Had the heavens fallen and mixed themselves with the earth, had
the people of London risen in rebellion with French ideas of
equality, had the Queen persistently declined to comply with the
constitutional advice of her ministers, had a majority in the
House of Commons lost its influence in the country,--the utter
prostration of the bereft husband could not have been more
complete. It was not only that his heart was torn to pieces, but
that he did not know how to look out into the world. It was as
though a man should be suddenly called upon to live without hands
or even arms. He was helpless, and knew himself to be helpless.
Hitherto he had never specially acknowledged to himself that his
wife was necessary to him as a component part of his life. Though
he had loved her dearly, and had in all things consulted her
welfare and happiness, he had at times been inclined to think that
in the exuberance of her spirits she had been a trouble rather
than a support to him. But now it was as though all outside
appliances were taken away from him. There was no one of whom he
could ask a question.

For it may be said of this man that, though throughout his life he
had had many Honourable and Right Honourable friends, and that,
though he had entertained guests by the score, and though he had
achieved for himself the respect of all good men and the thorough
admiration of some few who knew him, he had hardly made for
himself a single intimate friend--except that one who had now
passed away from him. To her he had been able to say what he
thought, even though she would occasionally ridicule him while he
was declaring his feelings. But there had been no other human soul
to whom he could open himself. There was one or two whom he loved,