thought of charity from others, that I do not believe I could bless you
as I do now if your kindness to me did not close with the stone upon my
mother's grave. PHILIP."

He sealed this letter, and gave it to the woman.

"Oh, by the by," said she, "I had forgot; the Doctor said that if you
would send for him, he would be most happy to call on you, and give you
any advice."

"Very well."

"And what shall I say to Mr. Blackwell?"

"That he may tell his employer to remember our last interview."

With that Philip took up his bundle and strode from the house. He went
first to the churchyard, where his mother's remains had been that day
interred. It was near at hand, a quiet, almost a rural, spot. The gate
stood ajar, for there was a public path through the churchyard, and
Philip entered with a noiseless tread. It was then near evening; the sun
had broken out from the mists of the earlier day, and the wistering rays
shone bright and holy upon the solemn place.

"Mother! mother!" sobbed the orphan, as he fell prostrate before that
fresh green mound: "here--here I have come to repeat my oath, to swear
again that I will be faithful to the charge you have entrusted to your
wretched son! And at this hour I dare ask if there be on this earth one
more miserable and forlorn?"

As words to this effect struggled from his lips, a loud, shrill
voice--the cracked, painful voice of weak age wrestling with strong
passion, rose close at hand.

"Away, reprobate! thou art accursed!"

Philip started, and shuddered as if the words were addressed to himself,
and from the grave. But, as he rose on his knee, and tossing the
wild hair from his eyes, looked confusedly round, he saw, at a short
distance, and in the shadow of the wall, two forms; the one, an old man
with grey hair, who was seated on a crumbling wooden tomb, facing the
setting sun; the other, a man apparently yet in the vigour of life,
who appeared bent as in humble supplication. The old man's hands were
outstretched over the head of the younger, as if suiting terrible action
to the terrible words, and, after a moment's pause--a moment, but it
seemed far longer to Philip--there was heard a deep, wild, ghastly howl
from a dog that cowered at the old man's feet; a howl, perhaps of fear
at the passion of his master, which the animal might associate with
danger.

"Father! father!" said the suppliant reproachfully, "your very dog
rebukes your curse."

"Be dumb! My dog! What h