was it
really Jem's? was he an accomplice? No! she did not believe it; he never, never
would deliberately plan a murder with another, however he might be wrought up to
it by passionate feeling at the time. Least of all would he accuse her to her
father, without previously warning her; it was out of his nature).
    Then having obtained possession of the gun, her father had loaded it at
home, and might have carried it away with him some time when the neighbours were
not noticing, and she was out, or asleep; and then he might have hidden it
somewhere to be in readiness when he should want it. She was sure he had no such
thing with him when he went away the last time.
    She felt it was of no use to conjecture his motives. His actions had become
so wild and irregular of late, that she could not reason upon them. Besides, was
it not enough to know that he was guilty of this terrible offence? Her love for
her father seemed to return with painful force, mixed up as it was with horror
at his crime. That dear father who was once so kind, so warm-hearted, so ready
to help either man or beast in distress, to murder! But in the desert of misery
with which these thoughts surrounded her, the arid depths of whose gloom she
dared not venture to contemplate, a little spring of comfort was gushing up at
her feet, unnoticed at first, but soon to give her strength and hope.
    And that was the necessity for exertion on her part which this discovery
enforced.
    Oh! I do think that the necessity for exertion, for some kind of action
(bodily or mental) in time of distress, is a most infinite blessing, although
the first efforts at such seasons are painful. Something to be done implies that
there is yet hope of some good thing to be accomplished, or some additional evil
that may be avoided; and by degrees the hope absorbs much of the sorrow.
    It is the woes that cannot in any earthly way be escaped that admit least
earthly comforting. Of all trite, worn-out, hollow mockeries of comfort that
were ever uttered by people who will not take the trouble of sympathising with
others, the one I dislike the most is the exhortation not to grieve over an
event, »for it cannot be helped.« Do you think if I could help it, I would sit
still with folded hands, content to mourn? Do you not believe that as long as
hope remained I would be up and
