sh I knew what to do for you!' proceeded Laura. 'You cannot, cease
to think about him, and yet you ought.'

'If I ought, I suppose I can,' said Amy in a voice exhausted with
crying.

'That's right, darling. You will not be weak, and pine for one who is
not worthy.'

'Not worthy, Laura?' said Amy, withdrawing her arm, and holding up her
head.

'Ah! my poor Amy, we thought--'

'Yes; and it is so still. I know it is so. I know he did not do it.'

'Then what do you think of Margaret and Philip?'

'There is some mistake.'

And how can you defend what he said of papa?'

'I don't,' said Amy, hiding her face. 'That is the worst; but I am sure
it was only a moment's passion, and that he must be very unhappy about
it now. I don't think papa would mind it, at least not long, if it
was not for this other dreadful misapprehension. O, Laura! why cannot
something be done to clear it up?'

'Everything will be done,' said Laura. Papa has written to Mr. Wellwood,
and Philip means to go and make inquiries at Oxford and St. Mildred's.'

'When?' asked Amy.

'Not till term begins. You know he is to have a fortnight's leave before
the regiment goes to Ireland.'

'Oh, I hope it will come right then. People must come to an
understanding when they meet; it is so different from writing.'

'He will do everything to set things on a right footing. You may be
confident of that, Amy, for your sake as much as anything else.'

'I can't think why he should know I have anything to do with it,' said
Amy, blushing. 'I had much rather he did not.'

'Surely, Amy, you think he can be trusted with your secret; and there
is no one who can take more care for you. You must look on him as one of
ourselves.'

Amy made no answer, and Laura, was annoyed.

'You are vexed with him for having told this to papa; but that is not
reasonable of you, Amy; your better sense must tell you that it is the
only truly kind course, both towards Guy and yourself.'

It was said in Philip's manner, which perhaps made it harder to bear;
and Amy could scarcely answer,--

'He means it for the best.'

'You would not have had him be silent?'

'I don't know,' said Amy, sadly. 'No; he should have done something, but
he might have done it more kindly.'

Laura endeavoured to persuade her that nothing could have been more kind
and judicious, and Amy sat dejectedly owning the good intention, and
soothed by the affection of her family; with the bitter suffering of her