This is far from being the case; on the contrary, I know
my place is a favourable one, for a governess. What dismays and
haunts me sometimes, is a conviction that I have no natural knack for
my vocation. If teaching only were requisite, it would be smooth and
easy; but it is the living in other people's houses--the estrangement
from one's real character--the adoption of a cold, rigid, apathetic
exterior, that is painful . . . You will not mention our school
project at present. A project not actually commenced is always
uncertain. Write to me often, my dear Nell; you _know_ your letters
are valued. Your 'loving child' (as you choose to call me so),
C. B.
"P.S. I am well in health; don't fancy I am not, but I have one
aching feeling at my heart (I must allude to it, though I had resolved
not to). It is about Anne; she has so much to endure: far, far more
than I ever had. When my thoughts turn to her, they always see her as
a patient, persecuted stranger. I know what concealed susceptibility
is in her nature, when her feelings are wounded. I wish I could be
with her, to administer a little balm. She is more lonely--less
gifted with the power of making friends, even than I am. 'Drop the
subject.'"
She could bear much for herself; but she could not patiently bear the
sorrows of others, especially of her sisters; and again, of the two
sisters, the idea of the little, gentle, youngest suffering in lonely
patience, was insupportable to her.
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