In the autumn of 1838, Mrs. Blyth’s malady¹ had for some time past assumed the permanent form from which it seldom afterwards varied². She now suffered little actual pain, except when she quitted a recumbent posture⁴. But the general disorganization produced by almost exclusive confinement⁵ to one position, had, even at this early period, begun to work sad changes in her personal appearance. She suffered that mortifying⁶ misfortune just as bravely and resignedly as she had suffered the first great calamity⁸ of her incurable⁹ disorder¹⁰. Valentine never showed that he thought her altered; Valentine’s kindness was just as affectionate and as constant as it had ever been in the happier days of their marriage. So encouraged, Lavinia had the heart to bear all burdens patiently; and could find sources of happiness for herself, where others could discover nothing but causes for grief.

The room she inhabited was already, through Valentine’s self-denying industry, better furnished than any other room in the house; but was far from presenting the same appearance of luxury and completeness to which it attained¹² in the course of after-years.

The charming maple-wood and ivory bookcase, with the prettily-bound volumes ranged in such bright regularity¹³ along its shelves, was there certainly, as early as the autumn of 1838. It would not, however, at that time have formed part of the furniture of Mrs. Blyth’s room, if her husband had not provided himself with the means of paying for it, by accepting a certain professional invitation to the country, which he knew before, and would enable him to face the terrors of the upholsterer’s bill.

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