me when
I know your feelings would have dictated so
different a style. Take the only reward I can give
you in the assurance that your benevolent purpose
_was_ answered; you _did_ contribute to her
enjoyment.

Even your last letter afforded pleasure. I merely
cut the seal and gave it to her; she opened it and
read it herself, afterwards she gave it me to
read, and then talked to me a little and not
uncheerfully of its contents, but there was then a
languor about her which prevented her taking the
same interest in anything she had been used to do.

Since Tuesday evening, when her complaint
returned, there was a visible change, she slept
more and much more comfortably; indeed, during the
last eight-and-forty hours she was more asleep
than awake. Her looks altered and she fell away,
but I perceived no material diminution of
strength, and, though I was then hopeless of a
recovery, I had no suspicion how rapidly my loss
was approaching.

I _have_ lost a treasure, such a sister, such a
friend as never can have been surpassed. She was
the sun of my life, the gilder of every pleasure,
the soother of every sorrow; I had not a thought
concealed from her, and it is as if I had lost a
part of myself. I loved her only too well--not
better than she deserved, but I am conscious that
my affection for her made me sometimes unjust to
and negligent of others; and I can acknowledge,
more than as a general principle, the justice of
the Hand which has struck this blow.

You know me too well to be at all afraid that I
should suffer materially from my feelings; I am
perfectly conscious of the extent of my
irreparable loss, but I am not at all overpowered
and very little indisposed, nothing but what a
short time, with rest and change of air, will
remove. I thank God that I was enabled to attend
her to the last, and amongst my many causes of
self-reproach I have not to add any wilful neglect
of her comfort.

She felt herself to be dying about half an hour
before she became tranquil and apparently