nd sister must needs go and nurse him, by way of a pretty
little interlude in their wedding tour!'

Laura's voice alone was unheard in the chorus of inquiry. She sat cold,
stiff, and silent, devouring with her ears each reply, that fell like
a death-blow, while she was mechanically continuing the occupations of
breakfast. When all was told, she hurried to her own room, but the want
of sympathy was becoming intolerable. If Amabel had been at home, she
must have told her all. There was no one else; and the misery to
be endured in silence was dreadful. Her dearest--her whole joy and
hope--suffering, dying, and to hear all round her speaking of him with
kindness, indeed, but what to her seemed indifference; blaming him for
wilfulness, saying he had drawn it on himself,--it seemed to drive her
wild. She conjured up pictures of his sufferings, and dreaded Guy's
inexperience, the want of medical advice, imagining everything that was
terrible. Her idol, to whom her whole soul was devoted, was passing
from her, and no one pitied her; while the latent consciousness of
disobedience debarred her from gaining solace from the only true source.
All was blank desolation--a wild agony, untempered by resignation,
uncheered by prayer; for though she did pray, it was without trust,
without hope, while her wretchedness was rendered more overwhelming by
her efforts to conceal it. These were so far ineffectual that no one
could help perceiving that she was extremely unhappy, but then all the
family knew she was very fond of Philip, and neither her mother nor
brother could be surprised at her distress, though it certainly appeared
to them excessive. Mrs. Edmonstone was very sorry for her, and very
affectionate and considerate; but Laura was too much absorbed, in her
own feelings to perceive or to be grateful for her kindness; and as each
day brought a no better report, her despair became so engrossing that
she could not attempt any employment. She wandered in the garden, sat in
dreamy fits of silence in the house, and at last, after receiving one of
the worst accounts, sat up in her dressing-gown the whole of one night,
in one dull, heavy, motionless trance of misery.

She recollected that she must act her part, dressed in the morning and
came down; but her looks were ghastly; she tasted no food, and as soon
as possible left the breakfast-room. Her mother was going in quest
of her when old nurse came with an anxious face to say,--'Ma'am, I am