Oh, how well I remember him,--how fondly!" Here Evelyn stopped and burst into tears.
"You do right to remember him thus; to love and revere his memory,--a father indeed he was to you.

But now, Evelyn, my own dear child, hear me.

Respect the silent heart of your mother; let her not think that her misfortunes, whatever they may be, can cast a shadow over you,--you, her last hope and blessing.

Rather than seek to open the old wounds, suffer them to heal, as they must, beneath the influences of religion and time; and wait the hour when without, perhaps, too keen a grief, your mother can go back with you into the past." "I will, I will! Oh, how wicked, how ungracious I have been! It was but an excess of love, believe it, dear Mr.Aubrey, believe it." "I do believe it, my poor Evelyn; and now I know that I may trust in you.

Come, dry those bright eyes, or they will think I have been a hard taskmaster, and let us go to the cottage." They walked slowly and silently across the humble garden into the churchyard, and there, by the old yew-tree, they saw Lady Vargrave.
Evelyn, fearful that the traces of her tears were yet visible, drew back; and Aubrey, aware of what passed within her, said,-- "Shall I join your mother, and tell her of my approaching departure?
And perhaps in the meanwhile you will call at our poor pensioner's in the village,--Dame Newman is so anxious to see you; we will join you there soon." Evelyn smiled her thanks, and kissing her hand to her mother with seeming gayety, turned back and passed through the glebe into the little village.