gathering blackness every hour.

On October the 9th, she thus writes:--

"The past three weeks have been a dark interval in our humble
home. Branwell's constitution had been failing fast all the
summer; but still, neither the doctors nor himself thought him so
near his end as he was. He was entirely confined to his bed but
for one single day, and was in the village two days before his
death. He died, after twenty minutes' struggle, on Sunday
morning, September 24th. He was perfectly conscious till the last
agony came on. His mind had undergone the peculiar change which
frequently precedes death, two days previously; the calm of
better feelings filled it; a return of natural affection marked
his last moments. He is in God's hands now; and the All-Powerful
is likewise the All-Merciful. A deep conviction that he rests at
last--rests well, after his brief, erring, suffering, feverish
life--fills and quiets my mind now. The final separation, the
spectacle of his pale corpse, gave me more acute bitter pain than
I could have imagined. Till the last hour comes, we never how
know much we can forgive, pity, regret a near relative. All his
vices were and are nothing now. We remember only his woes. Papa
was acutely distressed at first, but, on the whole, has borne the
event well. Emily and Anne are pretty well, though Anne is always
delicate, and Emily has a cold and cough at present. It was my
fate to sink at the crisis, when I should have collected my
strength. Headache and sickness came on first on the Sunday; I
could not regain my appetite. Then internal pain attacked me. I
became at once much reduced. It was impossible to touch a morsel.
At last, bilious fever declared itself. I was confined to bed a