speeches
always secured the attention of the House, and carried weight as among
the few utterances which concerned the real import of a question and not
its mere party mea