But I must now introduce to you another member of our family, to whom I have as yet hardly alluded, for many painful reasons, but whose history now begins to be blended with mine in a manner which renders all farther avoidance of her tale impossible. I refer to my poor sister Martha! She was several years older than myself; and at the time I am now speaking of, had arrived at woman’s estate. She was a splendid specimen of a fine well-grown mountain girl, except that she was rather paler than exactly suits the taste of the hardy mountaineer; her paleness, however, arose, I believe, not from any delicacy of frame, but from habitual thoughtfulness. How she was admired and sought after by the shy rustics of the neighbourhood! and, above all, how she was beloved by myself! Alas!—in the language of a friend of mine, who, though unknown to fame, is a true poet—at that period of her short life,
‘The liquid lustre of her eye Had ne’er been dimm’d by fond hopes blighted; The halo of serenity Still kept her marble forehead lighted!’
“Her kindness to me seemed to arise from her having united the feelings of a sister and a mother towards me. She was so much older than myself as to be justified in using, as she sometimes did, the language of authority; and yet not so far removed from me in years, but that she could look upon me as a brother, and that I could treat her (as I too often did) with at least a brother’s freedom. Thus, as I grew older, and my mind expanded from the instruction I received at Hawkshead, I became more and more to be regarded by her as a companion and less as a child. Thus she, who had been a check upon me and a teacher, now began at times to learn something from me, of which you may well suppose that I was very proud; whilst I was daily growing in admiration of her industry, piety, and patience. She assisted her mother in all the female labours of the house and the little farm, and yet always kept herself as neat and nice as if she had nothing else to do. All at once, her manner began to change. Instead of her constant cheerfulness, she became anxious and absent, though by no means fretful or impatient. Her paleness visibly increased, and her step grew less elastic and light. She occasionally absented herself from home without mentioning where she had been, or asking me, as she used formerly to do, to accompany her. This was noticed by myself long before it was perceived, or at least mentioned, by either my father or my mother; for I began to entertain a jealous feeling that her affections were, from some cause or other, weakening towards me; yet, as she never mentioned the subject herself, a feeling of pride or obstinacy checked me from being the first to seek an explanation.