head."
I am sure they are burning on mine,' and he pressed his hand on his
forehead.

'Don't say such things. We both know that, at the worst of times, he
looked on you as a sincere friend.'

Philip groaned, and she thought it best to go on to something else.
'I like this best,' she said. 'It will be nice to think of far away. I
should like, too, for these Italians to see the stranger has the same
creed as themselves.'

After a moment's pause, during which he looked at the paper, he said,
'Amy, I have one thing to ask of you. Will you write my name in the
Prayer-book?'

'That I will,' said she, and Philip drew it from under the sofa cushion,
and began putting together his pocket gold pen. While he was doing this,
she said, 'Will you write to me sometimes? I shall be so anxious to know
how you get on.'

'Yes, thank you,' said he; with a sigh, as if he would fain have said
more.

She paused; then said, abruptly, 'Do you know they never had your
letter?'

'Ha! Good heavens!' cried he, starting up in consternation; 'then they
don't know it!'

'They do. Sit down, Philip, and hear. I wanted to tell you about it.
They know it. Poor Laura was so unhappy when you were ill, that mamma
made it out from her.'

He obeyed the hand that invited him back to his seat, and turned his
face earnestly towards her. He must let her be his comforter, though a
moment before his mind would have revolted at troubling the newly-made
widow with his love affairs. Amabel told him, as fully and clearly as
she could, how the truth had come out, how gently Laura had been dealt
with, how Charles had been trying to soften his father, and papa had not
said one angry word to her.

'They forgive her. Oh, Amy, thanks indeed! You have taken away one of
the heaviest burdens. I am glad, indeed, that she spoke first. For my
own part, I see through all their kindness and consideration how they
regard me.'

'They know how sorry you are, and that you wrote to tell all,' said
Amabel. 'They forgive, indeed they do; but they cannot bear to speak
about it just yet.'

'If you forgive, Amy,' said he, in a husky voice, 'I may hope for pardon
from any.'

'Hush! don't say that. You have been so kind, all this time, and we have
felt together so much, that no one could help forgetting anything that
went before. Then you will write to me; and will you tell me how to
direct to you?'

'You will write to me?' cried Philip, brightening for a moment with glad