to her pity, allowing
herself to be nursed as she required, so exhausted was she. She was laid
on the sofa, and made comfortable with pillows, in her mother's gentlest
way. When Mrs. Edmonstone was called away, Laura held her dress, saying,
'You are kind to me, but you must forgive him. Say you have forgiven
him, mamma, dearest!'

'My dear, in the grave all things are forgiven.'

She could not help saying so; but, feeling as if she had been cruel, she
added, 'I mean, while he is so ill, we cannot enter on such a matter. I
am very sorry for you,' proceeded she, still arranging for Laura's ease;
then kissing her, hoped she would sleep, and left her.

Sympathy was a matter of necessity to Mrs. Edmonstone; and as her
husband was out, she went at once to Charles, with a countenance so
disturbed, that he feared some worse tidings had come from Italy.

'No, no, nothing of that sort; it is poor Laura.'

'Eh?' said Charles, with a significant though anxious look, that caused
her to exclaim,--

'Surely you had no suspicion!'

Charlotte, who was reading in the window, trembled lest she should be
seen, and sent away.

'I suspected poor Laura had parted with her heart. But what do you mean?
What has happened?'

'Could you have guessed? but first remember how ill he is; don't be
violent, Charlie. Could you have guessed that they have been engaged,
ever since the summer we first remarked them?'

She had expected a great storm; but Charles only observed, very coolly,
'Oh! it is come out at last!'

'You don't mean that you knew it?'

'No, indeed, you don't think they would choose me for their confidant!'

'Not exactly,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, with the odd sort of laugh with
which even the most sensitive people, in the height of their troubles,
reply to anything ludicrous; 'but really,' she continued, 'every idea
of mine is so turned upside-down, that I don't know what to think of
anybody.'

'We always knew Laura to be his slave and automaton. He is so
infallible in her eyes, that no doubt she thought her silence an act of
praiseworthy resolution.'

'She was a mere child, poor dear,' said her mother; 'only eighteen! Yet
Amy was but a year older last summer. How unlike! She must have known
what she was doing.'

'Not with her senses surrendered to him, without volition of her own. I
wonder by what magnetism he allowed her to tell?'

'She has gone through a great deal, poor child, and I am afraid there is
much more for