The Heir of Redclyffe. Charlotte M. Yonge

does not!’ cried Laura. ‘He never is unjust! How can you say so, Amy?’

      ‘Then why does he impute motives, and not straightforwardly tell what he means?’

      ‘It is impossible in this case,’ said Laura.

      ‘Do you know what it is?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Laura, perfectly truthful, and feeling herself in a dreadful predicament.

      ‘And you can’t tell me?’

      ‘I don’t think I can.’

      ‘Nor Guy?’

      ‘Not for worlds,’ cried Laura, in horror.

      ‘Can’t you get Philip to tell him?’

      ‘Oh no, no! I can’t explain it, Amy; and all that can be done is to let it die away as fast as possible. It is only the rout about it that is of consequence.’

      ‘It is very odd,’ said Amy, ‘but I must dress,’ and away she ran, much puzzled, but with no desire to look into Philip’s secrets.

      Laura rested her head on her hand, sighed, and wondered why it was so hard to answer. She almost wished she had said Philip had been advising her to discourage any attachment on Guy’s part; but then Amy might have laughed, and asked why. No! no! Philip’s confidence was in her keeping, and cost her what it might, she would be faithful to the trust.

      There was now a change. The evenings were merry, but the mornings were occupied. Guy went off to his room, as he used to do last winter; Laura commenced some complicated perspective, or read a German book with a great deal of dictionary; Amy had a book of history, and practised her music diligently; even Charles read more to himself, and resumed the study with Guy and Amy; Lady Eveleen joined in every one’s pursuits, enjoyed them, and lamented to Laura that it was impossible to be rational at her own home.