"Write him a kind, sensible, sympathizing letter," answered Charlotte.

"That is as good as none at all," replied Edward.

"And there are many cases," answered she, "in which we are obliged, and
in which it is the real kindness, rather to write nothing than not to
write."




CHAPTER II


Edward was alone in his room. The repetition of the incidents of his
life from Charlotte's lips; the representation of their mutual
situation, their mutual purposes, had worked him, sensitive as he was,
into a very pleasant state of mind. While close to her--while in her
presence--he had felt so happy, that he had thought out a warm, kind,
but quiet and indefinite epistle which he would send to the Captain.
When, however, he had settled himself at his writing-table, and taken up
his friend's letter to read it over once more, the sad condition of this
excellent man rose again vividly before him. The feelings which had been
all day distressing him again awoke, and it appeared impossible to him
to leave one whom he called his friend in such painful embarrassment.

Edward was unaccustomed to deny himself anything. The only child, and
consequently the spoilt child, of wealthy parents, who had persuaded him
into a singular, but highly advantageous marriage with a lady far older
than himself; and again by her petted and indulged in every possible