But Phillip Lawson needs no praise, and Marguerite goes on with her work, occasionally glancing at the time-piece to see how long her father had been sleeping.

And we come now to the hour of midnight. Trinity had sent forth its hallowed chime, and the echoes had died away in the calm stillness of the night.

Silence reigned in "Sunnybank," not a sound save the heavy tick of the old clock that stood at the top of the grand stairway. Phillip Lawson with book in hand was trying to while away the hours and to divert his mind from the unpleasant thoughts that now and then would arise with peculiar vividness.

A slight rustling causes him to start.

"My dear boy."

The young man leans gently forward and supports the upraised hand.

"Phillip, I have got my prayer. Is Marguerite near?"

Mr. Verne looked agitated, and Phillip Lawson feared the result.

"But you must be very quiet now, Mr. Verne. You know that much depends upon yourself."

"Ah, Phillip, I know it too well, but I have something to tell you, which is killing me by inches. Phillip you are the only one who must know it now. The rest will come in good time--in good time my boy!"

Phillip Lawson administered the soothing draught that had been tri-hourly prescribed, then lovingly placed his arm around the wasted form and laid him softly on the downy pillow.

Mr. Verne's voice was much stronger, and it cost him less effort to speak.

"It will do more harm than good to deny the request," thought the young man, and he leaned forward that the voice might reach his ear with the least possible effort of the speaker.

Mr. Verne drew a heavy sigh, and then began:--"Phillip Lawson, you are one of the truest friends I ever had, and heaven will yet bless you for all you have done for me."

The young man was about to appeal when he saw that Mr. Verne would suffer no interruption, so he calmly listened and uttered not a word.

"Phillip, it is a sad story that I have to tell, but I know you will help me to bear up. I have only you to confide in--only you."

Mr. Verne rested for a moment, and then continued, "It was the day before I was prostrated that I called upon you but learned that you were out of town until the following day. I wished to tell you something that grieved me more than living being ever can know. I had then in my breast pocket the death warrant of all my future hope and joy--that fatal letter announcing the betrothal of my darling Marguerite to that dissolute and unprincipled young man--Hubert Tracy."

Mr. Verne paused, then glanced at Phillip Lawson.

"Ah my son, G.o.d knows I would it were otherwise, I know that you love my child. I have cherished that secret as something sacred, and lived in the hope that all would come right some day. Phillip, my boy, I can bear _my_ grief, but it is hard to see the hopes of a bright and useful life buried deep--so deep."

The young man sat like one in a mocking cruel dream. The news stunned him. It was so unexpected, and yet so true.

"You have spoken truly Mr. Verne," said Phillip sadly, "I love Marguerite as I shall never love another woman. She is lost to me forever, but I shall cherish her memory while I live. Her image shall be enshrined within my heart; my life's devotion, my guiding star; they cannot rob me of that sacred duty. It is sanctioned by heaven itself."

Phillip Lawson now turned his face toward the couch.

"I never will believe that my child loves such a man as Hubert Tracy," said Mr. Verne, closing his eyelids with sheer exhaustion.

"She has been forced into it. Promise me Phillip you will help me examine the matter closely. I am regaining some of my lost strength and will be better able for the task."

"I would like to a.s.sist you Mr. Verne, but I am in a delicate position. I cannot see how Miss Verne would be entrapped into a marriage against her own wishes. You know that Mr. Tracy was always on terms of intimacy with your family, and besides he is rather prepossessing, and would in all probability win the favor of any young lady."

"Phillip, you are generous to a fault. You could not say that man is a villain and a scoundrel when you really would have proof of his villany in your possession."

"Heaven forgive me for it," mused Phillip, "it was for her sake that I spoke thus. If she loves Hubert Tracy as I love her, then would I sacrifice every feeling to do it. Would to G.o.d I could think as her father does."

The young man sat for a moment buried in deep thought. He was now finding some ground for Marguerite's restraint when in his presence, and he conjured up many imaginary doubts and fears to prove that she loved Hubert Tracy. Even the letters which spoke in glowing terms of such kind attention--did not every circ.u.mstance serve as further conviction.

Mr. Verne divined Phillip Lawson's thoughts.

"Phillip, my boy, hear me. I may never rise from off this bed, but I solemnly swear that Hubert Tracy will never place a marriage ring upon Marguerite Verne's finger--never--"

Mr. Verne now grasped Phillip Lawson's hand and held it there, while the latter became suddenly inspired with bright hope.

"This has been too much for you, Mr. Verne," said the young man, soothingly. "But I have more to tell you, Phillip--something that will stagger you."

"Wait until to-morrow, sir, you will feel stronger."

"Very well, my boy, let it be to-morrow," and Mr. Verne dropped off in a peaceful slumber--aye, gentle and peaceful as that of a child.

Phillip Lawson's thoughts were confusion manifold as he sat with his hands folded listlessly across his breast. He was questioning the genuineness of his motives in keeping from Mr. Verne a secret which deeply affected the interests and welfare of his child.

"If Marguerite loved Hubert Tracy why should I thwart her fond hopes. Hubert Tracy has wronged me, though his act failed. Have I any right to rake up the intended wrong and hunt him down as an avenging deity.

"And for what," asked Phillip, as he gazed wildly around, fearing some one should intrude upon his privacy. "It was the green-eyed monster that goaded the weak-minded Hubert to be tempted. And must I, in possession, of all my senses, retaliate from the same cause!

Ah, no, Hubert. You will go free, but Heaven will not suffer you to pollute a pure and innocent being. Ah, no." And more than ever inspired with faith, in the decrees of an All-Wise Providence, Phillip Lawson fully resolved to hold his peace.

"I feel that I am doing what is right in the sight of Heaven, and that thought gives me double resolution."

Mr. Lawson's soliloquy was interrupted by the entrance of a domestic who came to take his place.

Mrs. Montgomery, being anxious, had also come in to make numerous inquiries, and to see that the young man should seek some rest.

"Blessings on her kindly soul," murmured the latter, as he went into the tasteful dressing-room and threw himself upon the lounge, where soft pillows and ample covering showed that loving hands had not forgotten his comfort.

But Phillip Lawson did not sleep. He turned listlessly from side to side. He tried to divert his thoughts to business and to many and varied subjects but through all and above all arose the words "very well, my boy, let it be to-morrow."

What a world of thought was running through the young man's brain as he lay thus, turning over in his well-stored mind many of the intricate problems of life and trying vainly to solve those which more deeply concerned himself.

In his short career midst life's struggles there was much to be grateful for. There was indeed, as he journeyed through the wilderness, a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night and as Phillip Lawson raised his eyes heavenward they caught the reflection of that fire; his countenance glowed with a radiance that was truly heaven-born and as Mrs. Montgomery pa.s.sed through the room an hour afterward there was still trace of the sacred invisible presence.

Beading low the woman exclaimed "truly a n.o.ble soul," and with a prayer upon her lips invoking Heaven's blessing towards the sleeper she crept noiselessly away.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

AN INTERESTING EVENT--SHADE AND SUNSHINE.

When Mr. Lawson called at "Sunnybank" on the following day he was pained to hear that Mr. Verne had taken a bad turn. The physician had given strict orders that none should approach him except an old nurse who had seen much service in the family.