France, or I know not where, or at any rate marry him secretly so
as to save him from poor Mistress Browning. I could not choose but
fear and avoid him, but oh! I would have faced him ten times over
rather than have brought this on--us all. And now what shall I do?
He, Mr. Archfield, when I saw him in France, said as long as no one
was suspected, it would only give more pain to say what I knew, but
that if suspicion fell on any one--" and her voice died away.

"He could not say otherwise," returned Sir Philip, with a groan.

"And now what shall I do? what shall I do?" sighed the poor girl.
"I must speak truth."

"I never bade you perjure yourself," said Sir Philip sharply, but
hiding his face in his hands, and groaning out, "Oh, my son! my
son!"

Seeing that his distress so overcame poor Anne that she could
scarcely contain herself, Dr. Woodford thought it best to take her
from the room, promising to come again to her. She could do nothing
but lie on her bed and weep in a quiet heart-broken way. Sir
Philip's anger seemed to fill up the measure, by throwing the guilt
back upon her and rousing a bitter sense of injustice, and then she
wept again at her cruel selfishness in blaming the broken-hearted
old man.

She could hardly have come down to breakfast, so heavy were her
limbs and so sick and faint did every movement render her, and she
further bethought herself that the poor old father might not brook
the sight of her under the circumstances. It was a pang to hear
little Philip prancing about the house, and when he had come to her
to say his prayers, she sent him down with a message that she was
not well enough to come downstairs, and that she wanted nothing,
only to be quiet.

The little fellow was very pitiful, and made her cry again by
wanting to know whether she had gout like grandpapa or rheumatics
like grandmamma, and then stroking her face, calling her his dear
Nana, and telling her of the salad in his garden that his papa was
to eat the very first day he came home.

By and by Dr. Woodford knocked at her door. He had had a long
conversation with poor old Sir Philip, who was calmer now than under
the first blow, and somewhat less inclined to anger with the girl,
who might indeed be the cause, but surely the innocent cause, of
all. The Doctor had done his best to show that her going out had no
connection with any of the youths, and he thought Sir Philip would
believe it on quieter reflection. He