and the
loneliness of the remaining years; the little turns, and thoughts, and
touches--wherever she goes and whatever she does--which at every corner
meet her with a deep, perpetual want. She tries to fetch her spirit up
and to think of her duties to all around--to her children, or to the
guests whom trouble forces upon her for business' sake, or even the
friends who call to comfort (though the call can fetch her none); but
all the while how deeply aches her sense that all these duties are as
different as a thing can be from her love-work to her husband!

What could I do? I had heard from George, but could not for my life
remember, the name of that old house in Berkshire where poor Mrs.
Bowring was on a visit to two of her aunts, as I said before. I
ventured to open her letter to her husband, found in his left-hand side
breastpocket, and, having dried it, endeavoured only to make out whence
she wrote; but there was nothing. Ladies scarcely ever date a letter
both with time and place, for they seem to think that everybody must
know it, because they do. So the best I could do was to write to poor
George's house in London, and beg that the letter might be forwarded at
once. It came, however, too late to hand. For, although the newspapers
of that time were respectably slow and steady, compared with the rush
they all make nowadays, they generally managed to outrun the post,
especially in the nutting season. They told me at Dolgelly, and they
confirmed it at Machynlleth, that nobody must desire to get his letters
at any particular time, in the months of September and October, when the
nuts were ripe. For the postmen never would come along until they had
filled their bags with nuts, for the pleasure of their families. And I
dare say they do the same thing now, but without being free to declare
it so.

CHAPTER VII.

The body of my dear friend was borne round the mountain slopes to
Dolgelly and buried there, with no relative near, nor any mourner except
myself; for his wife, or rather his widow, was taken with sudden illness
(as might be expected), and for weeks it was doubtful whether she would
stay behind to mourn for him. But youth and strength at last restored
her to dreary duties and worldly troubles.

Of the latter, a great part fell on me; and I did my best--though you
might not think so, after the fuss I made of my own--to intercept all
that I could, and quit myself manfully of the trust which George had
ret