On the 23rd of the month she writes as follows:—­

“Every one asks me what I am going to do, now that I am returned home; and every one seems to expect that I should immediately commence a school.  In truth, it is what I should wish to do.  I desire it above all things.  I have sufficient money for the undertaking, and I hope now sufficient qualifications to give me a fair chance of success; yet I cannot yet permit myself to enter upon life—­to touch the object which seems now within my reach, and which I have been so long straining to attain.  You will ask me why?  It is on papa’s account; he is now, as you know, getting old, and it grieves me to tell you that he is losing his sight.  I have felt for some months that I ought not to be away from him; and I feel now that it would be too selfish to leave him (at least, as long as Branwell and Anne are absent), in order to pursue selfish interests of my own.  With the help of God, I will try to deny myself in this matter, and to wait.

“I suffered much before I left Brussels.  I think, however long I live, I shall not forget what the parting with M. Heger cost me.  It grieved me so much to grieve him who has been so true, kind, and disinterested a friend.  At parting he gave me a kind of diploma certifying my abilities as a teacher, sealed with the seal of the Athenee Royal, of which he is professor.  I was surprised also at the degree of regret expressed by my Belgian pupils, when they knew I was going to leave.  I did not think it had been in their phlegmatic nature . . .  I do not know whether you feel as I do, but there are times now when it appears to me as if all my ideas and feelings, except a few friendships and affections, are changed from what they used to be; something in me, which used to be enthusiasm, is tamed down and broken.  I have fewer illusions; what I wish for now is active exertion—­a stake in life.  Haworth seems such a lonely, quiet spot, buried away from the world.  I no longer regard myself as young—­indeed, I shall soon be twenty-eight; and it seems as if I ought to be working and braving the rough realities of the world, as other people do.  It is, however, my duty to restrain this feeling at present, and I will endeavour to do so.”

Of course her absent sister and brother obtained a holiday to welcome her return home, and in a few weeks she was spared to pay a visit to her friend at B. But she was far from well or strong, and the short journey of fourteen miles seems to have fatigued her greatly.

Soon after she came back to Haworth, in a letter to one of the household in which she had been staying, there occurs this passage:—­“Our poor little cat has been ill two days, and is just dead.  It is piteous to see even an animal lying lifeless.  Emily is sorry.”  These few words relate to points in the characters of the two sisters, which I must dwell upon a little.  Charlotte was more than commonly tender in her treatment of all dumb