A Blot of Ink (Paperback)

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1892 Excerpt: ...on which I founded my claims to merit, of the wealth of tenderness and sympathy with which she repaid a few walks on my arm, a few kind words, and of her really great forbearance in dwelling beneath the same roof with me--I feel that I was ungrateful, and not worthy of the happiness I enjoj ed. I am tortured by the thought that it is impossible for me to repair all my neglect, to pay a debt the greatness of which I now recognise for the first time. She is gone. All is over. My prayers alone can reach her, can tell her that I loved her, that I worshipped her, that I might have been capable of doing all that I have left undone for her. "Oh, my friend, what pleasant duties have I lost I mean, at least, to fulfil her last wishes, and it is on account of one of them that I am writing to you. "You know that my mother was never quite pleased at my keeping at home the portrait of her who was my first and only love. She would have preferred that my eyes did not recall so often to my heart the recollection of my longpast sorrows. I withstood her. On her deathbed she begged me to give up the picture to those who ought to have had it long ago. 'As long as I was here to comfort you in the sorrows which the sight of it revived in you, ' she said, 'I did not press this upon you: but soon you will be left alone, with no one to raise you up when your spirits fail you. They have often begged you to give up the picture to them. The time is come for you to grant their prayers.' "I promised. "And now, dear friend, help me to keep my promise. I do not want to write to them. My hand would tremble, and they would tremble when they saw my writing. Go and see them. "They live about nine miles from Milan, on the Monza road, but beyond that town, close to the ...