Tennyson found
consolation "when he sorrowed most." But I say deliberately that I
would rather not have loved my child, than lose him thus.
August 28, 1889.
We are to go away. Maggie droops like a faded flower, and for the
first time I realise, in trying to comfort and distract her, that I
have not lost everything. We are much together, and seeing her thus
pine and fade stirs a dread, in the heart that had been so cold,
that I may lose her too. At last we are drawn together. She came to
say good-night to me last night, and a gush of love passed through
me, like the wind stirring the strings of a harp to music. "My
precious darling, my comfort," I said; the words put, it seemed, on
my lips, by some deeper power. She clung to me, crying softly. Yet,
is it strange to say it, that simple utterance seems almost to have
revived her, to have given her pride and courage? But Maud is still
almost a mystery to me. Who can tell how she suffers--I cannot--it
seems to have quickened and enriched her love and tenderness; she
seems to have a secret that I cannot come near to sharing; she does
not repine, rebel, resist; she lives in some region of
unapproachable patience and love.
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