ce next her, sat
down, holding his hand to his forehead, as if too much overpowered by
indisposition to think of anything else. Such was in great measure the
case; he was very much fatigued with the journey, and these different
agitating scenes had increased the pain in his head to a violent degree;
besides which, feeling that his aunt still regarded him as she did
at Recoara, he could not bear to make any demonstration towards Laura
before her, lest she might think it a sort of triumphant disregard of
her just displeasure.

Poor Laura saw in it both severe suffering and dislike to her; and the
more she understood from her father's manner what had passed in the
other room, the more she honoured him for the sacrifice he was making of
himself.

Mrs. Edmonstone waited on the headache with painful attention, but they
all felt that the only thing to be done for the two poor things was
to let them come to an explanation; so Charlotte was sent to bed, her
mother went up to Amy, Charles carried off his father to the study, and
they found themselves alone.

Laura held down her face, and struggled to make her palpitating heart
and dry tongue suffer her to begin the words to which she had wound
herself up. Philip raised his hands from his eyes as the door shut, then
rose up, and fixed them on Laura. She, too, looked up, as if to begin;
their eyes met, and they understood all. He stepped towards her, and
held out his hands. The next moment both hers were clasped in his--he
had bent down and kissed her brow.

No words of explanation passed between them. Laura knew he was her own,
and needed no assurance that her misgivings had been vain. There was a
start of extreme joy, such as she had known twice before, but it could
be only for a moment while he looked so wretchedly unwell. It did but
give her the right to attend to him. The first thing she said was to beg
him to lie down on the sofa; her only care was to make him comfortable
with cushions, and he was too entirely worn out to say anything he had
intended, capable only of giving himself up to the repose of knowing her
entirely his own, and of having her to take care of him. There he lay
on the sofa, with his eyes shut, and Laura's hand in his, while she sat
beside him, neither of them speaking; and, excepting that she withdrew
her hand, neither moved when the others returned.

Mrs. Edmonstone compassionated him, and showed a great deal of
solicitude about him, trying hard to