"No, Mr. Hattersley, the children give her more pleasure than pain: they are fine well dispositioned children—"
"I know they are—bless 'em!"
"Then why lay the blame on them?—I'll tell you what it is: it's silent fretting and constant anxiety on your account, mingled I suspect, with something of bodily fear on her own. When you behave well, she can only rejoice with trembling; she has no security, no confidence in your judgment or principles; but is continually dreading the close of such short-lived felicity: when you behave ill, her causes of terror and misery are more than any one can tell but herself. In patient endurance of evil, she forgets it is our duty to admonish our neighbours of their transgressions.—Since you will mistake her silence for indifference, come with me, and I'll show you one or two of her letters—no breach of confidence, I hope, since you are her other half."
He followed me into the library. I sought out and put into his hands two of Milicent's
