nothing but grief and love, the young man's right spirit came into him
again.

"O mother, mother, forgive me! I am so miserable--so miserable."

He laid his head on her shoulder. She kissed and clasped him
close--her boy who never could be wholly hers again, who had learned to
love some one else dearer than his mother.

After a while she said, "Father, shake hands with Guy. Tell him that
we forgive his being angry with us; that perhaps, some day--"

She stopped, uncertain as to the father's mind, or seeking strength for
her own.

"Some day," John continued, "Guy will find out that we can have nothing
in the world--except our children's good--so dear to us as their
happiness."

Guy looked up, beaming with hope and joy. "O father! O mother! will
you, indeed--"

"We will indeed say nothing," the father answered, smiling; "nothing,
until to-morrow. Then we will all three talk the matter quietly over,
and see what can be done."

Of course I knew to a certainty the conclusion they would come to.

CHAPTER XXXIII

Late that night, as I sat up pondering over all that had happened, Mrs.
Halifax came into my room.

She looked round; asked me, according to her wont, if there was
anything I wanted before she retired for the night?--(Ursula was as
good to me as any sister)--then stood by my easy-chair. I would not
meet her eyes, but I saw her hands fluttering in their restless way.

I pointed to her accustomed chair.

"No, I can't sit down. I must say good-night." Then, coming at once
to the point--"Phineas, you are always up first in the morning. Will
you--John thinks it had better be you--will you give a message from us
to--Maud's governess?"

"Yes. What shall I say?"

"Merely, that we request she will not leave Beechwood until we have
seen her."

If Miss Silver had overheard the manner and tone of that "request," I
doubt if it would not have hastened rather than delayed her departure.
But, God help the poor mother! her wounds were still fresh.

"Would it not be better," I suggested, "if you were to write to her?"

"I can't; no, I can't,"--spoken with the sharpness of exceeding pain.
Soon after, as in faint apology, she added, "I am so tired; we are very
late to-night."

"Yes; it is almost morning. I thought you were both in bed."

"No; we have been sitting talking in Guy's room. His father thought it
would be better."

"And is all settled?"

"Yes."

Having told me this, and having