It is a devout service, an eager anticipation
of her lightest wish that possesses me. I am no longer tended; I
tend and serve. There is something soft, appealing, wistful about
her that seems to give her back an almost childlike dependence,
till my grief almost goes from me in joy that I can sustain and aid
her.
September 7, 1889.
Another trouble has fallen upon us. I have had a very grievous
letter from my cousin, who succeeded by arrangement, on my father's
death, to the business. He has been unfortunate in his affairs; he
has thrown money away in speculation. The greater part of my income
came from the business. I suppose the arrangement was a bad one,
but the practice was so sound and secure in my father's life that
it never occurred to me to doubt its stability. The chief part of
my income, some nine hundred a year, came to me from this source.
Apart from that, I have some three or four hundreds from invested
money of my own, and Maud has upwards of two hundred a year. I am
going off to-morrow to L---- to meet my cousin, and go into the
matter. I don't at present understand how things are. His letter is
full of protestations and self-recrimination. We can live, I
suppose, if the worst comes to the worst, but in a very different
way.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273