d nine o'clock; I then
heard him open the parlour door as if going. I expected the clash of
the front door. He stopped in the passage; he tapped; like lightning
it flashed on me what was coming. He entered; he stood before me.
What his words were you can guess; his manner you can hardly realise,
nor can I forget it. Shaking from head to foot, looking deadly pale,
speaking low, vehemently, yet with difficulty, he made me for the
first time feel what it costs a man to declare affection where he
doubts response.

'The spectacle of one ordinarily so statue-like thus trembling,
stirred, and overcome, gave me a kind of strange shock. He spoke of
sufferings he had borne for months, of sufferings he could endure no
longer, and craved leave for some hope. I could only entreat him to
leave me then and promise a reply on the morrow. I asked him if he
had spoken to papa. He said he dared not. I think I half led, half
put him out of the room. When he was gone I immediately went to
papa, and told him what had taken place. Agitation and anger
disproportionate to the occasion ensued; if I had _loved_ Mr.
Nicholls, and had heard such epithets applied to him as were used, it
would have transported me past my patience; as it was, my blood
boiled with a sense of injustice. But papa worked himself into a
state not to be trifled with: the veins on his temples started up
like whip-cord, and his eyes became suddenly bloodshot. I made haste
to promise that Mr. Nicholls should on the morrow have a distinct
refusal.

'I wrote yesterday and got this note. There is no need to add to
this statement any comment. Papa's vehement antipathy to the bare
thought of any one thinking of me as a wife, and Mr. Nicholls's
distress, both give me pain. Attachment to Mr. Nicholls you are
aware I never entertained, but the poignant pity inspired by his
state on Monday evening, by the hurried revelation of his sufferings
for many months, is something galling and irksome. That he cared
something for me, and wanted me to care for him, I have long
suspected, but I did not know the degree or strength of his feelings.
Dear Nell, good-bye.--Yours faithfully,

'C. BRONTE.

'I have letters from Sir J. K. Shuttleworth and Miss Martineau, but I
cannot