call him only by his name, if he would do the same
by us. I am glad of it, for it seems more friendly, and I am sure he
wants to be comforted.'

'Don't waste your compassion, my dear; few men need it less. With his
property, those moors to shoot over, his own master, and with health to
enjoy it, there are plenty who would change with him for all your pity,
my silly little Amy.'

'Surely not, with that horrible ancestry.'

'All very well to plume oneself upon. I rather covet that ghost myself.'

'Well, if you watched his face, I think you would be sorry for him.'

'I am tired of the sound of his name. One fifth of November is enough in
the year. Here, find something to read to me among that trumpery.'

Amy read till she was summoned to tea, when she found a conversation
going on about Philip, on whose history Sir Guy did not seem fully
informed. Philip was the son of Archdeacon Morville, Mrs. Edmonstone's
brother, an admirable and superior man, who had been dead about five
years. He left three children, Margaret and Fanny, twenty-five and
twenty-three years of age, and Philip, just seventeen. The boy was at
the head of his school, highly distinguished for application and good
conduct; he had attained every honour there open to him, won golden
opinions from all concerned with him, and made proof of talents
which could not have failed to raise him to the highest university
distinctions. He was absent from home at the time of his father's death,
which took place after so short an illness, that there had been no time
to summon him back to Stylehurst. Very little property was left to be
divided among the three; and as soon as Philip perceived how small
was the provision for his sisters, he gave up his hopes of university
honours, and obtained a commission in the army.

On hearing this, Sir Guy started forward: 'Noble!' he cried, 'and yet
what a pity! If my grandfather had but known it--'

'Ah! I was convinced of _that_,' broke in Mr. Edmonstone, 'and so, I am
sure, was Philip himself; but in fact he knew we should never have given
our consent, so he acted quite by himself, wrote to Lord Thorndale, and
never said a word, even to his sisters, till the thing was done. I never
was more surprised in my life.'

'One would almost envy him the opportunity of making such a sacrifice,'
said Sir Guy, yet one must lament it.

'It was done in a hasty spirit of independence,' said Mrs. Edmonstone;
'I believe if he had got a fell