"What my sin--or let me be merciful to myself and call it my error--was, I do not purpose here to tell you. Some day the person at whose discretion I have left it may deem it well to tell you the whole story. For my sake, Philip, for the sake of the love which I know you bear me--and which, God knows, I have for you--I beg you to wait until that time comes and not seek to hasten it. "Think of me as kindly as you can, dear. If the path which I chose to follow was not the wisest, I have, at least, suffered terribly for it. For many weary years grief and horror and remorse have been making my life one long purgatory. Yes, I have suffered indeed. But at last I have found peace. "Do not marvel at what I am going to tell you, Philip. My will--the little I have to leave is yours--is drawn up and signed and I have appointed Mr. Ravenor your guardian. There are reasons for this which you cannot know, but he will be only too glad to accept the charge; and in all things, Philip, even if he should desire you altogether to change your position in life, follow his command and submit to his wishes. "Farewell, my beloved son--farewell! God grant that your life may be good and happy, and that your last days may be as peaceful as mine. I can wish you nothing better. Once more, farewell!--Your affectionate "Mother." CHAPTER XXII. FOR LIFE. My mother's death marked an epoch in my life, for immediately afterwards a great change came over my circumstances and position. Of the dreary days just before and after the funeral I shall here say but little. Their sadness is for me and me alone. Until after the ceremony I remained at the monastery, seeking relief from my thoughts by rambles over the hills, by watches at dead of night before the spot where, with many candles burning round her open coffin, my mother lay, and by long conversations with Father Alexander, my comforter. When the time of the funeral came, Mr. Ravenor stood by my side, the only other mourner, and I knew that the banks of choice white flowers, which smothered the coffin and perfumed the winter air, were his gift. After it was all over he came to me where I stood, a little apart, and put his hand upon my shoulder. "Philip, my boy," he said kindly, "will you come back to the Castle with me? I am your guardian now, you know." I drew a long breath. "Let me go back to the farm for a week by myself," I said; "then I will come to you. Be ready to go to Dr. Randall's." "Let it be so, then," he answered. "Perhaps it is best." I said good-bye to the monks, especially to Father Alexander, with regret, for they had all been very good to me. Then I accompanied Mr. Ravenor to his carriage and was driven swiftly homewards.