You saw her; you saw
something of us--you saw us for some _days_--you saw our _year!_ Oh! what
happiness--and it was solid--it could not change, for we knew each
other--except when I went out to shoot, we were together always, and we
_could_ be together--we did not tire.'"
"I tried to check this current of recollection, that was evidently
overpowering him (as it was me) by a remark on a part of the picture, and
then on its likeness to the youth of the old king. 'Ah! and my child was
like her, for one so young, (as if it had really lived in childhood.) For
one so young it was surprisingly like--the nose, it was higher than
children's are--the mouth, so like hers; so cut (trying to describe its
mouth on his own.) My grief did not think of it, but if I could have had a
drawing of it! She was always thinking of others, not of herself--no one so
little selfish--always looking out for comfort for others. She had been for
hours, for many hours, in great pain--she was in that situation where
selfishness must act if it exists--when _good_ people will be selfish,
because pain makes them so--and my Charlotte was not--any grief could not
make her so! She thought our child was alive; I knew it was not, and I
could not support her mistake.
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