To papa I must only speak cheeringly, to Anne only
encouragingly--to you I may give some hint of the dreary truth.
'Anne and I sit alone and in seclusion as you fancy us, but we do not
study. Anne cannot study now, she can scarcely read; she occupies
Emily's chair; she does not get well. A week ago we sent for a
medical man of skill and experience from Leeds to see her. He
examined her with the stethoscope. His report I forbear to dwell on
for the present--even skilful physicians have often been mistaken in
their conjectures.
'My first impulse was to hasten her away to a warmer climate, but
this was forbidden: she must not travel; she is not to stir from the
house this winter; the temperature of her room is to be kept
constantly equal.
'Had leave been given to try change of air and scene, I should hardly
have known how to act. I could not possibly leave papa; and when I
mentioned his accompanying us, the bare thought distressed him too
much to be dwelt upon. Papa is now upwards of seventy years of age;
his habits for nearly thirty years have been those of absolute
retirement; any change in them is most repugnant to him, and probably
could not, at this time especially when the hand of God is so heavy
upon his old age, be ventured upon without danger.
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