Her sense of duty and natural affection were very strong. She
told herself that if it were her lot to watch for many years beside this
dwindling flame, it was a lot of God's giving, not of her own seeking,
and therefore good. The letters that came to her from Beechhurst and
Caen breathed nothing but encouragement to love and patience, and Harry
Musgrave's letters were a perpetual fount of refreshment. What
delightful letters they were! He told, her whatever he thought would
interest or amuse her or make his life palpable to her. He sent her
books, he sent her proof-sheets to be read and returned: if Bessie had
not loved him so devotedly and all that belonged to him, she might have
thought his literature a tax on her leisure. It was a wonder to all who
knew her (without knowing her secret fund of joy) what a cheerful
countenance she wore through this dreary period of her youth. Within the
house she had no support but the old servants, and little change or
variety from without. Those kind old ladies, Miss Juliana and Miss
Charlotte Smith, were very good in coming to see her, and always
indulged her in a talk of Lady Latimer and Fairfield; Miss Burleigh
visited her occasionally for a day, but Lady Angleby kept out of the
shadow on principle--she could not bear to see it lengthening. She
enjoyed life very much, and would not be reminded of death if she could
help it. Her nephew spent Christmas at Norminster, and paid more than
one visit to Abbotsmead.
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