Despair belongs to guilt, and even that is not hopeless.

And why do you come to this lone place of graves to weep, as if human sympathy were denied to your sorrows?
Is not my mother kind,--is not Edith tender and affectionate?
Am not I worthy to be trusted, as a friend,--a protector,--a redresser; and if need be, an avenger of wrongs ?" "My own wrongs I might reveal; but those of the dead are sacred," I answered, stooping down and gathering up the manuscript, which was half concealed in the long, damp grass.

"But do not think me ungrateful.

What I owe to your mother and Edith words can never tell.

In every prayer I breathe to heaven I shall call down blessings on their head.