'You walked?' said Laura.

'Yes. Where's my uncle? I called at the post-office, and brought a
letter for him. It has the Moorworth post-mark,' he added, producing
it.

'Where's that?' said Charles.

'The post-town to Redclyffe; Sir Guy Morville's place.'

'That old Sir Guy! What can he have to do with my father?'

'Did you not know,' said Philip, 'that my uncle is to be guardian to
the boy--his grandson?'

'Eh? No, I did not.'

'Yes,' said Philip; 'when old Sir Guy made it an especial point that my
father should take the guardianship, he only consented on condition
that my uncle should be joined with him; so now my uncle is alone in
the trust, and I cannot help thinking something must have happened at
Redclyffe. It is certainly not Sir Guy's writing.'

'It must wait, unless your curiosity will carry you out in search of
papa,' said Charles; 'he is somewhere about, zealously supplying the
place of Jenkins.'

'Really, Philip,' said Laura, 'there is no telling how much good you
have done him by convincing him of Jenkins' dishonesty. To say nothing
of the benefit of being no longer cheated, the pleasure of having to