matter of, I know not what, papers or memoranda found after his
kinswoman's death--naming or recommending Lucy Snowe. Mrs. Barrett had
given him my address. How far his conscience had been sinned against, I
never inquired. I asked no questions, but took the cash and made it
useful.

With this hundred pounds I ventured to take the house adjoining mine. I
would not leave that which M. Paul had chosen, in which he had left,
and where he expected again to find me. My externat became a
pensionnat; that also prospered.

The secret of my success did not lie so much in myself, in any
endowment, any power of mine, as in a new state of circumstances, a
wonderfully changed life, a relieved heart. The spring which moved my
energies lay far away beyond seas, in an Indian isle. At parting, I had
been left a legacy; such a thought for the present, such a hope for the
future, such a motive for a persevering, a laborious, an enterprising,
a patient and a brave course--I _could_ not flag. Few things shook me
now; few things had importance to vex, intimidate, or depress me: most
things pleased--mere trifles had a charm.

Do not think that this genial flame sustained itself, or lived wholly
on a bequeathed hope or a parting promise. A generous provider supplied
bounteous fuel. I was spared all chill, all stint; I was not suffered
to fear penury; I was not tried with suspense. By every vessel he
wrote; he wrote as he gave and as he loved, in full-handed,
full-hearted plenitude. He wrote because he liked to write; he did not
abridge, because he cared not to abridge. He sat down, he took pen and
paper, because he loved Lucy and had much to say to her; because he was
faithful and thoughtful, because he was tender and true. There was no
sham and no cheat, and no hollow unreal in him. Apology never dropped
her slippery oil on his lips--never proffered, by his pen, her coward
feints and paltry nullities: he would give neither a stone, nor an
excuse--neither a scorpion; nor a disappointment; his letters were real
food that nourished, living water that refreshed.

And was I grateful? God knows! I believe that scarce a living being so
remembered, so sustained, dealt with in kind so constant, honourable
and noble, could be otherwise than grateful to the death.

Adherent to his own religion (in him was not the stuff of which is made
the facile apostate), he freely left me my pure faith. He did not tease
nor tempt. He said:--

"Remain a Protest