ll, to
comfort Laura?'

'I shall wait till you send me. Besides, how can you invite company till
we know whether we have a roof over our house or not? What is he doing
now?'

'As usual, he has an unlimited capacity for sleep.'

'I wish you had. I don't think you have slept two hours together since
you left off sitting up.'

'I am beginning to think it a popular delusion. I do just as well
without it.'

'So you say; but Mr. Shene would never have taken such a fancy to you,
if you always had such purple lines as those under your eyes. Look!
Is that a face for Sir Galahad, or Sir Guy, or any of the Round Table?
Come, I wish you would lie down, and be read to sleep.'

'I should like a walk much better. It is very cool and bright. Will you
come?'

They walked for some time, talking over the conduct of Philip and
Laura. Amabel seemed quite oppressed by the thought of such a burthen of
concealment. She said she did not know what she should have done in
her own troubles without mamma and Charlie; and she could not imagine
Laura's keeping silence through the time of Philip's danger; more
especially as she recollected how appalling some of her bulletins had
been. The only satisfaction was in casting as much of the blame on him
as possible.

'You know he never would let her read novels; and I do believe that was
the reason she did not understand what it meant.'

'I think there is a good deal in that,' said Guy, laughing, 'though
Charlie would say it is a very _novel_ excuse for a young lady falling
imprudently in love.'

'I do believe, if it was any one but Laura, Charlie would be very glad
of it. He always fully saw through Philip's supercilious shell.'

'Amy!'

'No; let me go on, Guy, for you must allow that it was much worse in
such a grave, grand, unromantic person, who makes a point of thinking
before he speaks, than if it had been a hasty, hand-over-head man like
Maurice de Courcy, who might have got into a scrape without knowing it.

'That must have made the struggle to confess all the more painful; and a
most free, noble, open-hearted confession it was.'

They tried to recollect all that had passed during that summer, and to
guess against whom he had wished to warn her; but so far were they from
divining the truth, that they agreed it must either have been Maurice,
or some other wild Irishman.

Next, they considered what was to be done. Philip must manage his
confession his own way; but they had it in