And yet upon somebody she longed to depend.

Her days were heavy with the long process of domination.

As she drove in silence over the moors she leaned back in the carriage, oppressed and weary; but what a relief--John Brown was behind on the rumble, and his strong arm would be there for her to lean upon when she got out.
He had, too, in her mind, a special connection with Albert.

In their expeditions the Prince had always trusted him more than anyone; the gruff, kind, hairy Scotsman was, she felt, in some mysterious way, a legacy from the dead.

She came to believe at last--or so it appeared--that the spirit of Albert was nearer when Brown was near.
Often, when seeking inspiration over some complicated question of political or domestic import, she would gaze with deep concentration at her late husband's bust.