ena,
though he knew not half what it conveyed to Amabel.

Lastly, he asked if Marianne had any message; when she hung down her
head, and whispered to Miss Wellwood, what proved to be 'My love to dear
little cousin Mary.'

He promised to deliver it, and departed, wishing he could more easily
unbend.

CHAPTER 40

Blest, though every tear that falls
Doth in its silence of past sorrow tell,
And makes a meeting seem most like a dear farewell.
--WORDSWORTH

On Saturday afternoon, about half-past five, Philip Morville found
himself driving up to the well-known front door of Hollywell. At the
door he heard that every one was out excepting Lady Morville, who never
came down till the evening, save for a drive in the carriage.

He entered the drawing-room, and gazed on the scene where he had spent
so many happy hours, only darkened by that one evil spot, that had
grown till it not only poisoned his own mind, but cast a gloom over that
bright home.

All was as usual. Charles's sofa, little table, books, and inkstand, the
work-boxes on the table, the newspaper in Mr. Edmonstone's old folds.
Only the piano was closed, and an accumulation of books on the hinge
told how long it had been so; and the plants in the bay window were
brown and dry, not as when they were Amabel's cherished nurslings. He
remembered Amabel's laughing face and abundant curls, when she carried
in the camellia, and thought how little he guessed then that he should
be the destroyer of the happiness of her young life. How should he meet
her--a widow in her father's house--or look at her fatherless child?
He wondered how he had borne to come thither at all, and shrank at the
thought that this very evening, in a few hours, he must see her.

The outer door opened, there was a soft step, and Amabel stood before
him, pale, quiet, and with a smile of welcome. Her bands of hair looked
glossy under her widow's cap, and the deep black of her dress was
relieved by the white robes of the babe that lay on her arm. She held
out her hand, and he pressed it in silence.

'I thought you would like just to see baby,' said she, in a voice
something like apology.

He held out his arms to take it, for which Amy was by no means prepared.
She was not quite happy even in trusting it in her sister's arms, and
she supposed he had never before touched an infant. But that was all
nonsense, and she would not vex him with