in keeping anything from you

'Indeed I do, aunt. If there ever was a time when I felt unwilling that you should have a sorrow or anxiety which I could not share, it is now.' 'You have had sorrow enough, child,' said my aunt, affectionately, 'without the addition of my little miseries. I could have no other motive, Trot, in keeping anything from you.' 'I know that well,' said I. 'But tell me now.' 'Would you ride with me a little way tomorrow morning?' asked my aunt. 'Of course.' 'At nine,' said she. 'I'll tell you then, my dear.' At nine, accordingly, we went out in a little chariot, and drove to London. We drove a long way through the streets, until we came to one of the large hospitals. Standing hard by the building was a plain hearse. The driver recognized my aunt, and, in obedience to a motion of her hand at the window, drove slowly off; we following. 'You understand it now, Trot,' said my aunt. 'He is gone!' 'Did he die in the hospital?' 'Yes.' She sat immovable beside me; but, again I saw the stray tears on her face. 'He was there once before,' said my aunt presently. 'He was ailing a long time - a shattered, broken man, these many years. When he knew his state in this last illness, he asked them to send for me. He was sorry then. Very sorry.' 'You went, I know, aunt.' 'I went. I was with him a good deal afterwards.' 'He died the night before we went to Canterbury?' said I. My aunt nodded. 'No one can harm him now,' she said. 'It was a vain threat.' We drove away, out of town, to the churchyard at Hornsey. 'Better here than in the streets,' said my aunt. 'He was born here.' We alighted; and followed the plain coffin to a corner I remember well, where the service was read consigning it to the dust. 'Six-and-thirty years ago, this day, my dear,' said my aunt, as we walked back to the chariot, 'I was married. God forgive us all!' We took our seats in silence; and so she sat beside me for a long time, holding my hand. At length she suddenly burst into tears, and said: 'He was a fine-looking man when I married him, Trot - and he was sadly changed!'