Clemens, in fact, felt relieved, now that the worst had come, and wrote bright letters home.  In one he said: 

Mr. Rogers is perfectly satisfied that our course was right, absolutely right and wise—­cheer up, the best is yet to come.

And again: 

Now & then a good and dear Joe Twichell or Susy Warner condoles with me & says, “Cheer up-don’t be downhearted,” and some other friend says, “I’m glad and surprised to see how cheerful you are & how bravely you stand it,” & none of them suspect what a burden has been lifted from me & how blithe I am inside.  Except when I think of you, dear heart—­then I am not blithe; for I seem to see you grieving and ashamed, & dreading to look people in the face.  For in the thick of the fight there is cheer, but you are far away & cannot hear the drum nor see the wheeling squadrons.  You only seem to see rout, retreat, & dishonored colors dragging in the dirt—­whereas none of these things exist.  There is temporary defeat, but no dishonor—­& we will march again.  Charley Warner said to-day, “Sho, Livy isn’t worrying.  So long as she’s got you and the children she doesn’t care what happens.  She knows it isn’t her affair.”  Which didn’t convince me.

Olivia Clemens wrote bravely and encouragingly to him, and more cheerfully than she felt, for in a letter to her sister she said: 

The hideous news of Webster & Co.’s failure reached me by cable on Thursday, and Friday morning Galignani’s Messenger had a squib about it.  Of course I knew it was likely to come, but I had great hope that it would be in some way averted.  Mr. Rogers was so sure there was no way out but failure that I suppose it was true.  But I have a perfect horror and heart-sickness over it.  I cannot get away from the feeling that business failure means disgrace.  I suppose it always will mean that to me.  We have put a great deal of money into the concern, and perhaps there would have been nothing but to keep putting it in and losing it.  We certainly now have not much to lose.  We might have mortgaged the house; that was the only thing I could think of to do.  Mr. Clemens felt that there would never be any end, and perhaps he was right.  At any rate, I know that he was convinced that it was the only thing, because when he went back he promised me that if it was possible to save the thing he would do so if only on account of my sentiment in the matter.

    Sue, if you were to see me you would see that I have grown old very
    fast during this last year.  I have wrinkled.

Most of the time I want to lie down and cry.  Everything seems to me so impossible.  I do not make things go very well, and I feel that my life is an absolute and irretrievable failure.  Perhaps I am thankless, but I so often feel that I should like to give it up and die.  However, I presume that if I could have the opportunity I should at once desire to live.