My grief was profound--even to misery. The remembrance of occasional
moments of coldness on the part of my mother--the remembrance more
especially of the last parting scene--rendered my anguish acute. Had we
but parted in affection--in the friendly confidence of former years--my
loss would have been easier to endure. But no; her last words to me
were spoken in reproach--almost in anger--and it was the memory of these
that now so keenly embittered my thoughts. I would have given the world
could she have heard but one word--to know how freely I forgave her.
My poor mother! all was forgiven. Her faults were few and venial. I
remembered them not. Ambition was her only sin--among those of her
station, almost universal--but I remembered it no more. I remembered
only her many virtues--only that she was my _mother_. Never until that
moment had I known how dearly I loved her.
It was no time to indulge in grief. Where was my sister?