to visit all the large towns in Europe, see all the sights and know
all the celebrities. This was her notion of literary fame,--a passport
to the society of clever people . . . When she had become acquainted with
the people and ways at Brussels her life became monotonous, and she fell
into the same hopeless state as at Miss W---'s, though in a less degree.
I wrote to her, urging her to go home or elsewhere; she had got what she
wanted (French), and there was at least novelty in a new place, if no
improvement. That if she sank into deeper gloom she would soon not have
energy to go, and she was too far from home for her friends to hear of
her condition and order her home as they had done from Miss W---'s. She
wrote that I had done her a great service, that she should certainly
follow my advice, and was much obliged to me. I have often wondered at
this letter. Though she patiently tolerated advice, she could always
quietly put it aside, and do as she thought fit. More than once
afterwards she mentioned the 'service' I had done her. She sent me
10_l_. to New Zealand, on hearing some exaggerated accounts of my
circumstances, and told me she hoped it would come in seasonably; it was
a debt she owed me 'for the service I had done her.' I should think
10_l_. was a quarter of her income. The 'service' was mentioned as an
apology, but kindness was the real motive."

The first break in this life of regular duties and employments came
heavily and sadly. Martha--pretty, winning, mischievous, tricksome
Martha--was taken ill suddenly at the Chateau de Koekelberg. Her sister
tended her with devoted love; but it was all in vain; in a few days she
died. Charlotte's own short account of this event is as follows:--

"Martha T.'s illness was unknown to me till the day before she died. I
hastened to Koekelberg the next morning--unconscious that she was in
great danger--and was told that it was finished. She had died in the
night. Mary was taken away to Bruxelles. I have seen Mary frequently
since. She is in no ways crushed by the event; but while Martha was ill,
she was to her more than a mother--more than a sister: watching, nursing,
cherishing her so tenderly, so unweariedly. She appears calm and serious
now; no bursts of violent emotion; no exaggeration of distress. I have
seen Martha's grave--the place where her ashes lie in a foreign country."

Who that has read "Shirley" does not remember the few lines--perhaps half