This was readily promised, and Amy and Lawrence Newt left the room together.

CHAPTER XLIII.

WALKING HOME.

“Miss Amy,” said Lawrence Newt, as they walked slowly toward Fulton Street, “I hope that gradually we may overcome this morbid state of mind in your aunt, and restore her to her home.”

Amy said she hoped so too, and walked quietly by his side.  There was something almost humble in her manner.  Her secret was her own no longer.  Was it Lawrence Newt’s?  Had she indeed betrayed herself?

“I didn’t say why I was going out of town.  Yet I ought to tell you,” said he.

“Why should you tell me?” she answered, quickly.

“Because it concerns our friend Hope Wayne,” said Lawrence.  “See, here is the note which I received this morning.”

As he spoke he opened it, and read aloud: 

“MY DEAR MR. NEWT,—­Mrs. Simcoe writes me that grandfather has had a stroke of paralysis, and lies very ill.  Aunt Dinks has, therefore, resolved to leave on Monday, and I shall go with her.  She seems very much affected, indeed, by the news.  Mrs. Simcoe writes that the doctor says grandfather will hardly live more than a few days, and she wishes you could go on with us.  I know that you have some kind of association with Pinewood—­you have not told me what.  In this summer weather you will find it very beautiful; and you know how glad I shall be to have you for my guest.  My guest, I say; for while grandfather lies so dangerously ill I must be what my mother would have been—­mistress of the house.  I shall hardly feel more lonely than I always did when he was active, for we had but little intercourse.  In case of his death, which I suppose to be very near, I shall not care to live at the old place.  In fact, I do not very clearly see what I am to do.  But there is One who does; and I remember my dear old nurse’s hymn, ‘On Thee I cast my care.’  Come, if you can.

“Your friend,

“HOPE WAYNE.”

Lawrence Newt and Amy walked on for some time in silence.  At length Amy said,

“It is just one of the cases in which it is a pity she is not married or engaged.”

“Isn’t that always a pity for a young woman?” asked Lawrence, shooting entirely away from the subject.

“Theoretically, yes,” replied Amy, firmly, “but not actually.  It may be a pity that every woman is not married; but it might be a greater pity that she should marry any of the men who ask her.”

“Of course,” said Lawrence Newt, dryly, “if she didn’t love him.”

“Yes, and sometimes even if she did.”

Amy Waring was conscious that her companion looked at her in surprise as she said this, but she fixed her eyes directly before her, and walked straight on.

“Oh yes,” said Mr. Newt; “I see.  You mean when he does not love her.”

“No, I mean sometimes even when they do love each other,” said the resolute Amy.