myself.'

'Well, if you watched his face, I think you would be sorry for him.'

'I am tired of the sound of his name. One fifth of November is enough in the year. Here, find something to read to me among that trumpery.'

Amy read till she was summoned to tea, when she found a conversation going on about Philip, on whose history Sir Guy did not seem fully informed. Philip was the son of Archdeacon Morville, Mrs. Edmonstone's brother, an admirable and superior man, who had been dead about five years. He left three children, Margaret and Fanny, twenty-five and twenty-three years of age, and Philip, just seventeen. The boy was at the head of his school, highly distinguished for application and good conduct; he had attained every honour there open to him, won golden opinions from all concerned with him, and made proof of talents which could not have failed to raise him to the highest university distinctions. He was absent from home at the time of his father's death, which took place after so short an illness, that there had been no time to summon him back to Stylehurst. Very little property was left to be divided among the three; and as soon as Philip perceived how small was the provision for his sisters, he gave up his hopes of university honours, and obtained a commission in the army.

On hearing this, Sir Guy started forward: 'Noble!' he cried, 'and yet what a pity! If my grandfather had but known it—'

'Ah! I was convinced of that,' broke in Mr. Edmonstone, 'and so, I am sure, was Philip himself; but in fact he knew we should never have given our consent, so he acted quite by himself, wrote to Lord Thorndale, and never said a word, even to his sisters, till the thing was done. I never was more surprised in my life.'

'One would almost envy him the opportunity of making such a sacrifice,' said Sir Guy, yet one must lament it.

'It was done in a hasty spirit of independence,' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'I believe if he had got a fellowship at Oxford, it would have answered much better.'

'And now that poor Fanny is dead, and Margaret married, there is all his expensive education thrown away, and all for nothing,' said Mr. Edmonstone.

'Ah,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'he planned for them to go on living at Stylehurst, so that it would still have been his home. It is a great pity, for his talent is thrown away, and he is not fond of his profession.'

'You must not suppose, though, that he is not a practical man,' said Mr. Edmonstone; 'I had rather take his opinion than any one's, especially about a horse, and there is no end to what I hear about his good sense, and the use he is of to the other young men.'

'You should tell about Mr. Thorndale, papa,' said Laura.

'Ah that is a feather in master Philip's cap; besides, he is your neighbour—at least, his father is.'

'I suppose you know Lord Thorndale?' said Mrs. Edmonstone, in explanation.

'I have seen him once at the Quarter Sessions,' said Sir Guy; 'but he lives on the other side of Moorworth, and there was no visiting.'

'Well, this youth, James Thorndale, the second son, was Philip's fag.'

'Philip says he was always licking him!' interposed Charlotte.'

'He kept him out of some scrape or other, continued Mr. Edmonstone. 'Lord Thorndale was very much obliged to him, had him to stay at his house, took pretty much to him altogether. It was through him that Philip applied for his commission, and he has put his son into the same regiment, on purpose to have him under Philip's eye. There he is at Broadstone, as gentlemanlike a youth as I would wish to see. We will have him to dinner some day, and Maurice too—eh, mamma? Maurice—he is a young Irish cousin of my own, a capital fellow at the bottom, but a regular thoroughgoing rattle. That was my doing. I told his father that he could not do better than put him into the —th. Nothing like a steady friend and a good example, I said, and Kilcoran always takes my advice, and I don't think he has been sorry. Maurice has kept much more out of scrapes of late.'

'O papa,' exclaimed Charlotte, 'Maurice has been out riding on a hired horse, racing with Mr. Gordon, and the horse tumbled down at the bottom of East-hill, and broke its knees.'

'That's the way,' said Mr. Edmonstone, 'the instant my back is turned.'

Thereupon the family fell into a discussion of home affairs, and thought little more of their silent guest.