Читать книгу Life of Octavia Hill as Told in Her Letters онлайн

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“I had secretly parcelled out the house to spirits both good and bad; and I think now it must have been to humour me that Octavia joined in my daily rites of propitiation to those invisibles. I can see her now in the dim light of the cellar, the domain of hob-goblins, following Charlton who led the way, whilst I brought up the rear, with an awe-inspiring countenance either induced by some preoccupation, or by the thoroughness with which she would join in any pastime.

“When Octavia visited us later on, her sense of humour was as keen as ever, but life seemed already to have for her a set purpose.... At the beginning of the ’fifties, awakening one night, I saw by the light of a lamp in the road a young statuesque figure seated with folded hands in the sister bed.

“‘What are you about, Ockey?’ I said.

“‘Praying for Poland,’ was the reply.”

This last story was, in one way, less characteristic of Octavia than it would have been of Miranda, but the wave of feeling about such subjects, which passed over her friends and relations, was often reflected in Octavia both then and in later times.