"We fastened it round his dear neck with a ribbon. Mamma would put it inside his clothes for fear the silver should tempt some wretch; I should never have thought of that: is there a creature so base? And we told the men how he had gained it (they were servants of the asylum), and we showed them how brave and good he was, and would be again if they would be kind to him and cure him. And mamma bribed them with money to use him kindly: I thought they would be offended and refuse it: but they took it, and their faces showed she was wiser than I am. _He_ keeps away from us too. It is nearly a fortnight now."_"Dec. 7th._--Aunt Eve left to-day. Mamma kept her room and could not speak to her; cannot forgive her interfering between papa and her. It does seem strange that any one but mamma should be able to send papa out of the house, and to such a place; but it is the law: and Edward, who is all good sense, says it was necessary. He says mamma is unjust; grief makes her unreasonable. I don't know who is in the right: and I don't much care; but I know I am sorry for Aunt Eve, and very, very sorry for mamma.
_"Dec. 8th._--I am an egotist: found myself out this morning; and it is a good thing to keep a diary. It* was overpowered at first by grief for mamma: but now the house is sad and quiet I am always thinking of _him;_and that is egotism.
* Egotism. The abstract quality evolved from the concrete term egotist by feminine art, without the aid of grammar.
"Why _does_ he stay away so? I almost wish I could think it was coldness or diminished affection; for I fear something worse; something to make _him_ wretched. Those dreadful words papa spoke before he was afflicted!
words I will never put on paper; but they ring in my ears still; they appal me: and then found at their very door! Ah! and I knew I _should_find him near that house. And now _he_ keeps away."_"Dec. 9th._--All day trying to comfort mamma. She made a great effort and wrote to Mrs. Beresford."POOR MAMMA'S LETTER"DEAR MADAM,--Your kind and valued letter reached us in deep affliction;and I am little able to reply to you as you deserve. My poor husband is very ill; so ill that he no longer remembers the past, neither the brave acts that have won him your esteem, nor even the face of his loving and unhappy wife, who now thanks you with many tears for your sweet letter.
Heart-broken as my children and I are, we yet derive some consolation from it. We have tied the medal round his neck, madam, and thank you far more than we can find words to express.
"In conclusion, I pray Heaven that, in your bitterest hour, you may find the consolation you have administered to us: no, no, I pray you may never, never stand in such need of comfort--I am dear madam, yours gratefully and sincerely, "LUCY DODD."_"Dec. 10th, Sunday._--At St. Anne's in the morning. Tried hard to apply the sermon. He spoke of griefs, but _so_ coldly; surely he never felt one; _he_ was not there. Mem.: always pray against wandering thoughts on entering church."_"Dec. 11th._--A diary is a dreadful thing. Everything must go down now, and, amongst the rest that the poor are selfish. I could not interest one of mine in mamma's sorrows; no, they must run back to their own little sordid troubles, about money and things. I was so provoked with Mrs.
Jackson (she owes mamma so much) that I left her hastily; and that was Impatience. I had a mind to go back to her; but would not; and that was Pride. Where is my Christianity?
"A kind letter from Jane Hardie. But no word of _him._"_"Dec. 12th._--To-day Edward told me plump I must not go on taking things out of the house for the poor: mamma gave me the reason. 'We are poor ourselves, thanks to----' And then she stopped. Does she suspect? How can she? She did hear not those two dreadful words of papa's? They are like two arrows in my heart. And so we are poor: she says we have scarcely anything to live upon after paying the two hundred and fifty pounds a year for papa.
_"Dec. 13th._--A comforting letter from Jane. She sends me Hebrews xii.
11, and says, 'Let us take a part of the Bible, and read two chapters prayerfully at the same hour of the day: will ten o'clock in the morning suit you? and, if so, will you choose where to begin?' I will, sweet friend, I will; and then, though some cruel mystery keeps us apart, our souls will be together over the sacred page, as I hope they will one day be together in heaven; yours will, at any rate. Wrote back, yes, and a thousand thanks, and should like to begin with the Psalms; they are sorrowful, and so are we. And I must pray not to think too much of _him._"If everything is to be put down one does, I cried long and bitterly to find I had written that I must pray to God against _him._"_"Dec. 14th._--It is plain he never means to come again. Mamma says nothing, but that is out of pity for me: I have not read her dear face all these years for nothing. She is beginning to think him unworthy, when she thinks of him at all.
There is a mystery; a dreadful mystery; may he not be as mystified, too, and perhaps tortured like me with doubts and suspicions? They say he is pale and dejected. Poor thing!
But then, oh why not come to me and say so? Shall I write to him? No, Iwill cut my hand off sooner."_"Dec. 16th._--A blessed letter from Jane. She says, 'Letter writing on ordinary subjects is a sad waste of time and very unpardonable among His people.' And so it is; and my weak hope, daily disappointed, that there may be something in her letter, only shows how inferior I am to my beloved friend. She says, 'I should like to fix another hour for us two to meet at the Throne together: will five o'clock suit you? We dine at six; but I am never more than half an hour dressing.'
"The friendship of this saint, and her bright example, is what Heaven sends me in infinite mercy and goodness to sooth my aching heart a little: for _him_ I shall never see again.
"I have seen him this very evening."
