Nicholls fights with his, and when he yields momentarily, you are
almost sickened by the sense of the strain upon him. However, he is
to go, and I cannot speak to him or look at him or comfort him a
whit, and I must submit. Providence is over all, that is the only
consolation.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 19_th_, 1853.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I cannot help feeling a certain satisfaction in finding
that the people here are getting up a subscription to offer a
testimonial of respect to Mr. Nicholls on his leaving the place.
Many are expressing both their commiseration and esteem for him. The
Churchwardens recently put the question to him plainly: Why was he
going? Was it Mr. Bronte's fault or his own? "His own," he
answered. Did he blame Mr. Bronte? "No! he did not: if anybody was
wrong it was himself." Was he willing to go? "No! it gave him great
pain." Yet he is not always right. I must be just. He shows a
curious mixture of honour and obstinacy--feeling and sullenness.
Papa addressed him at the school tea-drinking, with _constrained_
civility, but still with _civility_.
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