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Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge), 1825-1900

"Springhaven : a Tale of the Great War"

Though one eye had failed for
the work of the brain, it still was in sympathy with his heart; and a
tear shone upon either wrinkled cheek, as the uses of sadness outlast
the brighter view. He held Faith by the hand, or she held by his, as
they came forth, without knowing it, through nature's demand for an open
space, when the air is choked with sorrow.
"My dear, you must check it; you must leave off," said Nelson, although
he was going on himself. "It is useless for me to say a word to you,
because I am almost as bad myself. But still I am older, and I feel that
I ought to be able to comfort you, if I only knew the way."
"You do comfort me, more than I can tell, although you don't say
anything. For any one to sit here, and be sorry with me, makes it come
a little lighter. And when it is a man like you, Lord Nelson, I feel a
sort of love that makes me feel less bitter. Mr. Twemlow drove me wild
with a quantity of texts, and a great amount of talk about a better
land. How would he like to go to it himself, I wonder? There is a great
hole in my heart, and nothing that anybody says can fill it."
"And nothing that any one can do, my dear," her father's friend
answered, softly, "unless it is your own good self, with the kindness
of the Lord to help you. One of the best things to begin with is to help
somebody else, if you can, and lead yourself away into another person's
troubles. Is there any one here very miserable?"
"None that I can think of half so miserable as I am.


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