Part 93 (1/2)

'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, finis.h.i.+ng 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.'

'Poor Philip!' said Charles, really very much touched. From that moment, Laura no longer felt completely isolated, and deprived of sympathy. She sat by Charles till late that night, and told him the whole history of her engagement, much relieved by the outpouring of her long-hidden griefs, and comforted by his kindness, though he could not absolutely refrain from words and gestures of censure. It was as strange that Charles should be the first person to whom Laura told this history, as that Guy should have been Philip's first confidant.

CHAPTER 35

There is a Rock, and nigh at hand, A shadow in a weary land, Who in that stricken Rock hath rest, Finds water gus.h.i.+ng from its breast.

--NEALE

In the meantime the days pa.s.sed at Recoara without much change for the better or worse. After the first week, Guy's fever had diminished; his pulse was lower, the drowsiness ceased, and it seemed as if there was nothing to prevent absolute recovery. But though each morning seemed to bring improvement, it never lasted; the fever, though not high, could never be entirely reduced, and strength was perceptibly wasting, in spite of every means of keeping it up.

There was not much positive suffering, very little even of headache, and he was cheerful, though speaking little, because he was told not to excite or exhaust himself. Languor and la.s.situde were the chief causes of discomfort; and as his strength failed, there came fits of exhaustion and oppression that tried him severely. At first, these were easily removed by stimulants; but remedies seemed to lose their effect, and the sinking was almost death-like.

'I think I could bear acute pain better!' he said one day; and more than once the sigh broke from him almost unconsciously,--'Oh for one breath of Redclyffe sea-wind!' Indeed, it seemed as if the close air of the shut-in-valley, at the end of a long hot day was almost enough to overwhelm him, weak as he had become. Every morning, when Amabel let in the fresh breeze at the window, she predicted it would be a cool day, and do him good; every afternoon the wind abated, the sun shone full in, the room was stifling, the faintness came on, and after a few vain attempts at relieving it, Guy sighed that there was nothing for it but quiet, and Amy was obliged to acquiesce. As the sun set, the breeze sprung up, it became cooler, he fell asleep, awoke revived, was comfortable all the evening, and Amy left him at eleven or twelve, with hopes of his having a good night.

It seemed to her as if ages had pa.s.sed in this way, when one evening two letters were brought in.

'From mamma!' said she; 'and this one,' holding it up, 'is for you. It must have been hunting us everywhere. How many different directions!'

'From Markham,' said Guy. 'It must be the letter we were waiting for.'

The letter to tell them Redclyffe was ready to receive them! Amabel put it down with a strange sensation, and opened her mother's. With a start of joy she exclaimed--

'They are coming--mamma and papa!'

'Then all is right!'

'If we do not receive a much better account,' read Amy, 'we shall set off early on Wednesday, and hope to be with you not long after you receive this letter.'