I look back as people look back on some dim, delightful dream to the days that are gone, and wonder if indeed we were so merry and gay.

The silence of the grave reigns here now.

The laughter, the music--all the merry sounds of a happy household--have fled forever.

A convent of ascetic nuns could not be stiller, nor the holy sisterhood more grave and sombre.

Let me begin at the beginning, and relate events as they occurred, if I can.
The day after I wrote you last brought the first event, in the shape of a letter from Rose to myself.