Part 48 (2/2)

Coldly and hardly were they spoken at first; again he p.r.o.nounced them, again, again,--each time the tone was softer, each time they came more from the heart. At last the remembrance of greater wrongs, and worse revilings came upon him, his eyes filled with tears, the most subduing and healing of all thoughts--that of the great Example--became present to him; the foe was driven back.

Still he kept his hands over his face. The tempter was not yet defeated without hope. It was not enough to give up his first intention (no great sacrifice, as he perceived, now that he had time to think how Philip would be certain to treat a challenge), it was not enough to wish no ill to his cousin, to intend no evil measure, he must pardon from the bottom of his heart, regard him candidly, and not magnify his injuries.

He sat long, in deep thought, his head bent down, and his countenance stern with inward conflict. It was the hardest part of the whole battle, for the Morville disposition was as vindictive as pa.s.sionate; but, at last, he recovered clearness of vision. His request might well appear unreasonable, and possibly excite suspicion, and, for the rest, it was doing a man of honour, like Philip, flagrant injustice to suspect him of originating slanders. He was, of course, under a mistake, had acted, not perhaps kindly, but as he thought, rightly and judiciously, in making his suspicions known. If he had caused his uncle to write provokingly, every one knew that was his way, he might very properly wish, under his belief, to save Amabel; and though the manner might have been otherwise, the proceeding itself admitted complete justification. Indeed, when Guy recollected the frenzy of his rage, and his own murderous impulse, he was shocked to think that he had ever sought the love of that pure and gentle creature, as if it had been a cruel and profane linking of innocence to evil. He was appalled at the power of his fury, he had not known he was capable of it, for his boyish pa.s.sion, even when unrestrained, had never equalled this, in all the strength of early manhood.

He looked up, and saw that the last remnant of the sun's disk was just disappearing beneath the horizon. The victory was won!

But Guy's feeling was not the rejoicing of the conquest, it was more the relief which is felt by a little child, weary of its fit of naughtiness, when its tearful face is raised, mournful yet happy, in having won true repentance, and it says, 'I _am_ sorry now.'

He rose, looked at his watch, wondered to find it so late; gazed round, and considered his bearings, perceiving, with a sense of shame, how far he had wandered; then retraced his steps slowly and wearily, and did not reach South Moor till long after dark.

CHAPTER 17

My blood hath been too cold and temperate, Unapt to stir at these indignities; But you have found me.

--KING HENRY IV

Philip, according to promise, appeared at Hollywell, and a volume of awful justice seemed written on his brow. Charles, though ignorant of its cause, perceived this at a glance, and greeted him thus:--

'Enter Don Philip II, the Duke of Alva, alguazils, corregidors, and executioners.'

'Is anything the matter, Philip?' said Amy; a question which took him by surprise, as he could not believe her in ignorance. He was sorry for her, and answered gravely,--

'Nothing is amiss with me, thank you, Amy,'

She knew he meant that he would tell no more, and would have thought no more about it, but that she saw her mother was very uneasy.

'Did you ask whether there were any letters at the post?' said Charles.

'Guy is using us shamefully--practising self-denial on us, I suppose. Is there no letter from him?'

'There is,' said Philip, reluctantly.

'Well, where is it?'

'It is to your father.'

'Oh!' said Charles, with a disappointed air. 'Are you sure? Depend on it, you overlooked my M. He has owed me a letter this fortnight. Let me see.'

'It is for my uncle,' repeated Philip, as if to put an end to the subject.

'Then he has been so stupid as to forget my second name. Come, give it me. I shall have it sooner or later.'

'I a.s.sure you, Charles, it is not for you.'

'Would not any one suppose he had been reading it?' exclaimed Charles.

'Did you know Mary Ross was gone to stay with her brother John?' broke in Mrs. Edmonstone, in a nervous, hurried manner.

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