"Do not take that gloomy view. The war is nearly over. There is no danger now," I said, to comfort her. "Augustus will only have riding about and a healthy out-door life, and it will probably cure him."
"I've lived in fear ever since the war began, and now it's come," she wailed, refusing to be comforted.
I said everything else I could, and eventually she cheered up for a few days after this, but at the end broke down again, and now, Amelia writes, lies prostrate in a darkened room. Amelia is having her time of trial. They left for Bournemouth yesterday.
Am I a cold and heartless woman because now that Augustus has gone I can only feel relief?
One of his last speeches was not calculated to leave an agreeable impression.
"You'd better look out how you behave while I am away," he said. "I'd kick up a row in a minute, only you're such a lump of ice no man would bother with you." Then, in a passion: "I wish to God they would, and take you off, so I could get some one of more use to me!" He was surprised that I did not wish him to kiss me ten minutes after this.
And now he has gone, and for six months, at any rate, I shall be free from his companionship.
When he returns things shall be started on a different footing.
I came down to Ledstone by myself yesterday. I have no plans. Perhaps I shall stay here until Christmas, when I am to go to Bournemouth to my mother-in-law.
The house seems more than ever big and hideously oppressive. I must find some interest. The old numbness has returned with double force. I take up a book and put it down again. I roam from one room to another. I am restless and rebellious—rebellious with fate.