Indeed, the certainty that his father felt the sorrow as acutely as himself, was one reason of his opening to him.

He could not feel that his brothers and sisters did so, for, outwardly, their habits were unaltered, their spirits not lowered, their relish for things around much the same as before, and this had given Norman a sense of isolation.

With his father it was different.

Norman knew he could never appreciate what the bereavement was to him--he saw its traces in almost every word and look, and yet perceived that something sustained and consoled him, though not in the way of forgetfulness.

Now and then Norman caught at what gave this comfort, and it might be hoped he would do so increasingly; though, on this Christmas Day, Margaret felt very sad about him, as she watched him sitting over the fire, cowering with chilliness and headache, while every one was gone to church, and saw that the reading of the service with her had been more of a trouble than a solace.
She tried to think it bodily ailment, and strove hard not to pine for her mother, to comfort them both, and say the fond words of refreshing cheering pity that would have made all light to bear.