ning. But John was hurt more than he could have thought
possible by Philip's silence. He even tried to lead the conversation
artfully to that point in the debate, thinking perhaps the boy was shy
of speaking on the subject--but with no effect. It was exceedingly
strange. Had he been deceived in Philip? had the boy really no interest
in subjects of an elevated description? or was he ill? or what was the
matter with him? It troubled John to let him go on alone from Halkin
Street to his lodging, with a vague sense that something might happen.
But that was, of course, too absurd. "Tell your mother I'll come round
in the afternoon to-morrow, as soon as I am free," he said, holding
Philip's hand. And then he added, paternally, still holding that hand,
"Go to bed at once, boy. You've had a tiring day."

"Yes--I suppose so," said Philip, drawing his hand away.

"I hope you haven't done too much," said John, still lingering. "You're
too young for politics--and to sit up so late. I was wrong to keep you
out of bed."

"I hope I'm not such a child as that," said Philip, with a half-smile:
and then he went away, and John Tatham, with an anxious heart, closed
behind him his own door. If it were not for Elinor and her boy what a
life free of anxiety John would have had! Never any need to think with
solicitude of anything outside that peaceful door, no trouble with other
people's feelings, with investigations what this or that look or word
meant. But perhaps it was Elinor and her boy, after all (none of his!
thinking of him as an outsider, having nothing to do with their most
intimate circle of confidence and natural defence), who, by means of
that very anxiety, kept alive the higher principles of humanity in John
Tatham's heart.

Philip went home, walking quickly through the silent streets. They were
very silent at that advanced hour, yet not so completely but that there
was a woman who came up to the boy at the corner. Philip neither knew
nor desired to know what she said. He thought nothing about her one way
or another. He took a shilling out of his pocket and threw it to her as
he passed--walking on with the quick, elastic step which the sudden
acquaintance he had made with care had not been able to subdue. He saw
that there was still a faint light in his mother's window when he
reached the house, but he would not disturb her. How little would he
have thought of disturbing her on any other occasion! "Are you asleep,
mother?" he