CHAPTER LII. Which had very nearly been the last of the Story

Doctor Portman's letter was sent off to its destination in London, and
the worthy clergyman endeavoured to soothe down Mrs. Pendennis into some
state of composure until an answer should arrive, which the Doctor tried
to think, or at any rate persisted in saying, would be satisfactory as
regarded the morality of Mr. Pen. At least Helen's wisdom of moving upon
London and appearing in person to warn her son of his wickedness, was
impracticable for a day or two. The apothecary forbade her moving
even so far as Fairoaks for the first day, and it was not until the
subsequent morning that she found herself again back on her sofa at
home, with the faithful, though silent, Laura nursing at her side.

Unluckily for himself and all parties, Pen never read that homily which
Doctor Portman addressed to him, until many weeks after the epistle had
been composed; and day after day the widow waited for her son's reply
to the charges against him; her own illness increasing with every day's
delay. It was a hard task for Laura to bear the anxiety; to witness
her dearest friend's suffering; worst of all, to support Helen's
estrangement, and the pain caused to her by that averted affection. But
it was the custom of this young lady to the utmost of her power, and by
means of that gracious assistance which Heaven awarded to her pure and
constant prayers, to do her duty. And; as that duty was performed
quite noiselessly,--while the supplications, which endowed her with
the requisite strength for fulfilling it, also took place in her own
chamber, away from all mortal sight,--we, too, must be perforce silent
about these virtues of hers, which no more bear public talking about,
than a flower will bear to bloom in a ballroom. This only we will
say--that a good woman is the loveliest flower that blooms under heaven;
and that we look with love and wonder upon its silent grace, its pure
fragrance, its delicate bloom of beauty. Sweet and beautiful!--the
fairest and the most spotless!--is it not pity to see them bowed down or
devoured by Grief or Death inexorable--wasting in disease--pining with
long pain--or cut off by sudden fate in their prime? We may deserve
grief--but why should these be unhappy?--except that we know that Heaven
chastens those whom it loves best; being pleased, by repeated trials, to
make these pure spirits more pure.

So Pen never got the letter, although it wa