time for thinking.'

'Yes,' he said; 'how few Sundays ago--' and there he paused.

'Ah! you had so little preparation.'

'None. That very morning he had done business with Markham, and had
never been more clear and collected.'

'Were you with him when he was taken ill?' asked Mrs. Edmonstone,
perceiving that it would be a relief to him to talk.

'No; it was just before dinner. I had been shooting, and went into the
library to tell him where I had been. He was well then, for he spoke,
but it was getting dark, and I did not see his face. I don't think I
was ten minutes dressing, but when I came down, he had sunk back in his
chair. I saw it was not sleep--I rang--and when Arnaud came, we knew how
it was.' His, voice became low with strong emotion.'

'Did he recover his consciousness?'

'Yes, that was _the_ comfort,' said Guy, eagerly. 'It was after he had
been bled that he seemed to wake up. He could not speak or move, but he
looked at me--or--I don't know what I should have done.' The last words
were almost inaudible from the gush of tears that he vainly struggled
to repress, and he was turning away to hide them, when he saw that Mrs.
Edmonstone's were flowing fast.

'You had great reason to be attached to him!' said she, as soon as she
could speak.

'Indeed, indeed I had.' And after a long silence--'He was everything to
me, everything from the first hour I can recollect. He never let me
miss my parents. How he attended to all my pleasures and wishes, how he
watched and cared for me, and bore with me, even I can never know.'

He spoke in short half sentences of intense feeling, and Mrs. Edmonstone
was much moved by such affection in one said to have been treated with
an excess of strictness, much compassionating the lonely boy, who had
lost every family tie in one.

'When the first pain of the sudden parting has passed,' said she, 'you
will like to remember the affection which you knew how to value.'

'If I had but known!' said Guy; 'but there was I, hasty, reckless,
disregarding his comfort, rebelling against--O, what would I not give to
have those restraints restored!'

'It is what we all feel in such losses,' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'There is
always much to wish otherwise; but I am sure you can have the happiness
of knowing you were his great comfort.'

'It was what I ought to have been.'

She knew that nothing could have been more filial and affectionate than
his conduct, and tried to say something of