which they awaited.

Mrs. Chump, during the patient strain of a tender hug of Arabella, had
mutely resolved in a great heat of gratitude that she would go to Mr.
Pericles, and, since he was necessary to the well-being of Brookfield,
bring him back, if she had to bring him back in her arms.

CHAPTER XLIII

[Georgiana Ford to Wilfrid:]

"I have omitted replying to your first letter, not because of the nature
of its contents: nor do I write now in answer to your second because of
the permission you give me to lay it before my brother. I cannot think
that concealment is good, save for very base persons; and since you take
the initiative in writing very openly, I will do so likewise.

"It is true that Emilia is with me. Her voice is lost, and she has fallen
as low in spirit as one can fall and still give us hope of her recovery.
But that hope I have, and I am confident that you will not destroy it. In
the summer she goes with us to Italy. We have consulted one doctor, who
did not prescribe medicine for her. In the morning she reads with my
brother. She seems to forget whatever she reads: the occupation is
everything necessary just now. Our sharp Monmouth air provokes her to
walk briskly when she is out, and the exercise has once or twice given
colour to her cheeks. Yesterday being a day of clear frost, we drove to a
point from which we could mount the Buckstone, and here, my brother says,
the view appeared to give her something of her lost animation. It was a
look that I had never seen, and it soon went: but in the evening she
asked me whether I prayed before sleeping, and when she retired to her
bedroom, I remained there with her for a time.

"You will pardon me for refusing to let her know that you have written to
your relative in the Austrian service to obtain a commission for you.
But, on the other hand, I have thought it right to tell her incidentally
that you will be married in the Summer of this year. I can only say that
she listened quite calmly.

"I beg that you will not blame yourself so vehemently. By what you do,
her friends may learn to know that you regret the strange effect produced
by certain careless words, or conduct: but I cannot find that
self-accusation is ever good at all. In answer to your question, I may
add that she has repeated nothing of what she said when we were together
in Devon.

"Our chief desire (for, as we love her, we may be directed by our
instinct), in the attempt to resto