There was a little silence, and presently Amy whispered, 'I don't think I ought.'
'What?' asked Charles, not catching her very low tones, as she sat behind him, with her head bent down.
'I don't think it would be right,' she repeated, more steadily.
'Not right for you to say you don't think him a villain?'
'Papa said I was to have no--'and there her voice was stopped with tears.
'This is absurd, Amy,' said Charles; 'when it all was approved at first, and now my father is acting on a wrong impression; what harm can there be in it? Every one would do so.'
'I am sure he would not think it right,' faltered Amy.
'He? You'll never have any more to say to him, if you don't take care what you are about.'
'I can't help it,' said Amy, in a broken voice. 'It is not right.'
'Nonsense! folly!' said Charles. 'You are as bad as the rest. When they are persecuting, and slandering, and acting in the most outrageous way against him, and you know one word of yours would carry him through all, you won't say it, to save him from distraction, and from doing all my father fancies he has done. Then I believe you don't care a rush for him, and never want to see him again, and believe the whole monstrous farrago. I vow I'll say so.'
'O Charles, you are very cruel!' said Amy, with an irrepressible burst of weeping.
'Then, if you don't believe it, why can't you send one word to comfort him?'
She wept in silence for some moments; at last she said,-'It would not comfort him to think me disobedient. He will trust me without, and he will know what you think. You are very kind, dear Charlie; but don't persuade me any more, for I can't bear it. I am going away now; but don't fancy I am angry, only I don't think I can sit by while you write that letter.'
Poor little Amy, she seldom knew worse pain than at that moment, when she was obliged to go away to put it out of her power to follow the promptings of her heart to send the few kind words which might prove that nothing could shake her love and trust.
A fresh trial awaited her when she looked from her own window. She saw Deloraine led out, his chestnut neck glossy in the sun and William prepared for a journey, and the other servants shaking hands, and bidding him good-bye. She saw him ride off, and could hardly help flying back to her brother to exclaim, 'O Charlie, they have sent Deloraine away!' while the longing to send one kind greeting became more earnest than ever; but she withstood it, and throwing herself on the bed, exclaimed,-'He will never come back--never, never!' and gave way, unrestrainedly, to a fit of weeping; nor was it till this had spent itself that she could collect her thoughts.