trength her husband had
left her, and for him who had been his chief object of care. She had no
time to herself, except the few moments that she allowed herself now and
then to spend in gazing at the dear face that was still her comfort
and joy; until, at last, late in the evening, she succeeded in reading
Philip to sleep. Then, as she sat in the dim candle-light, with
everything in silence, a sense of desolation came upon her, and she knew
that she was alone.

At that moment a carriage thundered at the door, and she remembered for
the first time that she was expecting her father and mother. She softly
left the room and closed the door; and finding Anne in the nest room,
sent her down.

'Meet mamma, Anne,' said she; 'tell her I am quite well. Bring them
here.'

They entered; and there stood Amabel, her face a little flushed, just
like, only calmer, the daughter they had parted with on her bridal day,
four months ago. She held up her hand as a sign of silence, and said,--
'Hush! don't wake Philip.'

Mr. Edmonstone was almost angry, and actually began an impatient
exclamation, but broke it off with a sob, caught her in his arms, kissed
her, and then buried his face in his handkerchief. Mrs. Edmonstone,
still aghast at the tidings they had met at Vicenza, and alarmed at
her unnatural composure, embraced her; held her for some moments, then
looked anxiously to see her weep. But there was not a tear, and her
voice was itself, though low and weak, as, while her father began pacing
up and down, she repeated,--

'Pray don't, papa; Philip has been so ill all day.'

'Philip--pshaw!' said Mr. Edmonstone, hastily. 'How are you, yourself,
my poor darling?'

'Quite well, thank you,' said Amy. 'There is a room ready for you.'

Mrs. Edmonstone was extremely alarmed, sure that this was a grief too
deep for outward tokens, and had no peace till she had made Amabel
consent to come up with her, and go at once to bed. To this she agreed,
after she had rung for Arnaud, and stood with him in the corridor, to
desire him to go at once to Captain Morville, as softly as he could, and
when he waked, to say Mr. and Mrs. Edmonstone were come, but she thought
he had better not see them to-night; to tell him from her that she
wished him good night, and hoped he would, sleep quietly. 'And, Arnaud,
take care you do not let him know the hour tomorrow. Perhaps, as he is
so tired, he may sleep till afterwards.'

Mrs. Edmonstone was very impatie