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only occasion of the suspicions； which he could think of； was his
request for the sum of money； and this he could not mention to Mr。
Wellwood； nor was he inclined to make confidants of his other
companions； though pleasant； right…minded youths。
He had only announced that he had had a letter which had grieved him
considerably； but of which he could not mention the contents； and as
Harry Graham； who knew something of the Broadstone neighbourhood； had
picked up a report that Sir Guy Morville was to marry Lady Eveleen de
Courcy； there was an idea among the party that there was some trouble
in the way of his attachment。 He had once before been made； by some
joke； to colour and look conscious； and now this protected him from
inconvenient questions； and accounted for his depression。 He was like
what he had been on first coming to Hollywellgrave and silent；
falling into reveries when others were talking； and much given to long；
lonely wanderings。 Accustomed as he had been in boyhood to a solitary
life in beautiful scenery； there was something in a fine landscape that
was to him like a friend and companion； and he sometimes felt that it
would have been worse if he had been in a dull； uniform country；
instead of among mountain peaks and broad wooded valleys。 Working
hard； too； helped him not a little； and conic sections served him
almost as well as they served Laura。
A more real help was the neighbourhood of Stylehurst。 On the first
Sunday after receiving Mr。 Edmonstone's letter； he went to church
there； instead of with the others； to St。 Mildred's。 They thought it
was for the sake of the solitary walk； but he had other reasons for the
preference。 In the first place it was a Communion Sunday； and in the
next； he could feel more kindly towards Philip there； and he knew he
needed all that could strengthen such a disposition。
Many a question did he ask himself； to certify whether he wilfully
entertained malice or hatred； or any uncharitableness。 It was a long；
difficult examination； but at its close； he felt convinced that； if
such passions knocked at the door of his heart； it was not at his own
summons； and that he drove them away without listening to them。 And
surely he might approach to gain the best aid in that battle；
especially as he was certain of his strong and deep repentance for his
fit of passion； and longing earnestly for the pledge of forgiveness。
The pardon and peace he sought came to him； and in such sort that the
comfort of that day； when fresh from the first shock； and waiting in
suspense for some new blow； was such as never to be forgotten。 They
linked themselves with the grave shade of the clustered gray columns；
and the angel heads on roof of that old church； with the long grass and
tall yellow mullens among its churchyard graves； and with the tints of
the elm…trees that closed it in； their leaves in masses either of green
or yellow； and opening here and there to show the purple hills beyond。
He wandered in the churchyard between the services。 All enmity to
Philip was absent now； and he felt as if it would hardly return when he
stood by the graves of the Archdeacon and of the two Frances Morvilles；
and thought what that spot was to his cousin。 There were a few flowers
planted round Mrs。 Morville's grave； but they showed that they had long
been neglected； and no such signs of care marked her daughter Fanny's。
And when Guy further thought of Mrs。 Henley； and recollected how Philip
had sacrificed all his cherished prospects and hopes of distinction；
and embraced an irksome profession； for the sake of these two sisters；
he did not find it difficult to excuse the sternness； severity； and
distrust which were an evidence how acutely a warm heart had suffered。
Though he suffered cruelly from being cut off from Amy； yet his
reverence for her helped him to submit。 He had always felt as if she
was too far above him； and though he had； beyond his hopes； been
allowed to aspire to the thought of her； it was on trial； and his
failure； his return to his old evil passions； had sunk him beneath her。
He shuddered to think of her being united to anything so unlike
herself； and which might cause her so much misery； it was wretchedness
to think that even now she might he suffering for him； and yet not for
worlds would he have lost the belief that she was so feeling； or the
remembrance of the looks which had shone on him so sweetly and timidly
as she sat at her mother's feet； though that remembrance was only
another form of misery。 But Amy would be tranquil； pure and good；
whatever became of him； and he should always be able to think of her；
looking like one of those peaceful spirits； with bending head； folded
hands； and a star on its brow； in the 〃Paradiso〃 of Flaxman。 Her
serenity would be untouched； and though she might be lost to him； he
could still be content while he could look up at it through his turbid
life。 Better she were lost to him than that her peace should be
injured。
He still； of course； earnestly longed to prove his innocence； though
his hopes lessened； for as long as the evidence was withheld； he had no
chance。 After writing as strongly as he could； he could do no more；
except watch for something that might unravel the mystery； and
Charles's warm sympathy and readiness to assist him were a great
comfort。
He had not seen his uncle again； perhaps Sebastian was ashamed to meet
him after their last encounter； and was still absent on his engagement；
but the wife and child were still at St。 Mildred's； and one afternoon；
when Guy had rather unwillingly gone thither with Mr。 Wellwood； he saw
Mrs。 Dixon sitting on one of the benches which were placed on the paths
cut out on the side of the hill； looking very smart and smiling； among
several persons of her own class。
To be ashamed to recognise her was a weakness beneath him； he spoke to
her； and was leaving her； pluming herself on his notice； when he saw
little Marianne's blue eyes fixed wistfully upon him； and held out his
hand to her。 She ran up to him joyfully； and he led her a few steps
from her mother's party。 'Well； little one； how are you？ I have your
piece of spar quite safe。 Have you said how d'ye do to Bustle？'
'Bustle！ Bustle！' called the soft voice but it needed a whistle from
his master to bring him to be caressed by the little girl。
'Have you been taking any more pleasant walks？'
'Oh yes。 We have been all round these pretty paths。 And I should like
to go to the top of this great high hill； and see all round； but mamma
says she has got a bone in her leg； and cannot go。'
'Do you think mamma would give you leave to go up with me？ Should you
like it？'
She coloured all over； too happy even to thank him。
'Then；' said Guy to his tutor； 'I will meet you here when you have done
your business in the town； in an hour or so。 Poor little thing； she
has not many pleasures。'
Mrs。 Dixon made no difficulty； and was so profuse in thanks that Guy
got out of her way as fast as he could； and was soon on the soft thymy
grass of the hill…side； the little girl frisking about him in great
delight； playing with Bustle； and chattering merrily。
Little Marianne was a delicate child； and her frolic did not last long。
As the ascent became steeper； her breath grew shorter； and she toiled
on in a resolute uncomplaining manner after his long； vigorous steps；
till he looked round； and seeing her panting far behind； turned to help
her； lead her； and carry her； till the top was achieved； and the little
girl stood on the topmost stone； gazing round at the broad sunny
landscape； with the soft green meadows； the harvest fields； the woods
in their gorgeous autumn raiment； and the moorland on the other side；
with its other peaks and cairns； brown with withered bracken； and
shadowed in moving patches by the floating clouds。 The exhilarating
wind brought a colour into her pale cheeks； and her flossy curls were
blowing over her face。
He watched her in silence； pleased and curious to observe how beautiful
a scene struck the childish eye of the little Londoner。 The first
thing she said； after three or four minutes' contemplationa long time
for such a childwas； 'Oh！ I never saw anything so pretty！' then
presently after； 'Oh！ I wish little brother Felix was here！'
'This is a pleasant place to think about your little brother；' said
Guy； kindly； and she looked up in his face； and exclaimed； 'Oh！ do you
know about Felix？'
'You shall tell me' said Guy。 'Here； sit on my knee； and rest after
your scramble。'
'Mamma never lets me talk of Felix； because it makes her cry；' said
Marianne； but I wish it sometimes。'
Her little heart was soon open。 It appeared that Felix was the last
who had died； the nearest in age to