rtment and the dressing-room, was fain to follow
him down-stairs, as soon as her toilet was complete, only hoping Philip
would keep out of the way.

But, behold, there he was; and even Bustle was propitiated, for she
found him, his nose on Philip's knee, looking up in his face, and
wagging his tail, while Philip stroked and patted him, and could hardly
bear the appealing expression of the eyes, that, always wistful, now
seemed to every one to be looking for his master.

To see this attention to Bustle won Charlotte over in a moment. 'How are
you, Philip? Good dog, dear old Bustle!' came in a breath, and they were
both making much of the dog, when she amicably asked if he had seen the
baby, and became eager in telling about the christening.

The dinner-bell brought every one down but Amabel. The trembling hands
of Philip and Laura met for a moment, and they were in the dining-room.

Diligently and dutifully did Charles and Mrs. Edmonstone keep up the
conversation; the latter about her shopping, the former about the
acquaintances who had come to speak to him as he sat in the carriage. As
soon as possible, Mrs. Edmonstone left the dining-room, then Laura flew
up again to the dressing-room, sank down on a footstool by Amabel's
side, and exclaiming, 'O Amy, he is looking so ill!' burst into a flood
of tears.

The change had been a shock for which Laura had not been prepared.
Amy, who had seen him look so much worse, had not thought of it, and
it overcame Laura more than all her anxieties, lest his love should be
forfeited. She sobbed inconsolably over the alteration, and it was long
before Amabel could get her to hear that his face was much less thin
now, and that he was altogether much stronger; it was fatigue and
anxiety to-night, and to-morrow he would be better. Laura proceeded
to brood over her belief that his altered demeanour, his settled
melancholy, his not seeking her eye, his cold shake of the hand, all
arose from the diminution of his love, and his dislike to be encumbered
with a weak, foolish wife, with whom he had entangled himself when he
deemed her worthy of him. She dwelt on all this in silence, as she
sat at her sister's feet, and Amy left her to think, only now and then
giving some caress to her hair or cheek, and at each touch the desolate
waste of life that poor Laura was unfolding before herself was rendered
less dreary by the thought, 'I have my sister still, and she knows
sorrow too.' Then she hal