had fallen into on hearing that he was forbidden by his
paramour ever to see her again, as, if he did, she would forfeit
her fortune. . . . Let her live and flourish. He died, his pockets
filled with her letters, which he carried about his person
perpetually in order that he might read them as often as he
pleased. He lies dead, and his doom is only known to God's mercy."

But he did not die at once. He lived as an abiding care and sorrow and
disgrace to his family for three years. He began taking opium, and drank
more than ever. "For some time before his death he had attacks of
delirium tremens, of the most frightful character; he slept in his
father's room, and he would sometimes declare that either he or his
father would be dead before morning." The trembling sisters, sick with
fright, watched the night through before the door, in such agony as only
loving hearts can feel at the ruin of a loved one. The scenes at the old
manse at this time would serve to answer the question so often asked,
Where did three lonely women like the Bronte sisters ever form their
conceptions of such characters as they depicted? How their pure
imaginations could conceive of such beings as Heathcote and the Tenant
of Wildfell Hall may perhaps be guessed by those who learn what sort of
a man Branwell Bronte had grown to be. But the long agony was over at
last, and Branwell found his rest; and the sisters, although they could
not but feel the relief of his death, mourned for him with passionate
sorrow.

Let us turn to pleasanter glimpses of the life at Haworth, some of them
preceding the events of which we have been writing. Charlotte had spent
a year or two in Brussels, teaching in a school there, and gaining some
of those experiences which she afterwards embodied in her novels. Then
she had returned home, and the sisters had talked of establishing a
school. None of the famous books had yet been written. To show some of
Charlotte's ideas at this time, one or two extracts from her letters may
be of interest. She writes in 1840:--

"Do not be over-persuaded to marry a man you can never respect,--I
do not say _love_; because I think if you can respect a person
before marriage, moderate love at least will come after; and as to
intense _passion_, I am convinced that that is no desirable
feeling. In the first place it seldom or never meets with a
requital; and in the second place, if it did,