‘MY DEAREST,—I never could tell you before how we have grieved for you ever since we knew it. I am so sorry I wrote such dreadful accounts; and Guy says he wants to ask your pardon, if he ever said anything that pained you about Philip. I understand all your unhappiness now, my poor dear; but it will be better now it is known. Don’t be reserved, with Charlie, pray; for if he sees you are unhappy, he will be so very kind. I have just seen Philip again, and found him rested and better. He is only anxious about you; but I tell him I know you will be glad it is told.
‘Your most affectionate sister,
‘A. F. M.’
‘Laura’ said Charles, finishing the letter, ‘Amy gives you very good advice, as far as I am concerned. I do want to be of as much use to you as I can—I mean as kind.’
‘I know—I know; thank you,’ said Laura, struggling with her tears. ‘You have been—you are; but—’
‘Ay,’ thought Charles, ‘I see, she won’t be satisfied, if my kindness includes her alone. What will my honesty let me say to please her? Oh! I know.—You must not expect me to say that Philip has, behaved properly, Laura, nothing but being in love could justify such a delusion; but I do say that there is greatness of mind in his confessing it, especially at a time when he could put it off, and is so unequal to agitation.’
It was the absence of any tone of satire that made this speech come home to Laura as it was meant. There was no grudging in the praise, and she answered, in a very low, broken voice,—
‘You will think so still more when you see this note, which he sent open, inside mine, to be given to papa when I had told my own story. Oh, his considerateness for me!’
She gave it to him. The address, ‘C. Edmonstone, Esq.,’ was a mere scrawl, and within the writing was very trembling and weak. Charles remarked it, and she answered by saying that her own letter began in his own strong hand, but failed and grew shaky at the end, as if from fatigue and agitation. The words were few, brief, and simple, very unlike his usual manner of letter-writing.
‘MY DEAR UNCLE,—My conduct has been unjustifiable—I feel it. Do not visit it on Laura—I alone should suffer. I entreat your pardon, and my aunt’s, and leave all to you. I will write more at length. Be kind to her.—Yours affectionately,
‘PH. M.’