th sides. If two stones knock against each other
until they strike fire, you may be sure both of them have been hard,
mother. Any way, Harry is in trouble, and there is none but us to stand
up for him."

But in spite of Steve's constant friendship, and Ducie's never-failing
sympathy, Harry had a bad six weeks. There were days during them when he
stood in the shadow of death, with almost the horror of a parricide in
his heart. Long, lonely days, empty of every thing but anxiety and
weariness. Long, stormy days, when he had not even the relief of a walk
to Up-Hill. Days in which strangers slighted him. Days in which his
mother and Charlotte could not even bear to see him. Days in which he
fancied the servants disliked and neglected him. He was almost happy one
afternoon when Stephen met him on the hillside, and said, "The squire is
much better. The doctors think he is in no immediate danger. You might
go to your wife, Harry, I should say."

"I am glad, indeed, to hear the squire is out of danger. And I long to
go to my sick wife. I get little credit for staying here. I really
believe, Steve, that people accuse me of waiting to step into father's
shoes. And yet if I go away they will say things just as cruel and
untrue."

But he went away before day-dawn next morning. Charlotte came
down-stairs, and served his coffee; but Mrs. Sandal was watching the
squire, who had fallen into a deep sleep. Charlotte wept much, and said
little; and Harry felt at that hour as if he were being very badly
treated. He could scarcely swallow; and the intense silence of the house
made every slight noise, every low word, so distinct and remarkable,
that he felt the constraint to be really painful.

"Well," he said, rising in haste, "I may as well go without a kind word.
I am not to have one, apparently."

"Who is here to speak it? Can father? or mother? or I? But you have that
woman."

"Good-by, Charley."

She bit her lips, and wrung her hands; and moaning like some wounded
creature lifted her face, and kissed him.

"Good-by. Fare you well, poor Harry."

A little purse was in his hand when she took her hand away; a netted
silk one that he had watched the making of, and there was the glimmer of
gold pieces through it. With a blush he put it in his pocket, for he was
sorely pressed for money; and the small gift was a great one to him. And
it almost broke his heart. He felt that it was all she could give
him,--a little gold for all the