accusation, and therefore the fact that she could thus have
suffered is a sign that this unnamed terror can coexist with a
dauntless courage and an essential self-command.

Here again is the cry of a desolate heart! She had been going
through her sisters' papers not long after their death, and wrote
to her great friend:


"I am both angry and surprised at myself for not being in better
spirits; for not growing accustomed, or at least resigned, to the
solitude and isolation of my lot. But my late occupation left a
result, for some days and indeed still, very painful. The reading
over of papers, the renewal of remembrances, brought back the pangs
of bereavement and occasioned a depression of spirits well-nigh
intolerable. For one or two nights I hardly knew how to get on till
morning; and when morning came I was still haunted by a sense of
sickening distress. I tell you these things because it is
absolutely necessary to me to have SOME relief. You will forgive me
and not trouble yourself, or imagine that I am one whit worse than
I say. It is quite a mental ailment, and I believe and hope is
better now. I think so, because I can speak about it, which I never
can when grief is at its worst. I thought to find occupation and
interest in writing when alone at home, but hitherto my efforts
have been in vain: the deficiency of every stimulus is so complete.
You will recommend me, I dare say, to go from home; but that does
no good, even could I again leave papa with an easy mind. . . . I
cannot describe what a time of it I had after my return from London
and Scotland. There was a reaction that sank me to the earth, the
deadly silence, solitude, depression, desolation were awful; the