Charles heard from Mr Franklin that evening some further particulars respecting Monteath’s family, and respecting himself. He was in business with his father, and had lately become a partner. They were not supposed to be rich, but were universally esteemed for their integrity. There were several sisters, one older, and the rest younger than their brother; but he was the only brother, and the pride and delight of the family. The good Quaker was evidently affected when he spoke of the sorrow which this sad accident had brought among them, and yet more when he spoke of an attachment which was supposed to exist between Monteath and a young lady who was at present staying with his sisters. Mr Franklin had been at the house that morning, and the young ladies had expressed in strong terms their gratitude to Charles, and the desire they had to see this friend of their brother. When their father returned they hoped to be able to shew that they were not insensible and ungrateful. Mr Franklin told them that Charles was to be at his house that evening, and he promised to take him to call, if he would be induced to go. Charles only thought himself too much honoured for what he believed any one of common humanity would have done in his circumstances, and he accordingly left Jane with Mrs Franklin, and accompanied his friend to Mr Monteath’s. He saw the two eldest ladies, but not their friend, which he was glad of, for he would have found himself tongue-tied before her.
The wish of the young ladies was to learn, as distinctly as possible, every thing that passed on that terrible night; and Charles related, with perfect simplicity, every circumstance, except one or two, which he thought would affect their feelings too deeply. He could not help expressing his admiration of the rational and manly courage with which his friend had met so sudden a misfortune.
“We were not surprised at this,” said his sister: “we always believed that our brother’s strength of mind would prove equal to any occasion, however he might be tried.”
“And now,” replied Charles, “it has been proved that you were right; and you have the comfort of knowing that he is equal to any trial, for none can now befall him more sudden and more terrible.”
“No, indeed,” replied Miss Monteath; and she passed her hand over her eyes, as if the thoughts of her brother’s misfortune were too painful to be borne.
“I mean,” continued Charles, “more terrible at the time: for though you will not now be inclined to agree with me perhaps, I do not think it will prove a very great lasting misfortune. I have known many instances of similar deprivations, where usefulness and activity have been very little if at all impaired.”
Miss Monteath shook her head.
“I incline to think that my young friend is right,” said Mr Franklin. “I believe that the worst is over with thy brother and with his friends. When he becomes accustomed to his new feelings, when he finds that art affords valuable helps to repair an accident like this, when he finds that he can pursue his usual employments without impediment, and that the affection of his friends, especially of the nearest and dearest, is enhanced by sympathy and approbation, I will even say admiration, dost thou not think that he will be happy? I think he may be quite as happy as he has ever been.”
“There is one thing more that you have not mentioned,” said Miss Monteath, “the acquisition of a new friend.”
“True,” said the Quaker, “of a friend whose faithfulness was singularly proved during the first hours of intercourse.”