hat was his sorrow to hers?
But Mr. Ross had strong trust in Amabel's depth and calm resignation.
He said her spirit of yielding would support her, that as in drowning or
falling, struggling is fatal, when quietness saves, so it would be with
her: and that even in this greatest of all trials she would rise instead
of being crushed, with all that was good and beautiful in her purified
and refined. Charles heard, strove to believe and be consoled, and
brought out his letters, trying, with voice breaking down, to show
Mr. Ross how truly he had judged of Amy, then listened with a kind of
pleasure to the reports of the homely but touching laments of all the
village.

Laura did not, like her brother and sister, seek for consolation from
Mr. Ross or Mary. She went on her own way, saying little, fulfilling her
household cares, writing all the letters that nobody else would write,
providing for Charles's ease, and looking thoroughly cast down and
wretched, but saying nothing; conscious that her brother and sister did
not believe her affection for Guy equal to theirs; and Charles was too
much dejected, and too much displeased with Philip, to try to console
her.

It was a relief to hear, at length, that the travellers had landed, and
would be at home in the evening, not till late, wrote Mrs. Edmonstone,
because she thought it best for Amabel to go at once to her room, her
own old room, for she particularly wished not to be moved from it.

The evening had long closed in; poor Bustle had been shut up in
Charlotte's room, and the three sat together round the fire, unable to
guess how they should meet her, and thinking how they had lately been
looking forward to greeting their bride, as they used proudly to call
her. Charles dwelt on that talk on the green, and his 'when shall
we three meet again?' and spoke not a word; Laura tried to read; and
Charlotte heard false alarms of wheels; but all were so still, that when
the wheels really came, they were heard all down the turnpike road, and
along the lane, before they sounded on the gravel drive.

Laura and Charlotte ran into the hall, Charles reached his crutches, but
his hands shook so much that he could not adjust them, and was obliged
to sit down, rising the next minute as the black figures entered
together. Amy's sweet face was pressed to his, but neither spoke. That
agitated 'My dear, dear Charlie!' was his mother's, as she threw her
arms around him, with redoubled kisses and st