ay to you. I don't think you must expect papa to begin about it
himself. You know he does not like awkwardness, though he will be very
glad when once it is done, and ready to meet you half way.' He did not
answer, and after a silence Amabel added, 'Laura is out of doors. She
and Charlotte take very long walks.'

'And is she really strong and well, or is it that excited overdoing of
employment that I first set her upon?' he asked, anxiously.

'She is perfectly well, and to be busy has been a great help to her,'
said Amabel. 'It was a great comfort that we did not know how ill you
had been at Corfu, till the worst was over. Eveleen only mentioned it
when you were better. I was very anxious, for I had some fears from the
note that you sent by Arnaud. I am very glad to see you safe here, for I
have felt all along that we forsook you; but I could not help it.'

'I am very glad you did not stay. The worst of all would have been that
you should have run any risk.'

'There is the carriage,' said Amy. 'Mamma and Charlie have been to
Broadstone. They thought they might meet you by the late train.'

Philip's colour rose. He stood up--sat down; then rising once more,
leant on the mantel-piece, scarcely knowing how to face either of
them--his aunt, with her well-merited displeasure, and Charles, who
when he parted with him had accused him so justly--Charles, who had seen
through him and had been treated with scorn.

A few moments, and Charles came in, leaning on his mother. They both
shook hands, exclaimed at finding Amabel downstairs, and Mrs. Edmonstone
asked after Philip's health in her would-be cordial manner. The two
ladies then went up-stairs together, and thus ended that conference,
in which both parties had shown rare magnanimity, of which they were
perfectly unconscious; and perhaps the most remarkable part of all
was that Philip quietly gave up the great renunciation and so-called
sacrifice, with which he had been feeding his hopes, at the simple
bidding of the gentle-spoken Amabel--not even telling her that he
resigned it. He kept the possessions which he abhorred, and gave up the
renunciation he had longed to make, and in this lay the true sacrifice,
the greater because the world would think him the gainer.

When the mother and daughter were gone, the cousins were silent, Philip
resting his elbow on the mantel-shelf and his head on his hand, and
Charles sitting at the end of the sofa, warming first one hand, then t