that a woman forgives in men, who ought to be strong.
Christian was not weak; all the more he was gentle and tender
and thoughtful for those who were. Certainly for me. Those
days, those walks, - what music of thought and manner there
was in them! The sort of protecting care and affection I had
from him then, I never had from any other at any time. Care
that seemed to, make my life his own; affection that made it
something much before his own; but all this told, not in
words, which could not have been, but in indescribable little
things of manner and tone; graces too fine to count and
measure. Once I had fancied I ought to put more reserve into
my manner, or manage more distance in his; that thought fled
from me after the first afternoon's ride and never came back.
I did not take care for myself; he took care for me. The
affection that held me as a part of himself, held me also as a
delicate charge more precious than himself; and while he
protected me as one who had a right to do it, he guarded me
also as one whose own rights were more valuable than his. He
never flattered, nor praised, nor complimented me; or with
rare exceptions; but he showed me that he lived for me, and
sometimes that he knew I lived for him.

What days and walks! The extreme and impending gravity of the
time and the interests at work, lent only a keen and keener
perception of their preciousness and sweetness. Any day our
opportunities might suddenly come to an end; every day they
were welcomed as a special fresh gift. Every evening, as soon
as Mr. Thorold's engagements allowed it, he met me on the
avenue, and we walked until the evening was as far spent as we
durst spend it so. I basked in a sunshine of care and