"Oh! I can give you an easy rule for that," said Emily; "leave off the moment you begin to care to do it: they will probably help you by beginning, just about the same time, to think they have bestowed kisses enough." "It all arose out of my kindness," said Valentine. "John had already begun to be anxious about the dear old man, so I went over that morning before breakfast, and sent him up a message. His father was decidedly better; and as he had to take a journey that day, I thought he should know it as soon as possible. But Emily----" "Yes, dear boy?" "I really did come to say something important." And instantly as he spoke he felt what a tragical circumstance this was for some one else, and that such would be Emily's first thought and view of it. "What is it?" she exclaimed, now a little startled. Valentine had turned rather pale. He tasted the bitter ingredients in this cup of prosperity more plainly now; and he wished that letter was at the bottom of the sea. "Why--why it is something you will be very sorry for, too," he said, his voice faltering. "It's poor little Peter Melcombe." "Oh!" exclaimed Emily, with an awestruck shudder. "There! I said so." "WHAT did you say?" cried Valentine, so much struck by her words that he recovered his self-possession instantly. "Poor, poor woman," she went on, the ready tears falling on her cheeks; "and he was her only child!" "But what do you mean, Emily?" continued Valentine, startled and suspicious. "_What_ did you say?" "Oh!" she answered, "nothing that I had any particular reason for saying. I felt that it might be a great risk to take that delicate boy to Italy again, where he had been ill before, and I told John I wished we could prevent it. I could not forget that his death would be a fine thing for my brother, and I felt a sort of fear that this would be the end of it." Valentine was relieved. She evidently knew nothing, and he could listen calmly while she went on. "My mere sense of the danger made it a necessity for me to act. I suppose you will be surprised when I tell you"--here two more tears fell--"that I wrote to Mrs. Melcombe. I knew she was determined to go on the Continent, and I said if she liked to leave her boy behind, I would take charge of him. It was the day before dear Fred was taken ill." "And she declined!" said Valentine. "Well, it was very kind of you, very good of you, and just like you. Let us hope poor Mrs. Melcombe does not remember it now." "Yes, she declined; said her boy had an excellent constitution. Where did the poor little fellow die?" "At Corfu."