e
fondest hopes that Margaret or Laura could ever have entertained. Laura
was only afraid he was overworking himself, especially as, having at
present little command of ready money, he lived in a small lodging, kept
no horse, and did not enter into society; but she was reassured when
he came to Hollywell for a day or two at Whitsuntide, not having indeed
regained flesh or colour, but appearing quite well, in better spirits,
and very eager about political affairs.

All would have been right that summer, but that, as Philip observed, the
first evening of his arrival, Amabel was not looking as well as she had
done at the time of the christening. She had, just after it, tried
her strength and spirits too much, and had ever since been not exactly
unwell, but sad and weary, more dejected than ever before, unable to
bear the sight of flowers or the sound of music, and evidently suffering
much under the recurrence of the season, which had been that of
her great happiness--the summer sunshine, the long evenings, the
nightingale's songs. She was fatigued by the most trifling exertion, and
seemed able to take interest in nothing but her baby, and a young widow
in the village, who was in a decline; and though she was willing to do
all that was asked of her, it was in a weary, melancholy manner, as if
she had no peace but in being allowed to sit alone, drooping over her
child.

From society she especially shrunk, avoiding every chance of meeting
visitors, and distressed and harassed when her father brought home some
of his casual dinner guests, and was vexed not to see her come into the
drawing-room in the evening. If she did make the effort of coming, to
please him, she was so sure to be the worse for it, that her mother
would keep her up-stairs the next time, and try to prevent her from
knowing that her father was put out, and declared it was nonsense to
expect poor Amy to get up her spirits, while she never saw a living
soul, and only sat moping in the dressing-room.

A large dinner-party did not interfere with her, for even he could not
expect her to appear at it, and one of these he gave during Philip's
visit, for the pleasure of exhibiting such company as the M.P. for
Moorworth. After dinner, Charlotte told Mary Ross to go and see Amy.
Not finding her in the dressing-room, she knocked at her own door. 'Come
in,' answered the low soft voice; and in the window, overhung by the
long shoots of the roses, Amabel's close cap and