into my own room and sat down by the bed, your father's bed, and
cried and prayed. If he were alive he would have helped me, or if
no help could have been found he would have shared my sorrow. It is
dreadful that, no matter what my distress may be, he cannot speak.
What counsel can I send you? I have had much to do with affliction,
but not such as yours. My love for you is of no use. I will be
still. I have always found, when I am in great straits and my head
is confused, I must hold my tongue and do nothing. If I do not
move, a way may open out to me. Meantime, live in the thought of
Blackdeep and of me. It will do you no harm and may keep you from
sinking.


HOMERTON, 30th January 1839.

No complaint, no reproof. You might have told me it was perhaps my
fault.

I always have to reflect on what I am about to say to him. I go
through my sentences to the end before I open my lips. He dislikes
exaggeration, and checks me if I use a strong word; but surely life
sometimes needs strong words, and those which are tame may be
further from the truth than those which burn. When he first began
to think about buying the house, I was surprised and talked with
less restraint than is usual with me. After a little while he said
that I had not contributed anything definite to a settlement of the
question. I dare say I had not, but it is natural to me to speak
even when I do not pretend to settle questions. He seems to think
that speech is useless unless for a distinct, practical purpose. At
Blackdeep almost everything that comes into my head finds its way to