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Courtney said: "How came you to have the handling of the money taken from Agatha Webb's private drawer?" It was a startling question, but it seemed to affect Amabel less than it did Frederick. It made him start, but she only turned her head a trifle aside, so that the peculiar smile with which she prepared to answer could be seen by anyone standing below.
Sir Hugh now got up and paced up and down near her. "So you are going to cast me off because I had no opportunity for showing nobility. How do you know I couldn't have behaved as you believed I did behave, if only I'd had the chance? You know you are hard on me." "I see no sign of nobility towards anyone in your life," Amabel answered as dispassionately as before. Sir Hugh walked up and down.
"He raves continually of you, madam," said the attendant, "and I have no doubt he will expire with your name on his lips." Amabel was moved to tears by the information, and withdrawing into a corner of the room, prayed fervently for the supposed sufferer. Prudence gazed at her earnestly and compassionately, and muttering something to herself, quitted the room.
Webb's death" how low his voice sank and how he trembled!" she may have been better friends with her than we had any reason to suppose. I can think of no other motive for her conduct. Admiration for Mrs. Webb and horror " "Breakfast is served, gentlemen!" cried a thrilling voice behind them. "Wait a moment, I must speak to you." It was Amabel who was holding Frederick back.
The sun shone clear, the air had grown fresh as they mounted higher; Amabel could hardly imagine sickness and sorrow in so fair a spot, and turned to her husband to say so, but he was deep in thought, and she would not disturb him.
Much as he longed for a word of Laura, he did not dare to lead to it, indeed, he was so far from speaking to her of any subject which touched him, that he did not presume even to inquire for Amabel, he only heard of her through Arnaud. At night sheer exhaustion worked its own cure; he slept soundly, and awoke in the morning revived.
"I am as much at a loss to understand what counsel you can have to offer, sir, as to guess why you are here," she replied. "Amabel," returned Bottesham, in a low tone, but altering his voice, and slightly raising his spectacles so as to disclose his features; "it is I Maurice Wyvil." "Ah!" she exclaimed, in the utmost astonishment.
"Won't you shake hands with my boy, Amabel?" said Lady Adelaide. "Oh, you must make friends with him, and he'll give you a ride on the rocking-horse after dinner. Surely such a big girl can't be shy?" Goaded by the old reproach, Amabel made an effort, and, advancing by herself, held out her hand, and said, "How do you do, Bogy?" D'Arcy's black eyes twinkled with merriment.
Then she remembered, but she did not cry; instead, her little face took on a painfully old look. "You are here with cousin Ellen, darling, don't you know?" Ellen replied, leaning over her, and kissing her. Amabel wriggled impatiently away, and faced to the wall. "Yes, I know," said she.
It was hard to say, which made most fun, Maurice, Charles, or Guy; the last no longer a spectator, but an active contributor to the sport. When the break-up came, Mary and Amabel were standing over the table together, collecting the scattered papers, and observing that it had been very good fun. 'Some so characteristic, said Amy, 'such as Maurice's definition of happiness, a row at Dublin.
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