Green without her?"
I ran out with Edwin, I opened the chaise door, I took Emmeline in my
arms, I folded her to my heart. She was wrapped in soft white fur, like
the snowy landscape: but was warm, and young, and lovely. I put their
leaders to with my own hands, I gave the boys a five-pound note apiece, I
cheered them as they drove away, I drove the other way myself as hard as
I could pelt.
I never went to Liverpool, I never went to America, I went straight back
to London, and I married Angela. I have never until this time, even to
her, disclosed the secret of my character, and the mistrust and the
mistaken journey into which it led me. When she, and they, and our eight
children and their seven--I mean Edwin and Emmeline's, whose oldest girl
is old enough now to wear white for herself, and to look very like her
mother in it--come to read these pages, as of course they will, I shall
hardly fail to be found out at last. Never mind! I can bear it. I
began at the Holly-Tree, by idle accident, to associate the Christmas
time of year with human interest, and with some inquiry into, and some
care for, the lives of those by whom I find myself surrounded. I hope
that I am none the worse for it, and that no one near me or afar off is
the worse for it. And I say, May the green Holly-Tree flourish, striking
its roots deep into our English ground, and having its germinating
qualities carried by the birds of Heaven all over the world!