h a
letter--when, by the plan of going to Little Bookham, my plans were
all hurried forward--changed--driven prematurely into action, and the
last hours of agitation and deep anguish--for it was the deepest
of its kind, to leave Wimpole Street and those whom I tenderly
loved--_so_ would not admit of my writing or thinking: only I was able
to think that my beloved sisters would send you some account of me
when I was gone. And now I hear from them that your generosity has not
waited for a letter from me to do its best for me, and that instead
of being vexed, as you might well be, at my leaving England without
a word sent to you, you have used kind offices in my behalf, you
have been more than the generous and affectionate friend I always
considered you. So my first words must be that I am deeply grateful
to you, my very dear friend, and that to the last moment of my life I
shall remember the claim you have on my gratitude. Generous people are
inclined to acquit generously; but it has been very painful to me to
observe that with all my mere friends I have found more sympathy and
_trust_, than in those who are of my own household and who have
been daily witnesses of my life. I do not say this for papa, who is
peculiar and in a peculiar position; but it pained me that----, who
_knew_ all that passed last year--for instance, about Pisa--who knew
that the alternative of making a single effort to secure my health
during the winter was the severe displeasure I have incurred now, and
that the fruit of yielding myself a prisoner was the sense of being of
no use nor comfort to any soul; papa having given up coming to see
me except for five minutes, a day; ==--, who said to me with his own
lips, 'He does not love you--do not think it' (said and repeated it
two months ago)--that ---- should now turn round and reproach me for
want of affection towards my family, for not letting myself drop
like a dead weight into the abyss, a sacrifice without an object and
expiation--this did surprise me and pain me--pained me more than all
papa's dreadful words. But the personal feeling is nearer with most of
us than the tenderest feeling for another; and my family had been so
accustomed to the idea of my living on and on in that room, that while
my heart was eating itself, their love for me was consoled, and at
last the evil grew scarcely perceptible. It was no want of love in
them, and quite natural in itself: we all get used to the thought of a
t