Mrs. Hill to Miranda.
... I think neither M. nor O. can have found time to tell you about their visit to Ruskin. He entertained them grandly at luncheon. They stayed two hours talking on all kinds of high subjects. It seems M. said some very pithy things, which delighted him extremely, and which he afterwards quoted. He spoke of O.’s painting powers very highly—he was all kindness. M. says he seems so impressed with O.’s greatness, and he told someone she was the best person he knew.... He said to O., “I don’t like to blame people for what they do, when they are mad with grief or terror; but I must say it was cruel of you to tell me about A.’s illness; I was very ill at the time; and it threw me back.” She answered, “I didn’t think——” “You didn’t think I should care. I care very much for her sake, and very much for yours.” He asked a great deal about it, and when they spoke of how we nursed you, the tears came into his eyes.
MIRANDA’S ILLNESS
July, 1863.
To Miss Baumgartner.
Miranda’s life has been in imminent danger; in fact, for some days the doctors gave us no hope.... You may imagine what the watching and nursing were. I can never tell; so awfully is every incident of those long days and nights burnt into my memory. But there is one thing you can’t know. The infinite, the wonderful, the universal sympathy and desire to help; it was something triumphantly beautiful; one felt it even at the worst, only it felt so very far away, so helpless. Mr. Maurice was here daily, often twice or thrice. He used to come, like a great tender angel of strength, so infinitely pitiful, saying and reading to us things never to be forgotten, answering Miranda’s questions unconsciously asked, so that they answered those deep down in us, thinking no service too small for him to render, none too arduous, startling me to a sense of my own existence by some tender bit of thought for me. And Miss Sterling, I don’t know what we should have done without her. When danger was gone but anxiety remained, I sank down to a state of miserable weakness and low spirits; and she would come and take me out for drives. I couldn’t stand or walk, so terribly fatiguing had the nursing been; why, the simple feeding was enough. Miranda was fed every half hour, and Mama and I did very nearly everything. Ruskin sent most kindly. And then the little children, who stole about the house and spoke in whispers; and my children, who did their work quite self-reliantly, and waited with gentlest service on us; and poor old women who sent daily to ask, and teachers who offered all service to set us free, and friends who drove in to bring flowers and grapes, and servants who were like rocks of strength: there wasn’t one person, who didn’t show love and helpfulness far above what one could have dreamed or hoped.
July 25th, 1863.
To Miss Baumgartner.
Minnie and I had been at Ruskin’s, talking for two hours about faith. It has left upon us both an impression of the deepest solemnity. Minnie says joy. Well yes, I say joy too....
I am sitting in the hush of an examination; the children each at a separate table are deep in sums; so strangely do the little things of this world blend themselves with the great, all these strange duties leading one on to the great thoughts and facts that lie below.