‘Some sorts of merriment are sad, and hollow, and wrong, indeed,’ said Albinia, ‘but not all, I hope. You know there is so much love and mercy all round us, that it is unthankful not to have a cheerful spirit. I wish I could give you one, Sophy.’ Sophy shook her head. ‘I can’t understand about mercy and love, when Edmund was all I cared for.’ ‘But, Sophy, if life is so sad and hard to you, don’t you see the mercy that took Edmund away to perfect joy? Remember, not cutting you off from him, but keeping him safe for you.’ ‘No, no,’ cried Sophy, ‘I have never been good since he went. I have got worse and worse, but I did think I was true still, that that one thing was left me--but now--’ The sense of having acted a deception seemed to produce grief under which the stubborn pride was melting away, and it was most affecting to see the child weeping over the lost jewel of truth, which she seemed to feel the last link with the remarkable boy whose impress had been left so strongly on all connected with him. ‘My dear, the truth is in you still, or you could not grieve thus over your failure,’ said Albinia. ‘I know you erred, because it did not occur to you that it was not acting openly by me; but oh! Sophy, there is something that would bring you nearer to Edmund than hard truth in your own strength.’ ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Sophy. ‘Did you ever think what Edmund is about now?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said Sophy. ‘I only know that the one thing which is carried with us to the other world is love, Sophy, and love that becomes greater than we can yet imagine. If you would think of Him who redeemed and saved your dear Edmund, and who is his happiness, his exceeding great reward, your heart would warm, and, oh! what hope and peace would come!’ ‘Edmund was good,’ said Sophy, in a tone as if to mark the hopeless gulf between. ‘And you are sorry. All human goodness begins from sorrow. It had even to be promised first for baby at his christening, you know. Oh, Sophy, God’s blessing can make all these tears come to joy.’