en the third day did bring the
sickening knock, and a letter was again put into her hands. It bore the
London postmark, and came from Edmund.

"Dear Fanny,--You know our present wretchedness. May God support you
under your share! We have been here two days, but there is nothing to
be done. They cannot be traced. You may not have heard of the last
blow--Julia's elopement; she is gone to Scotland with Yates. She left
London a few hours before we entered it. At any other time this would
have been felt dreadfully. Now it seems nothing; yet it is an heavy
aggravation. My father is not overpowered. More cannot be hoped. He is
still able to think and act; and I write, by his desire, to propose your
returning home. He is anxious to get you there for my mother's sake. I
shall be at Portsmouth the morning after you receive this, and hope to
find you ready to set off for Mansfield. My father wishes you to invite
Susan to go with you for a few months. Settle it as you like; say what
is proper; I am sure you will feel such an instance of his kindness at
such a moment! Do justice to his meaning, however I may confuse it. You
may imagine something of my present state. There is no end of the evil
let loose upon us. You will see me early by the mail.--Yours, etc."

Never had Fanny more wanted a cordial. Never had she felt such a one
as this letter contained. To-morrow! to leave Portsmouth to-morrow!
She was, she felt she was, in the greatest danger of being exquisitely
happy, while so many were miserable. The evil which brought such good
to her! She dreaded lest she should learn to be insensible of it. To be
going so soon, sent for so kindly, sent for as a comfort, and with leave
to take Susan, was altogether such a combination of blessings as set her
heart in a glow, and for a time seemed to distance every pain, and
make her incapable of suitably sharing the distress even of those
whose distress she thought of most. Julia's elopement could affect her
comparatively but little; she was amazed and shocked; but it could not
occupy her, could not dwell on her mind. She was obliged to call herself
to think of it, and acknowledge it to be terrible and grievous, or it
was escaping her, in the midst of all the agitating pressing joyful
cares attending this summons to herself.

There is nothing like employment, active indispensable employment, for
relieving sorrow. Employment, even melancholy, may dispel melancholy,
and her occupations were ho