Hope could never
abandon us while we were together. And then, sometimes, while I am
looking at Valentine, the thought that he might die comes to me suddenly,
like the touch of an icy hand upon my heart.
I lie awake at night sometimes thinking of this, and of papa's early
death. He came home one night with a cold, and from that hour grew worse
until he died. Ah, think what misery for a wife to suffer! Happily for
mamma, she is not capable of suffering intensely. She was very sorry, and
even now when she speaks of papa she cries a little; but the tears don't
hurt her. I think, indeed, they give her a kind of pleasure.
See, dear, what a long egotistical letter I have written, after all. I
will say no more, except that while I am delighted to think of your
pleasure among new friends and new scenes, my selfish heart still longs
for the hour that is to bring you back to me.
Pray tell me all you can about your daughters that are to be.
Ever and ever your loving CHARLOTTE.
* * * * *
_From Diana Paget to Charlotte Halliday_.
Beaubocage, near Vevinord, March 30, 186--.
MY DEAR LOTTA,--In three days more I hope to be with you; but I suppose,
in the meantime, I must keep my promise, and send you a faithful account
of my life here. Everyone here is more kind to me than words can tell;
and I have nothing left to wish for, except that you were here to be
delighted, as I am sure you would be, with the freshness and the
strangeness of everything.
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