Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed
in the blackest of the heath for her;--out of a sullen hollow in a livid
hill-side, her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude
many and dear delights; and not the least and best-loved was--liberty.
Liberty was the breath of Emily's nostrils; without it she perished. The
change from her own home to a school, and from her own very noiseless,
very secluded, but unrestricted and unartificial mode of life, to one of
disciplined routine (though under the kindest auspices), was what she
failed in enduring. Her nature proved here too strong for her fortitude.
Every morning, when she woke, the vision of home and the moors rushed on
her, and darkened and saddened the day that lay before her. Nobody knew
what ailed her but me. I knew only too well. In this struggle her
health was quickly broken: her white face, attenuated form, and failing
strength, threatened rapid decline. I felt in my heart she would die, if
she did not go home, and with this conviction obtained her recall. She
had only been three months at school; and it was some years before the
experiment of sending her from home was again ventured on."
This physical suffering on Emily's part when absent from Haworth, after
recurring several times under similar circumstances, became at length so
much an acknowledged fact, that whichever was obliged to leave home, the
sisters decided that Emily must remain there, where alone she could enjoy
anything like good health.
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