time I had heard from her frequently.

Her letters were deeply interesting. She wrote freely, pouring out her
thoughts on every subject without reserve. Somehow I felt, as I read
them, that those letters gave as much pleasure to the writer as to the
recipient; and I found afterwards that this was the case. Her
consciousness of my sympathy with her made her open her heart more freely
to me than to any other person. She delighted in telling me of the books
she read, in describing the various effects of nature. Her descriptions
were so powerful and graphic that they quite surprised me. She made me
feel as though I were walking through the fir woods beside her, or
standing on the sea-shore watching the white-crested waves rolling in and
breaking into foam at our feet. A sort of dewy freshness seemed to stamp
the pages. Gladys loved nature with all her heart; she revelled in the
solemn grandeur of those woods, in the breadth and freedom of the ocean;
it seemed to harmonise with her varying moods.

'I feel a different creature already,' she wrote when she had been away
a fortnight. 'Without owning myself happy (but happiness, active or
negative, will never come to me again), still I am calmer and more at
peace,--away from the oppressive influences that surrounded me at home.

'I have made up my mind that the atmosphere of Gladwyn is fatal to my
soul's health. I seem to wither up like some sensitive plant in that
blighting air; half-truths, misunderstandings, and jealousies have
corroded our home peace. I am better away from it all, for here I can own
myself ill and miserable, and no one blames or misapprehends my meaning:
there are no harsh judgments under the guise of pity.

'These dear people are so truly charitable, they think no evil of a poor
girl who is faithful to a brother's memory: they are patient with my sad
moods, they leave me free to follow out my wishes. I wander about as I
will, I sketch or read, I sit idle; no one blames me; they are as good to
me as you would be in their place.

'I shall stay away as long as possible, until I feel strong enough to
take up my life again. You will not be vexed with me, my dear Ursula: you
know how I have suffered; you of all others will sympathise with me.
Think of the relief it is to wake up in the morning and feel that no
jarring influences will be at work that day; that no eyes will pry into
my secret sorrow, or seek to penetrate my very thoughts; that I may look
and sp