Part 49 (1/2)

'No is she?' replied Philip.

'Yes; his wife is ill.'

The universal feeling was that something was amiss, and mamma was in the secret. Amy looked wistfully at her, but Mrs. Edmonstone only gazed at the window, and so they continued for some minutes, while an uninteresting exchange of question and answer was kept up between her and her nephew until at length the dressing-bell rang, and cleared the room. Mrs. Edmonstone lingered till her son and daughters were gone, and said,--

'You have heard from St. Mildred's?'

'Yes,' said Philip, as if he was as little inclined to be communicative to her as to his cousins.

'From Guy, or from Margaret?'

'From Margaret.'

'But you say there is a letter from him?'

'Yes, for my uncle.'

'Does she say nothing more satisfactory?' asked his aunt, her anxiety tortured by his composure. 'Has she learnt no more?'

'Nothing more of his proceedings. I see Amy knows nothing of the matter?'

'No; her papa thought there was no need to distress her till we had seen whether he could explain.'

'Poor little thing!' said Philip; 'I am very sorry for her.

Mrs. Edmonstone did not choose to discuss her daughter's affairs with him, and she turned the conversation to ask if Margaret said much of Guy.

'She writes to tell the spirit in which he received my uncle's letter.

It is only the Morville temper, again, and, of course, whatever you may think of that on Amy's account, I should never regard it, as concerns myself, as other than his misfortune. I hope he may be able to explain the rest.'

'Ah! there comes your uncle!' and Mr. Edmonstone entered.

'How d'ye do, Philip? Brought better news, eh?'

'Here is a letter to speak for itself.'

'Eh? From Guy? Give it me. What does he say? Let me see. Here, mamma, read it; your eyes are best.'

Mrs. Edmonstone read as follows:--

'MY DEAR MR. EDMONSTONE,--Your letter surprised and grieved me very much. I cannot guess what proofs Philip may think he has, of what I never did, and, therefore, I cannot refute them otherwise than by declaring that I never gamed in my life. Tell me what they are, and I will answer them. As to a full confession, I could of course tell you of much in which I have done wrongly, though not in the way which he supposes. On that head, I have nothing to confess. I am sorry I am prevented from satisfying you about the 1OOO, but I am bound in honour not to mention the purpose for which I wanted it. I am sure you could never believe I could have said what I did to Mrs. Edmonstone if I had begun on a course which I detest from the bottom of my heart. Thank you very much for the kindness of the latter part of your letter. I do not know how I could have borne it, if it had ended as it began. I hope you will soon send me these proofs of Philip's. Ever your affectionate, 'G.

M.'

Not a little surprised was Philip to find that he was known to be Guy's accuser; but the conclusion revealed that his style had betrayed him, and that Mr. Edmonstone had finished with some mention of him, and he resolved that henceforth he would never leave a letter of his own dictation till he had seen it signed and sealed.

'Well!' cried Mr. Edmonstone, joyfully beating his own hand with his glove, 'that is all right. I knew it would be so. He can't even guess what we are at. I am glad we did not tease poor little Amy. Eh, mamma?--eh, Philip?' the last eh being uttered much more doubtfully, and less triumphantly than the first.

'I wonder you think it right,' said Philip.