he
cool, thinking head in the family. Of course Mr. Edmonstone stormed,
vowed that he could not have believed it, then veered round, and said
he could have predicted it from the first. It was all mamma's fault
for letting him be so intimate with the girls--how was a poor lad to
be expected not to fall in love? Next he broke into great wrath at the
abuse of his confidence, then at the interference with Guy, then at the
intolerable presumption of Philip's thinking of Laura. He would soon
let him know what he thought of it! When reminded of Philip's present
condition, he muttered an Irish imprecation on the fever for interfering
with his anger, and abused the 'romantic folly' that had carried Guy to
nurse him at Recoara. He was not so much displeased with Laura; in fact
he thought all young ladies always ready to be fallen in love with,
and hardly accountable for what their lovers might make them do, and he
pitied her heartily, when he heard of her sitting up all night. Anything
of extravagance in love met with sympathy from him, and there was no
effort in his hearty forgiveness of her. He vowed that she should give
the fellow up, and had she been present, would have tried to make her do
so at a moment's warning; but in process of time he was convinced that
he must not persecute her while Philip was in extremity, and though,
like Charles, he scorned the notion of his death, and, as if it was
an additional crime, pronounced him to be as strong as a horse, he was
quite ready to put off all proceedings till his recovery, being glad to
defer the evil day of making her cry.

So when Laura ventured out, she met with nothing harsh; indeed, but for
the sorrowful kindness of her family towards her, she could hardly have
guessed that they knew her secret.

Her heart leapt when Amabel's letter was silently handed to her, and she
saw the news of Philip's amendment, but a sickening feeling succeeded,
that soon all forbearance would be at an end, and he must hear that her
weakness had betrayed his secret. For the present, however, nothing was
said, and she continued in silent dread of what each day might bring
forth, till one afternoon, when the letters had been fetched from
Broadstone, Mrs. Edmonstone, with an exclamation of dismay, read
aloud:--

'Recoara, September 8th.

'DEAREST MAMMA,--Don't be very much frightened when I tell you that Guy
has caught the fever. He has been ailing since Sunday, and yesterday
became qui