"Fie, fie," he cried, striking that horrid relic out of his brother's hand, "are these fit sights for a lady, you hog, Simon?" and taking me brusquely by the hand, leads me away, and, in the pantry, tries to make me swallow a dose of brandy, with much petting and cosseting. "Our ancestors, dear Lady Brandling (for so he affects to call me), were but rough soldiers, though princes of these parts; and the relics of their games scarce fit for your pretty eyes. But have a sup of brandy, my dear, 'twill set you right." I loathed the mealy-mouthed black creature, methought, worse than drunken Simon, and worse almost than those horrid dead men. "No, thank you, uncle," I said, "my stomach is stronger than you think. My ancestors also were soldiers--soldiers on the field of battle--though I never heard of their bricking up their enemies in the house wall." "Nay, nay," he cried, "but that was an evil habit of those days, dear Lady Brandling, hundreds and thousands of years ago, when we were sovereign princes." "Hundreds and thousands of years ago?" I answered, for I hated him at that moment, "ah well, I had thought it was scarce so far removed from us as all that." _January_ 31, 1773. A curious feeling has been tormenting me of late, of self-reproach for I scarce know what, of lack of helpfulness, almost of disloyalty towards my husband. Since we have been here, indeed I think ever since the first announcement of Sir Thomas's death, Eustace has altered in his manner towards me; a whole side of his life has, I feel, been hidden from me. Have I a right to it? This is what has been debating in my mind. A man may have concerns which it is no duty of his to share with a wife; not because she is only a wife, and he a husband, for my dear Eustace's mind is too enlightened and generous, too thoroughly imbued with the noble doctrines of our days, to admit of such a difference. But there is one of my mother's sayings which has worked very deeply into my mind. It was on the eve of my wedding. "Remember, dear little Penelope," she said, "that no degree of love, however pure, noble, and perfect, can really make two souls into one soul. All appearance to the contrary is a mere delusion and dangerous. Every human soul has its own nature, its necessary laws, and demands liberty and privacy to develop them; and were this not the case, no soul, however loving and courageous, could ever help another, for it would have no strength, no understanding, no life, with which to bring help. Remember this, my child, till the moment come when you shall understand it, and, I hope, act in the light of its comprehension."