te a letter, or make some arrangement.
Philip, too, needed attention; but excellent nurse as Mrs. Edmonstone
was, she only made him worse. The more he felt she was his kind aunt
still, the more he saw how he had wounded her, and that her pardon
was an effort. The fond, spontaneous, unreserved affection--almost
petting--which he had well-nigh dared to contemn, was gone; her manner
was only that of a considerate nurse. Much as he longed for a word
of Laura, he did not dare to lead to it,--indeed, he was so far from
speaking to her of any subject which touched him, that he did not
presume even to inquire for Amabel, he only heard of her through Arnaud.

At night sheer exhaustion worked its own cure; he slept soundly, and
awoke in the morning revived. He heard from Arnaud that Lady Morville
was pretty well, but had not slept; and presently Mrs. Edmonstone came
in and took pains to make him comfortable, but with an involuntary
dryness of manner. She told him his uncle would come to see him as soon
as he was up, if he felt equal to talking over some business. Philip's
brain reeled with dismay and consternation, for it flashed on him that
he was heir of Redclyffe. He must profit by the death he had caused; he
had slain, and he must take possession of the lands which, with loathing
and horror, he remembered that he had almost coveted. Nothing more
was wanting. There was little consolation in remembering that the
inheritance would clear away all difficulties in the way of his
marriage. He had sinned; wealth did not alter his fault, and his spirit
could not brook that if spurned in poverty, he should be received for
his riches. He honoured his aunt for being cold and reserved, and could
not bear the idea of seeing his uncle ready to meet him half-way.

After the first shock he became anxious to have the meeting over, know
the worst, and hear on what ground he stood with Laura. As soon as he
was dressed, he sent a message to announce that he was ready, and lay
on the sofa awaiting his uncle's arrival, as patiently as he could. Mr.
Edmonstone, meantime, was screwing up his courage--not that he meant to
say a word of Laura,--Philip was too unwell to be told his opinion of
him, but now he had ceased to rely on his nephew, he began to dread
him and his overbearing ways; and besides he had a perfect horror of
witnessing agitation.

At last he came, and Philip rose to meet him with a feeling of shame and
inferiority most new to him.