infantine
troubles our firstborn was dutifully nurtured. Did words not exactly
consonant with truth pass between the ladies in their correspondence? I
fear my Lady Theo was not altogether candid: else how to account for a
phrase in one of Madam Esmond's letters, who said: "I am glad to hear
the powders have done the dear child good. They are, if not on a first,
on a second or third application, almost infallible, and have been
the blessed means of relieving many persons round me, both infants and
adults, white and coloured. I send my grandson an Indian bow and arrows.
Shall these old eyes never behold him at Castlewood, I wonder, and is
Sir George so busy with his books and his politics that he can't afford
a few months to his mother in Virginia? I am much alone now. My son's
chamber is just as he left it: the same books are in the presses: his
little hanger and fowling-piece over the bed, and my father's picture
over the mantelpiece. I never allow anything to be altered in his room
or his brother's. I fancy the children playing near me sometimes, and
that I can see my dear father's head as he dozes in his chair. Mine is
growing almost as white as my father's. Am I never to behold my children
ere I go hence? The Lord's will be done."

CHAPTER LXXXVI. At Home

Such an appeal as this of our mother would have softened hearts much
less obdurate than ours; and we talked of a speedy visit to Virginia,
and of hiring all the Young Rachel's cabin accommodation. But our child
must fall ill, for whom the voyage would be dangerous, and from whom the
mother of course could not part; and the Young Rachel made her voyage
without us that year. Another year there was another difficulty, in my
worship's first attack of the gout (which occupied me a good deal, and
afterwards certainly cleared my wits and enlivened my spirits); and now
came another much sadder cause for delay in the sad news we received
from Jamaica. Some two years after our establishment at the Manor,
our dear General returned from his government, a little richer in the
world's goods than when he went away, but having undergone a loss for
which no wealth could console him, and after which, indeed, he did
not care to remain in the West Indies. My Theo's poor mother--the most
tender and affectionate friend (save one) I have ever had--died abroad
of the fever. Her last regret was that she should not be allowed to live
to see our children and ourselves in prosperity