life without
repentance is sometimes a more hopeless state than a wilder course, and
this rejection may do him more good than acceptance.'

'It is right, I know,' said Phoebe. 'I could advise no one to take poor
Mervyn; but surely it is not wrong to be sorry for him.'

'No, indeed, dear child. It is only the angels who do not mourn, though
they rejoice. I sometimes wonder whether those who are forgiven, yet
have left evil behind them on earth, are purified by being shown their
own errors reduplicating with time and numbers.'

'Dear Miss Charlecote, do not say so. Once pardoned, surely fully
sheltered, and with no more punishment!'

'Vain speculation, indeed,' answered Honor. 'Yet I cannot help thinking
of the welcome there must be when those who have been left in doubt and
fear or shipwreck come safely into haven; above all, for those who here
may not have been able to "fetch home their banished."'

Phoebe pressed her hand, and spoke of trying whether mamma would see her.

'Ah!' thought Honora, 'neither of us can give perfect sympathy. And it
is well. Had my short-sighted wish taken effect, that sweet face might
be clouded by such grief as poor Cecily Raymond's.'

Mrs. Fulmort did see Miss Charlecote, and though speaking little herself,
was gratified by the visit, and the voices talking before her gave her a
sense of sociability. This preference enabled Phoebe to enjoy a good
deal of quiet conversation with her friend, and Honora made a point of
being at Beauchamp twice or three times a week, as giving the only
variety that could there be enjoyed. Of Mervyn nothing was heard, and
house and property wanted a head. Matters came to poor Mrs. Fulmort for
decision which were unheard-of mysteries and distresses to her, even when
Phoebe, instructed by the steward, did her utmost to explain, and tell
her what to do. It would end by feeble, bewildered looks, and tears
starting on the pale cheeks, and 'I don't know, my dear. It goes through
my head. Your poor papa attended to those things. I wish your brother
would come home. Tell them to write to him.'

'They' wrote, and Phoebe wrote, but in vain, no answer came; and when she
wrote to Robert for tidings of Mervyn's movements, entreating that he
would extract a reply, he answered that he could tell nothing
satisfactory of his brother, and did not know whether he were in town or
not; while as to advising his mother on business, he should only make
mischief