some time after John's hour for returning from the mills, I also
returned to the house, I found that everything was settled for Guy's
immediate departure.

There was some business in Spain--something about Andalusian
wool--which his father made the ostensible reason for the journey. It
would occupy him and distract his mind, besides giving him constant
necessity of change. And, they say, travel is the best cure for the
heart-ache. We hoped it might prove so.

Perhaps the sorest point, and one that had been left undecided till
both parents saw that in Guy's present mood any opposition was hurtful,
even dangerous, was the lad's obstinate determination to depart alone.
He refused his mother's companionship to London, even his father's
across the country to the nearest point where one of those new and
dangerous things called railways tempted travellers to their
destruction. But Guy would go by it--the maddest and strangest way of
locomotion pleased him best. So it was settled he should go, as he
pleaded, this very day.

A strange day it seemed--long and yet how short! Mrs. Halifax was
incessantly busy. I caught sight of her now and then, flitting from
room to room, with Guy's books in her hand--Guy's linen thrown across
her arm. Sometimes she stood a few minutes by the window, doing a few
stitches of necessary work, which, when even nurse Watkins offered to
do--Jenny, who had been a rosy lass when Guy was born--she refused
abruptly, and went stitching on.

There were no regular meals that day; better not, perhaps. I saw John
come up to his wife as she stood sewing, and bring her a piece of bread
and a glass of wine--but she could not touch either.

"Mother, try," whispered Guy, mournfully. "What will become of me if I
have made you ill?"

"Oh, no fear, no fear!" She smiled, took the wine and swallowed
it--broke off a bit of the bread,--and went on with her work.

The last hour or two passed so confusedly that I do not well remember
them. I can only call to mind seeing Guy and his mother everywhere
side by side, doing everything together, as if grudging each instant
remaining till the final instant came. I have also a vivid impression
of her astonishing composure, of her calm voice when talking to Guy
about indefinite trifles, or, though that was seldom, to any other of
us. It never faltered--never lost its rich, round, cheerfulness of
tone; as if she wished him to carry it as such, and no other--the
f