January 31, 1837.
My Dearest Child,--It is now a month since your father died. It was a
sore trial to me that you should have broken down, and that you could
not be here when he was laid in his grave, but I would not for worlds
have allowed you to make the journey. I am glad I forced you away. The
doctor said he would not answer for the consequences unless you were
removed. But I must not talk, not even to you. I will write again
soon.
Your most affectionate mother,
ELEANOR CHARTERIS.
February 5, 1837.
I have been alone in the library from morning to night every day. How
foolish all the books look! There is nothing in them which can do me
any good. He is NOT: what is there which can alter that fact? Had he
died later I could have borne it better. I am only fifty years old, and
may have long to wait. I always knew I loved him devotedly; now I see
how much I depended on him. I had become so knit up with him that I
imagined his strength to be mine. His support was so continuous and so
soft that I was unconscious of it.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168