my father is acting on a wrong impression; what harm can there
be in it? Every one would do so.'

'I am sure he would not think it right,' faltered Amy.

'He? You'll never have any more to say to him, if you don't take care
what you are about.'

'I can't help it,' said Amy, in a broken voice. 'It is not right.'

'Nonsense! folly!' said Charles. 'You are as bad as the rest. When they
are persecuting, and slandering, and acting in the most outrageous way
against him, and you know one word of yours would carry him through all,
you won't say it, to save him from distraction, and from doing all my
father fancies he has done. Then I believe you don't care a rush for
him, and never want to see him again, and believe the whole monstrous
farrago. I vow I'll say so.'

'O Charles, you are very cruel!' said Amy, with an irrepressible burst
of weeping.

'Then, if you don't believe it, why can't you send one word to comfort
him?'

She wept in silence for some moments; at last she said,--

'It would not comfort him to think me disobedient. He will trust me
without, and he will know what you think. You are very kind, dear
Charlie; but don't persuade me any more, for I can't bear it. I am going
away now; but don't fancy I am angry, only I don't think I can sit by
while you write that letter.'

Poor little Amy, she seldom knew worse pain than at that moment, when
she was obliged to go away to put it out of her power to follow the
promptings of her heart to send the few kind words which might prove
that nothing could shake her love and trust.

A fresh trial awaited her when she looked from her own window. She
saw Deloraine led out, his chestnut neck glossy in the sun and William
prepared for a journey, and the other servants shaking hands, and
bidding him good-bye. She saw him ride off, and could hardly help flying
back to her brother to exclaim, 'O Charlie, they have sent Deloraine
away!' while the longing to send one kind greeting became more earnest
than ever; but she withstood it, and throwing herself on the bed,
exclaimed,--

'He will never come back--never, never!' and gave way, unrestrainedly,
to a fit of weeping; nor was it till this had spent itself that she
could collect her thoughts.

She was sitting on the side of her bed trying to compose herself, when
Laura, came in.

'My own Amy--my poor, dearest,--I am very sorry!'

'Thank you, dear Laura,' and Amy gladly rested her aching head on her
shoulder.

'I wi