To her he had been able to say what he
thought, even though she would occasionally ridicule him while he
was declaring his feelings. But there had been no other human soul
to whom he could open himself. There was one or two whom he loved,
and perhaps liked; but his loving and his liking had been
exclusively political. He had so habituated himself to devote his
mind and his heart to the service of his country, that he had
almost risen above or sunk below humanity. But she, who had been
essentially human, had been a link between him and the world.
There were his three children, the youngest of whom was now nearly
nineteen, and they surely were links! At the first moment of his
bereavement they were felt to be hardly more than burdens. A more
loving father there was not in England, but nature had made him so
undemonstrative that as yet they had hardly known his love. In all
their joys and in all their troubles, in all their desires and all
their disappointments, they had ever gone to their mother. She had
been conversant with everything about them, from the boys' bills
and the girl's gloves to the innermost turn in their heart and the
disposition of each.
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