It was well understood when she was not
at the table with the others that the house was to be kept quiet.
After a cup of tea--nothing more--she rose and sat reading for a good
two hours. It was not that she was particularly unwell--she simply
needed rest. Every now and then retreat from the world and perfect
isolation were a necessity to her. If she forced herself to come
downstairs when she ought to be by herself she became really ill.
Occasionally the fire was alight in the evening, too, and she would
be off the moment tea was over, Isaac frequently joining her then,
although he never remained with her in the morning. She was almost
sure to escape on the day following any excitement or undue worry
about household affairs. She knew Sir Walter Scott from end to end,
and as few people knew him. He had been to her, and to her husband
too, what he can only be to people leading a dull life far from the
world. He had broken up its monotony and created a new universe! He
had introduced them into a royal society of noble friends. He had
added to the ordinary motives which prompted Cowfold action a
thousand higher motives. Then there was the charm of the magician,
so sanative, so blessed, felt directly any volume of that glorious
number was opened.
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