Mrs. Hamilton's eyes glistened. Percy's incoherence on that one point had given her more anxiety than any thing else, and the relief the truth bestowed was inexpressible. Imprudent it was; but there was something so lovable in such a disposition, that she could not resist going directly to her husband to impart it. "You always bring me comfort, dearest!" was his fond rejoinder; "anxious as that boy's thoughtlessness must make me (for what are his temptations now to what they will be?) still I must imbibe your fond belief, that with such an open, generous, truthful heart, he can not go far wrong. But what _are_ we to do about that unfortunate poem? I can not associate with Morton, knowing the truth, and yet permit him to believe I am as ignorant of the author as himself." "Let me speak to Percy before we decide on anything, my dear Arthur. Is Mr. Morton still at Torrington?" "No; he was to return to Heathmore this morning." Mrs. Hamilton looked very thoughtful, but she did not make any rejoinder. In the hour of recreation Emmeline, declaring it was much too hot for the garden, sought her mother's private sitting-room, with the intention of asking where she could find her father. To her great delight, the question was arrested on her lips, for he was there. She seated herself on his knee, and remained there for some minutes without speaking--only looking up in his face with the most coaxing expression imaginable. "Well, Emmeline, what great favor are you going to ask me?" said Mr. Hamilton, smiling; "some weighty boon, I am quite sure." "Indeed, papa, and how do you know that?" "I can read it in your eyes." "My eyes are treacherous tell-tales then, and you shall not see them any more," she replied, laughing, and shaking her head till her long bright ringlets completely hid her eyes and blushing cheeks. "But have they told you the favor I am going to ask?" "No," replied her father, joining in her laugh; "they leave that to your tongue." "I can read more, I think," said Mrs. Hamilton; "I am very much mistaken, if I do not know what Emmeline is going to ask." "Only that--that--" still she hesitated, as if afraid to continue, and her mother added-- "That papa will not be very angry with Percy; Emmeline, is not that the boon you have no courage to ask?" A still deeper glow mounted to the child's fair cheek, and throwing her arms round her father's neck, she said, coaxingly and fondly-- "Mamma has guessed it, dear papa! you must, indeed, you must forgive him--poor fellow! he is so _very_ sorry, and he has suffered so much already--and he did not throw away his money foolishly, as you thought; he gave it to some very poor people--and you are always pleased when we are charitable; pray forget every thing else but that, and treat him as you always do, dear papa--will you not?"