him beneath her. He shuddered
to think of her being united to anything so unlike herself, and which
might cause her so much misery; it was wretchedness to think that even
now she might be suffering for him; and yet not for worlds would he have
lost the belief that she was so feeling, or the remembrance of the looks
which had shone on him so sweetly and timidly as she sat at her mother's
feet; though that remembrance was only another form of misery. But Amy
would be tranquil, pure and good, whatever became of him, and he should
always be able to think of her, looking like one of those peaceful
spirits, with bending head, folded hands, and a star on its brow, in the
"Paradiso" of Flaxman. Her serenity would be untouched; and though she
might be lost to him, he could still be content while he could look up
at it through his turbid life. Better she were lost to him than that her
peace should be injured.

He still, of course, earnestly longed to prove his innocence, though
his hopes lessened, for as long as the evidence was withheld, he had
no chance. After writing as strongly as he could, he could do no more,
except watch for something that might unravel the mystery; and Charles's
warm sympathy and readiness to assist him were a great comfort.

He had not seen his uncle again; perhaps Sebastian was ashamed to meet
him after their last encounter, and was still absent on his engagement;
but the wife and child were still at St. Mildred's, and one afternoon,
when Guy had rather unwillingly gone thither with Mr. Wellwood, he saw
Mrs. Dixon sitting on one of the benches which were placed on the paths
cut out on the side of the hill, looking very smart and smiling, among
several persons of her own class.

To be ashamed to recognise her was a weakness beneath him; he spoke to
her, and was leaving her, pluming herself on his notice, when he saw
little Marianne's blue eyes fixed wistfully upon him, and held out his
hand to her. She ran up to him joyfully, and he led her a few steps from
her mother's party. 'Well, little one, how are you? I have your piece of
spar quite safe. Have you said how d'ye do to Bustle?'

'Bustle! Bustle!' called the soft voice but it needed a whistle from his
master to bring him to be caressed by the little girl.

'Have you been taking any more pleasant walks?'

'Oh yes. We have been all round these pretty paths. And I should like to
go to the top of this great high hill, and see all round; but mamma s