he ought to go; so murmuring something about looking for Laura,
she threw on her scarf, and sprung to the window. Her muslin caught on
the bolt, she turned, Guy was already disentangling it, and she met
his eye. It was full of anxious, pleading inquiry, which to her seemed
upbraiding, and, not knowing what to do, she exclaimed, hurriedly,
'Thank you; no harm done!' and darted into the garden, frightened
to feel her face glowing and her heart throbbing. She could not help
looking back to see if he was following. No, he was not attempting it;
he was leaning against the window, and on she hastened, the perception
dawning on her that she was hurting him; he might think her rude,
unkind, capricious, he who had always been so kind to her, and when he
was going away so soon. 'But it is right; it must be done,' said little
Amy to herself, standing still, now that she was out of sight. 'If I
was wrong before, I must bear it now, and he will see the rights of it
sooner or later. The worst of all would be my not doing the very _most_
_right_ to please any body. Besides he can't really care for missing
silly little Amy when he has mamma and Charlie. And he is going away, so
it will be easier to begin right when he comes back. Be that as it may,
it must be done. I'll get Charlie to tell me what he was saying about
the painted glass.'

CHAPTER 13

Oh, thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksands--life hath snares--
Care and age come unawares.

Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June.
--Longfellow

'What is the matter with Amy? What makes her so odd?' asked Charles, as
his mother came to wish him good night.

'Poor little dear! don't take any notice,' was all the answer he
received; and seeing that he was to be told no more, he held his peace.

Laura understood without being told. She, too, had thought Guy and Amy
were a great deal together, and combining various observations, she
perceived that her mother must have given Amy a caution. She therefore
set herself, like a good sister, to shelter Amy as much as she could,
save her from awkward situations, and, above all, to prevent her altered
manner from being remarked. This was the less difficult, as Eveleen was
subdued and languid, and more inclined to lie on the sofa and read than
to look out for mirth.

As to poor little Amy, her task was in one way becom