king refuge from the
sensation of being unable to influence those about her whose wills were
stronger than her own, by relinquishing authority, and in her most
decided moments offering an opinion only, no more. This was not because
she was really undecided, for on the contrary she knew her own mind well
enough; but it had become a matter of habit with her to insist upon no
opinion, knowing, as she did, how little chance she had of imposing her
opinion upon the stronger wills about her. She had two other children
older than Elinor: one, the eldest of all, married in India, a woman
with many children of her own, practically altogether severed from
the maternal nest; the other an adventurous son, who was generally
understood to be at the ends of the earth, but seldom or never had any
more definite address. This lady had naturally gone through many pangs
and anxieties on behalf of these children, who had dropped away from her
side into the unknown; but it belonged to her character to have said
very little about this, so that she was generally supposed to take
things very easily, and other mothers were apt to admire the composure
of Mrs. Dennistoun, whose son might be being murdered by savages at any
moment, for anything she knew--or minded, apparently. "Now it would have
driven _me_ out of my senses!" the other ladies said. Mrs. Dennistoun
perhaps did not feel the back so well fitted to the burden as
appeared--but she kept her own sentiments on this subject entirely to
herself.

(I may say too--but this, the young reader may skip without
disadvantage--by way of explanation of a peculiarity which has lately
been much remarked as characteristic of those records of human history
contemptuously called fiction, _i.e._, the unimportance, or ill-report,
or unjust disapproval of the mother in records of this description--that
it is almost impossible to maintain her due rank and character in a
piece of history, which has to be kept within certain limits--and where
her daughter the heroine must have the first place. To lessen _her_
pre-eminence by dwelling at length upon the mother, unless that mother
is a fool, or a termagant, or something thoroughly contrasting with the
beauty and virtues of the daughter--would in most cases be a mistake in
art. For one thing the necessary incidents are wanting, for I strongly
object, and so I think do most people, to mothers who fall in love, or
think of marriage, or any such vanity in their own p