“ONLY remembered by what I have done.”
That will never be true of Deborah Alcock. Partly because the unknown cannot be remembered, and year after year her books came out — the first by “D. A.,” the next “By the Author of” the one or more before it, until the wide success of The Spanish Brothers stamped its name, without her own, on all she wrote; and for twenty years longer she went on writing stories which left their impress on innumerable lives, while the writer’s identity remained strangely unknown outside the quiet little city in the South of Ireland where her best years were spent. In 1890 The Story of Constance came out in serial form, and was afterwards continued and published under the title of Crushed yet Conquering, “by Deborah Alcock.” In 1891, at the age of fifty-six — a lone woman, deeply bereaved — Miss Alcock came to England, and to her astonishment “found herself famous.” And still her new friends, like the old ones, said, “She is greater than her books — though we loved them so well.” More than by her writings or her gracious acts — by what she was will she be remembered, in life and in eternity, by those whose privilege it was to know her.