They must not see their father's house searched; they must never know how he is suspect.

Acton did say it was all his fault; his fault and--" But here Madame paused for an instant, for had not Acton said it was Felicita's fault more than any one's?
"Phebe heard him," she went on hastily; "and if it is not his fault, why did he kill himself?
Oh, it is an ill-fortune that my son went to London that day! It would all be right if he were here; but he is sure to come to-day and explain it all; and the bank will be opened again.

So be of good comfort, my daughter; for God is present with us, and with my son also." It was a sorrowful day at the Upfold Farm in spite of the children's unconscious mirthfulness.

Old Marlowe locked himself into his workshop, and would see none of them, taking his meals there in sullen anger.
Phebe's heart was almost broken with listening to Madame's earnest asseverations of her son's perfect innocence, and her eager hopes to find him when she reached home.

It was nearly impossible to her to keep the oppressive secret, which seemed crushing her into deception and misery, and her own muteness appeared to herself more condemnatory than any words could be.