‘Gilbert has been with me,’ he said. ‘He has told me all, my dear, and I think it hopeful: I like him better than I ever did before.’
‘Poor feather, the breath of your lips has blown him the other way,’ said Albinia, too unhappy for consolation.
‘Well, it seems to me that you have done more for him than I ever quite believed. I did not expect such sound, genuine religious feeling.’
‘He always had plenty of religious sentiment,’ said Albinia, sadly.
‘I have asked him to come to us next week. Will you tell Edmund so?’
‘Yes. He will be thankful to you for taking him in hand. Poor boy, I know how attractive his penitence is, but I have quite left off building on it.’
Mr. Ferrars defended him no longer. He could not help being much moved by the youth’s self-abasement, but that might be only because it was new to him, and he did not even try to recommend him to her mercy; he knew her own heart might be trusted to relent, and it would not hurt Gilbert in the end to be made to feel the full weight of his offence.
‘I must go,’ he said, ‘though I am sorry to leave you in perplexity. I am afraid I can do nothing for you.’
‘Nothing—but feel kindly to Gilbert,’ said Albinia. ‘I can’t do so yet. I don’t feel as if I ever could again, when I think what he was doing with Maurice. Yes, and how easily he could have brought poor Lucy to her senses, if he had been good for anything! Oh! Maurice, this is sickening work! You should be grateful to me for not scolding you for having taken me from home!’
‘I do not repent,’ said her brother. ‘The explosion is better than the subterranean mining.’