Philip hastily rose, and, averting his face, on which the tears were not dried, took the letter; and then, snatching up his little basket of fruit, repaired to his mother's room.
The shutters were half closed on the bright day--oh, what a mockery is there in the smile of the happy sun when it shines on the wretched! Mrs.
Morton sat, or rather crouched, in a distant corner; her streaming eyes fixed on vacancy; listless, drooping; a very image of desolate woe; and Sidney was weaving flower-chains at her feet.
"Mamma!--mother!" whispered Philip, as he threw his arms round her neck; "look up! look up!-my heart breaks to see you.

Do taste this fruit: you will die too, if you go on thus; and what will become of us--of Sidney ?" Mrs.Morton did look up vaguely into his face, and strove to smile.
"See, too, I have brought you a letter; perhaps good news; shall I break the seal ?" Mrs.Morton shook her head gently, and took the letter--alas! how different from that one which Sidney had placed in her hands not two short weeks since--it was Mr.Robert Beaufort's handwriting.

She shuddered, and laid it down.

And then there suddenly, and for the first time, flashed across her the sense of her strange position--the dread of the future.

What were her sons to be henceforth?
What herself?
Whatever the sanctity of her marriage, the law might fail her.