"I remember, as a child, thinking that even the holy sisters of
Bethany could hardly have been more good than the Misses Brooke, but I
was quite unable to connect any sentiment with the invalid brother. He
spoke little and did less, and yet his sisters continually quoted his
sayings and criticisms, and spoke of his fine taste and judgment; but
of all that he was supposed to say, only a few croaking common-places
ever met our ears.

"'Dear James was so much pleased with that little translation you
showed me,' or 'Dear James hopes that his young friends keep up their
practising. He considers music such a resource,' etc., etc.

"I believe they did hold conversations with him in which he probably
assented to their propositions, and they persuaded themselves that he
was very good company. And, indeed, he may have been all that they
believed; I can only say that to me dear James's remarks never
exceeded, 'Good-day, Miss. How are your excellent parents?' or some
similar civility. I really was afraid of him. There is something
appalling in a hoarse voice coming from under a green shade, and
connected with eyes you cannot meet, and features that are always
hidden. Beyond that shade we never saw to the day of his death.

"This occurred about four years after we first knew them. I well
remember the visit of condolence on which I accompanied my mother, the
bitter grief of the sisters, and the slow dropping of Miss Mary's
tears on to her black dress. Wonderful indeed is love! The most
talented and charming companion in the world could not have filled to
them the place of the helpless, uninteresting invalid who had passed
away.