s night. I won't hide my eyes and moan
over my broken reed; for Christmas is come, and the circles of song are
widening round! Glory! good will, peace on earth! How he sang it last
year, the last thing, when the people were gone, before we went up to
bed. But I am breaking my resolution again. I must do something.'

She took up a book of sacred poetry, and began to learn a piece which
she already nearly knew; but the light was bad, and it was dreamy work;
and probably she was half asleep, for her thoughts wandered off to
Sintram and the castle on the Mondenfelsen, which seemed to her like
what she had pictured the Redclyffe crags, and the castle itself was
connected in her imagination with the deep, echoing porch, while Guy's
own voice seemed to be chanting--

Who lives forlorn,
On God's own word doth rest;
His path is bright
With heavenly light,
His lot among the blest.

'Are you there, Amy?' said Charles, waking. 'What are you staying here
for? Don't they want you?'

'Mamma was so kind as to send me up.'

'I am glad you are come, for I have something to tell you. Mr. Ross has
been up to see me, you know, and he has a letter from Guy.'

Amy's heart beat fast, and, with eyes fixed on the ground, she listened
as Charles continued to give an account of Guy's letter about Coombe
Prior. 'Mr. Ross is quite satisfied about him, Amy,' he concluded. 'I
wish you could have heard the decided way in which he said, "He will
_live_ it down."'

Amy's answer was to stoop down and kiss her brother's forehead.

Another week brought Guy's renewal of the correspondence.

'Amy, here is something for you to read,' said Charles, holding up the
letter as she came into the room.

She knew the writing. 'Wait one moment, Charlie, dear;' and she ran out
of the room, found her mother fortunately alone, and said, averting her
face,--'Mamma, dear, do you think I ought to let Charlie show me that
letter?'

Mrs. Edmonstone took hold of her hand, and drew her round so as to look
into the face through its veiling curls. The hand shook, and the face
was in a glow of eagerness. 'Yes, dearest!' said she, for she could not
help it; and then, as Amy ran back again, she asked herself whether it
was foolish, and bad for her sweet little daughter, then declared to
herself that it must--it should--it would come right.

There was not a word of Amy in the letter, but it, or something else,
made her more