hout betraying his uncle.

He waited in vain. The hour passed at which Philip's coming was
possible; Guy was disappointed, but looked for a letter; but post after
post failed to bring him one. Perhaps Philip would write from Hollywell,
or else Mr. Edmonstone would write, or at least he was sure that Charles
would write--Charles, whose confidence and sympathy, expressed in almost
daily letters, had been such a comfort. But not a line came. He reviewed
in memory his last letter to Charles, wondering whether it could have
offended him; but it did not seem possible; he thought over all that
Philip could have learnt in his visit, to see if it could by any means
have been turned to his disadvantage. But he knew he had done nothing
to which blame could be attached; he had never infringed the rules
of college discipline; and though still backward, and unlikely to
distinguish himself, he believed that was the worst likely to have been
said of him. He only wished his true character was as good as what would
be reported of him.

As he thought and wondered, he grew more and more restless and unhappy.
He could imagine no reason for the silence, unless Mr. Edmonstone had
absolutely forbidden any intercourse, and it did not seem probable that
he would issue any commands in a manner to bind a grown-up son, more
especially as there had been no attempt at communication with Amy. It
was terrible thus, without warning, to be cut off from her, and all
besides that he loved. As long as Charles wrote, he fancied her sitting
by, perhaps sealing the letter, and he could even tell by the kind of
paper and envelope, whether they were sitting in the dressing-room or
down-stairs; but now there was nothing, no assurance of sympathy, no
word of kindness; they might all have given him up; those unhappy words
were like a barrier, cutting him off for ever from the happiness of
which he had once had a glimpse. Was the Redclyffe doom of sin and
sorrow really closing in upon him?

If it had not been for chapel and study, he hardly knew how he should
have got through that term; but as the end of it approached, a feverish
impatience seized on him whenever the post came in, for a letter, if
only to tell him not to come to Hollywell. None came, and he saw nothing
for it but to go to Redclyffe; and if he dreaded seeing it in its
altered state when his spirits were high and unbroken, how did he shrink
from it now! He did, however, make up his mind, for he felt