thout the sting.

Amabel, in obedience to a sign from her mother, sat on a root of the
tree while the Lesson was read, and afterwards she moved forward and
stood at the edge of the grave, her hands tightly clasped, and her
head somewhat raised, as if her spirit was following her husband to his
repose above, rather than to his earthly resting-place.

The service was ended, and she was taking a last long gaze, while her
mother, in the utmost anxiety, was striving to make up her mind to draw
her away, when suddenly a tall gaunt figure was among them--his
face ghastly pale, and full of despair and bewilderment--his step
uncertain--his dress disordered.

Amabel turned, went up to him, laid her hand on his arm, and said,
softly, and quietly looking up in his face, 'It is over now, Philip; you
had better come home.'

Not attempting to withstand her, he obeyed as if it was his only
instinct. It was like some vision of a guiding, succouring spirit, as
she moved on, slowly gliding in her white draperies. Mrs. Edmonstone
watched her in unspeakable awe and amazement, almost overpowering her
anxieties. It seemed as impossible that the one should be Amy as that
the other should be Philip, her gentle little clinging daughter, or her
proud, imperturbable, self-reliant nephew.

But it was Amy's own face, when they entered the corridor and she turned
back her veil, showing her flushed and heated cheeks, at the same time
opening Philip's door and saying, 'Now you must rest, for you ought not
to have come out. Lie down, and let mamma read to you.'

Mrs. Edmonstone was reluctant, but Amy looked up earnestly and said,
'Yes, dear mamma, I should like to be alone a little while.'

She then conducted her father to the sitting-room up-stairs.

'I will give you the papers,' she said; and leaving him, returned
immediately.

'This is his will,' she said. 'You will tell me if there is anything
I must do at once. Here is a letter to Mr. Markham, and another to Mr.
Dixon, if you will be so kind as to write and enclose them. Thank you,
dear papa.'

She drew a blotting-book towards him, saw that there was ink and pen,
and left him too much appalled at her ways to say anything.

His task was less hard than the one she had set her mother. Strong
excitement had carried Philip to the grave-yard as soon as he learnt
what was passing. He could hardly return even with Arnaud's support, and
he had only just reached the sofa before he fell into a fa