Part 98 (2/2)

Presently there was a knock, and in came Amabel, dressed, for the first time, in her weeds, the blackness and width of her sweeping c.r.a.pe making her young face look smaller and paler, while she held in her hand some leaves of chestnut, that showed where she had been. She smiled a little as she came in, saying, 'I am come to you for a little quiet, out of the bustle of packing up. I want you to do something for me.'

'Anything for you.'

'It is what you will like to do,' said she, with _that_ smile, 'for it is more for _him_ than for me. Could you, without teasing yourself, put that into Latin for me, by and by? I think it should be in Latin, as it is in a foreign country.'

She gave him a paper in her own writing.

GUY MORVILLE, OF REDCLYFFE, ENGLAND. DIED THE EVE OF ST. MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS, 18--AGED 21 1/2. I BELIEVE IN THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS.

'Will you be so kind as to give it to Arnaud when it is done?' she continued; 'he will send it to the man who is making the cross. I think the kind people here will respect it.'

'Yes,' said Philip,' it is soon done, and thank you for letting me do it. But, Amy, I would not alter your choice; yet there is one that seems to me more applicable ”Greater love hath no man--”'

'I know what you mean,' said Amy; 'but that has so high a meaning that he could not bear it to be applied to him.'

'Or rather, what right have I to quote it?' said Philip, bitterly. 'His friend! No, Amy; you should rather choose, ”If thine enemy thirst, give him drink; for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.”

I am sure they are burning on mine,' and he pressed his hand on his forehead.

'Don't say such things. We both know that, at the worst of times, he looked on you as a sincere friend.'

Philip groaned, and she thought it best to go on to something else.

'I like this best,' she said. 'It will be nice to think of far away. I should like, too, for these Italians to see the stranger has the same creed as themselves.'

After a moment's pause, during which he looked at the paper, he said, 'Amy, I have one thing to ask of you. Will you write my name in the Prayer-book?'

'That I will,' said she, and Philip drew it from under the sofa cus.h.i.+on, and began putting together his pocket gold pen. While he was doing this, she said, 'Will you write to me sometimes? I shall be so anxious to know how you get on.'

'Yes, thank you,' said he; with a sigh, as if he would fain have said more.

She paused; then said, abruptly, 'Do you know they never had your letter?'

'Ha! Good heavens!' cried he, starting up in consternation; 'then they don't know it!'

'They do. Sit down, Philip, and hear. I wanted to tell you about it.

They know it. Poor Laura was so unhappy when you were ill, that mamma made it out from her.'

He obeyed the hand that invited him back to his seat, and turned his face earnestly towards her. He must let her be his comforter, though a moment before his mind would have revolted at troubling the newly-made widow with his love affairs. Amabel told him, as fully and clearly as she could, how the truth had come out, how gently Laura had been dealt with, how Charles had been trying to soften his father, and papa had not said one angry word to her.

'They forgive her. Oh, Amy, thanks indeed! You have taken away one of the heaviest burdens. I am glad, indeed, that she spoke first. For my own part, I see through all their kindness and consideration how they regard me.'

'They know how sorry you are, and that you wrote to tell all,' said Amabel. 'They forgive, indeed they do; but they cannot bear to speak about it just yet.'

'If you forgive, Amy,' said he, in a husky voice, 'I may hope for pardon from any.'

'Hus.h.!.+ don't say that. You have been so kind, all this time, and we have felt together so much, that no one could help forgetting anything that went before. Then you will write to me; and will you tell me how to direct to you?'

'You will write to me?' cried Philip, brightening for a moment with glad surprise. 'Oh, Amy, you will quite overpower me with your goodness!--The coals of fire,' he finished, sinking his voice, and again pressing his hand to his brow.

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