I might have held
her as long as she lived. She could have expected no love but mine.
God forgive me! Perhaps I did unconsciously rejoice in that disabled
limb because it kept her closer to me. Now He has taken her from me. I
may have been wicked, but has He no mercy? "I would speak to the
Almighty, and I desire to reason with God." An answer in anger could
better be borne than this impregnable silence.
January 3rd.--A day of snow and bitter wind. There were very few at the
grave, and I should have been better pleased if there had been none.
What claim had they to be there? I have come home alone, and they no
doubt are comforting themselves with the reflection that it is all over
except the half-mourning. Her death makes me hate them. Mr. Maxwell,
our rector, told me when my child was ill to remember that I had no
right to her. "Right!" what did he mean by that stupid word? How
trouble tries words! All I can say is that from her birth I had owned
her, and that now, when I want her most, I am dispossessed. "Self,
self"--I know the reply, but it is unjust, for I would have stood up
cheerfully to be shot if I could have saved her pain.
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