The death of Lady Adelina Stanley, though not sudden, was a severe blow to her husband: he had permitted himself to be deluded by the flattering voice of hope, that when she became a mother, her health would be restored: he had then sketched for himself a plan of happiness which, if it could have been realised, would have left him nothing to wish for in this world. Though he had/ uniformly treated her with the tenderness which gratitude and esteem for her amiable qualities demanded, yet he accused himself of not having loved her with that entire affection she merited, and which he then felt towards her. He longed ardently for her recovery, that he might, by his increased kindness and attention, convince her she possessed his heart wholly and undivided: that it was not anxiety alone for her illness which dictated his present solicitude for her, in common with all the rest of her friends, but that it was love, pure, unsophisticated love, which her virtues had inspired.

But tins tribute to her worth he was not allowed to pay; her permanent happiness was destined to flow from a source not subject (like the weak resolves of erring man) to change.

When able to withdraw his mind from the soul-harrowing remembrance of the last expiring moments of his wife,/ and the still more agonising sight of her pale, cold form, stiffened by the hand of death – death all powerful, which can even subdue love, and render that heart insensible to the grief of the object dearest to it in life; when able to do that, he thought of the packet given him with such solemnity a short time before her decease.