Kitabı oku: «The Wide, Wide World», sayfa 17
CHAPTER XIX
November chill blaws loud wi' angry sough;
The shortening winter day is near a close
– Burns.
The clouds hung thick and low; the wind was less than it had been. They took the path Mrs. Vawse had spoken of; it was broader and easier than the other, winding more gently down the mountain; it was sometimes, indeed, travelled by horses, though far too steep for any kind of carriage. Alice and Ellen ran along without giving much heed to anything but their footing, down, down, running and bounding, hand in hand, till want of breath obliged them to slacken their pace.
"Do you think it will snow? – soon?" asked Ellen.
"I think it will snow, how soon I cannot tell. Have you had a pleasant afternoon?"
"Oh, very."
"I always have when I go there. Now, Ellen, there is an example of contentment for you. If ever a woman loved husband and children and friends Mrs. Vawse loved hers; I know this from those who knew her long ago; and now look at her. Of them all she has none left but the orphan daughter of her youngest son, and you know a little what sort of a child that is."
"She must be a very bad girl," said Ellen; "you can't think what stories she told me about her grandmother."
"Poor Nancy," said Alice. "Mrs. Vawse has no money nor property of any kind, except what is in her house; but there is not a more independent woman breathing. She does all sorts of things to support herself. Now, for instance, Ellen, if anybody is sick within ten miles round, the family are too happy to get Mrs. Vawse for a nurse. She is an admirable one. Then she goes out tailoring at the farmers' houses; she brings home wool and returns it spun into yarn; she brings home yarn and knits it up into stockings and socks; all sorts of odd jobs. I have seen her picking hops; she isn't above doing anything, and yet she never forgets her own dignity. I think wherever she goes and whatever she is about she is at all times one of the most truly ladylike persons I have ever seen. And everybody respects her; everybody likes to gain her goodwill; she is known all over the country; and all the country are her friends."
"They pay her for doing these things, don't they?"
"Certainly; not often in money; more commonly in various kinds of matters that she wants – flour, and sugar, and Indian meal, and pork, and ham, and vegetables, and wool – anything; it is but a little of each that she wants. She has friends that would not permit her to earn another sixpence if they could help it, but she likes better to live as she does. And she is always as you saw her to-day – cheerful and happy as a little girl."
Ellen was turning over Alice's last words and thinking that little girls were not always the cheerfullest and happiest creatures in the world, when Alice suddenly exclaimed, "It is snowing! Come, Ellen, we must make haste now!" and set off at a quickened pace. Quick as they might, they had gone not a hundred yards when the whole air was filled with the falling flakes, and the wind which had lulled for a little now rose with greater violence and swept round the mountain furiously. The storm had come in good earnest, and promised to be no trifling one. Alice and Ellen ran on, holding each other's hands and strengthening themselves against the blast, but their journey became every moment more difficult. The air was dark with the thick-falling snow; the wind seemed to blow in every direction by turns, but chiefly against them, blinding their eyes with the snow, and making it necessary to use no small effort to keep on their way. Ellen hardly knew where she went, but allowed herself to be pulled along by Alice, or as well pulled her along; it was hard to say which hurried most. In the midst of this dashing on down the hill Alice all at once came to a sudden stop.
"Where's the Captain?" said she.
"I don't know," said Ellen. "I haven't thought of him since we left Mrs. Vawse's."
Alice turned her back to the wind and looked up the road they had come – there was nothing but wind and snow there; how furiously it blew! Alice called, "Pussy!"
"Shall we walk up the road a little way, or shall we stand and wait for him here?" said Ellen, trembling half from exertion and half from a vague fear of she knew not what.
Alice called again; – no answer, but a wild gust of wind and snow that drove past.
"I can't go on and leave him," said Alice; "he might perish in the storm." And she began to walk slowly back, calling at intervals, "Pussy! – kitty! – pussy!" – and listening for an answer that came not. Ellen was very unwilling to tarry, and nowise inclined to prolong their journey by going backwards. She thought the storm grew darker and wilder every moment.
"Perhaps Captain stayed up at Mrs. Vawse's," she said, "and, didn't follow us down."
"No," said Alice, "I am sure he did. Hark! – wasn't that he?"
"I don't hear anything," said Ellen, after a pause of anxious listening.
Alice went a few steps further.
"I hear him!" she said; "I hear him! poor kitty!" – and she set off at a quick pace up the hill. Ellen followed, but presently a burst of wind and snow brought them both to a stand. Alice faltered a little at this, in doubt whether to go up or down. But then to their great joy Captain's far-off cry was heard, and both Alice and Ellen strained their voices to cheer and direct him. In a few minutes he came in sight, trotting hurriedly along through the snow, and on reaching his mistress he sat down immediately on the ground without offering any caress; a sure sign that he was tired. Alice stooped down and took him up in her arms.
"Poor Kitty!" she said, "you've done your part for to-day, I think; I'll do the rest. Ellen, dear, it's of no use to tire ourselves out at once; we will go moderately. Keep hold of my cloak, my child; it takes both of my arms to hold this big cat. Now, never mind the snow; we can bear being blown about a little. Are you very tired?"
"No," said Ellen, "not very; I am a little tired; but I don't care for that if we can only get home safe."
"There's no difficulty about that, I hope. Nay, there may be some difficulty, but we shall get there I think in good safety after a while. I wish we were there now, for your sake, my child."
"Oh, never mind me," said Ellen gratefully; "I am sorry for you, Miss Alice; you have the hardest time of it with that heavy load to carry; I wish I could help you."
"Thank you, my dear, but nobody could do that; I doubt if Captain would lie in any arms but mine."
"Let me carry the basket, then," said Ellen; "do, Miss Alice."
"No, my dear, it hangs very well on my arm. Take it gently; Mrs. Van Brunt's isn't very far off; we shall feel the wind less when we turn."
But the road seemed long. The storm did not increase in violence, truly there was no need of that, but the looked-for turning was not soon found, and the gathering darkness warned them day was drawing towards a close. As they neared the bottom of the hill Alice made a pause.
"There's a path that turns off from this and makes a shorter cut to Mrs. Van Brunt's, but it must be above here; I must have missed it, though I have been on the watch constantly."
She looked up and down. It would have been a sharp eye indeed that had detected any slight opening in the woods on either side of the path, which the driving snowstorm blended into one continuous wall of trees. They could be seen stretching darkly before and behind them; but more than that – where they stood near together and where scattered apart – was all confusion, through that fast-falling shower of flakes.
"Shall we go back and look for the path?" said Ellen.
"I am afraid we shouldn't find it if we did," said Alice; "we should only lose our time, and we have none to lose. I think we had better go straight forward."
"Is it much further this way than the other path we have missed?"
"A good deal – all of half a mile. I am sorry; but courage, my child! we shall know better than to go out in snowy weather next time – on long expeditions at least."
They had to shout to make each other hear, so drove the snow and wind through the trees and into their very faces and ears. They plodded on. It was plodding; the snow lay thick enough now to make their footing uneasy, and grew deeper every moment; their shoes were full; their feet and ankles were wet, and their steps began to drag heavily over the ground. Ellen clung as close to Alice's cloak as their hurried travelling would permit; sometimes one of Alice's hands was loosened for a moment to be passed round Ellen's shoulders, and a word of courage or comfort in the clear calm tone cheered her to renewed exertion. The night fell fast; it was very darkling by the time they reached the bottom of the hill, and the road did not yet allow them to turn their faces towards Mrs. Van Brunt's. A wearisome piece of the way this was, leading them from the place they wished to reach. They could not go fast either; they were too weary, and the walking too heavy. Captain had the best of it; snug and quiet he lay wrapped in Alice's cloak and fast asleep, little wotting how tired his mistress's arms were.
The path at length brought them to the long-desired turning; but it was by this time so dark that the fences on each side of the road showed but dimly. They had not spoken for a while; as they turned the corner a sigh of mingled weariness and satisfaction escaped from Ellen's lips. It reached Alice's ear.
"What's the matter, love?" said the sweet voice. No trace of weariness was allowed to come into it.
"I am so glad we have got here at last," said Ellen, looking up with another sigh, and removing her hand for an instant from its grasp on the cloak to Alice's arm.
"My poor child! I wish I could carry you too. Can you hold on a little longer?"
"Oh yes, dear Miss Alice, I can hold on."
But Ellen's voice was not so well guarded. It was like her steps, a little unsteady. She presently spoke again.
"Miss Alice – are you afraid?"
"I am afraid of your getting sick, my child, and a little afraid of it for myself; – of nothing else. What is there to be afraid of?"
"It is very dark," said Ellen; "and the storm is so thick – do you think you can find the way?"
"I know it perfectly; it is nothing but to keep straight on; and the fences would prevent us from getting out of the road. It is hard walking, I know, but we shall get there by-and-by; bear up as well as you can, dear. I am sorry I can give you no help but words. Don't you think a nice bright fire will look comfortable after all this?"
"Oh dear, yes!" answered Ellen rather sadly.
"Are you afraid, Ellen?"
"No, Miss Alice – not much – I don't like it's being so dark, I can't see where I am going."
"The darkness makes our way longer and more tedious; it will do us no other harm, love. I wish I had a hand to give you, but this great cat must have both of mine. The darkness and the light are both alike to our Father; we are in His hands; we are safe enough, dear Ellen."
Ellen's hand left the cloak again for an instant to press Alice's arm in answer; her voice failed at the minute. Then clinging anew as close to her side as she could get, they toiled patiently on. The wind had somewhat lessened of its violence, and besides it blew not now in their faces, but against their backs, helping them on. Still the snow continued to fall very fast, and already lay thick upon the ground; every half-hour increased the heaviness and painfulness of their march; and darkness gathered till the very fences could no longer be seen. It was pitch dark; to hold the middle of the road was impossible; their only way was to keep along by one of the fences; and for fear of hurting themselves against some outstanding post or stone it was necessary to travel quite gently. They were indeed in no condition to travel otherwise if light had not been wanting. Slowly and patiently, with painful care groping their way, they pushed on through the snow and the thick night. Alice could feel the earnestness of Ellen's grasp upon her clothes; and her close pressing up to her made their progress still slower and more difficult than it would otherwise have been.
"Miss Alice," said Ellen.
"What, my child?"
"I wish you would speak to me once in a while."
Alice freed one of her hands and took hold of Ellen's.
"I have been so busy picking my way along, I have neglected you, haven't I?"
"Oh no, ma'am. But I like to hear the sound of your voice sometimes, it makes me feel better."
"This is an odd kind of travelling, isn't it?" said Alice cheerfully; "in the dark, and feeling our way along? This will be quite an adventure to talk about, won't it?"
"Quite," said Ellen.
"It is easier going this way, don't you find it so? The wind helps us forward."
"It helps me too much," said Ellen; "I wish it wouldn't be quite so very kind. Why, Miss Alice, I have enough to do to hold myself together sometimes. It almost makes me run, though I am so very tired."
"Well, it is better than having it in our faces, at any rate. Tired you are, I know, and must be. We shall want to rest all day to-morrow, shan't we?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Ellen, sighing; "I shall be glad when we begin. How long do you think it will be, Miss Alice, before we get to Mrs. Van Brunt's?"
"My dear child, I cannot tell you. I have not the least notion whereabouts we are. I can see no waymarks, and I cannot judge at all of the rate at which we have come."
"But what if we should have passed it in this darkness?" said Ellen.
"No, I don't think that," said Alice, though a cold doubt struck her mind at Ellen's words; "I think we shall see the glimmer of Mrs. Van Brunt's family candle by-and-by."
But more uneasily and more keenly now she strove to see that glimmer through the darkness; strove till the darkness seemed to press painfully upon her eyeballs, and she almost doubted her being able to see any light, if light there were; it was all blank, thick darkness still. She began to question anxiously with herself which side of the house was Mrs. Van Brunt's ordinary sitting-room – whether she should see the light from it before or after passing the house; and now her glance was directed often behind her, that they might be sure in any case of not missing their desired haven. In vain she looked forward or back; it was all one; no cheering glimmer of lamp or candle greeted her straining eyes. Hurriedly now from time to time the comforting words were spoken to Ellen, for to pursue the long stretch of way that led onward from Mr. Van Brunt's to Miss Fortune's would be a very serious matter; Alice wanted comfort herself.
"Shall we get there soon, do you think, Miss Alice?" said poor Ellen, whose wearied feet carried her painfully over the deepening snow. The tone of voice went to Alice's heart.
"I don't know, my darling; I hope so," she answered; but it was spoken rather patiently than cheerfully. "Fear nothing, dear Ellen; remember Who has the care of us; darkness and light are both alike to Him! nothing will do us any real harm."
"How tired you must be, dear Miss Alice, carrying pussy!" Ellen said with a sigh.
For the first time Alice echoed the sigh; but almost immediately Ellen exclaimed in a totally different tone, "There's a light! but it isn't a candle, it is moving about. What is it? What is it, Miss Alice?"
They stopped and looked. A light there certainly was, dimly seen, moving at some little distance from the fence on the opposite side of the road. All of a sudden it disappeared.
"What is it?" whispered Ellen fearfully.
"I don't know, my love, yet; wait – "
They waited several minutes.
"What could it be?" said Ellen. "It was certainly a light; I saw it as plainly as ever I saw anything. What can it have done with itself? There it is again! going the other way!"
Alice waited no longer, but screamed out, "Who's there?"
But the light paid no attention to her cry; it travelled on.
"Halloo!" called Alice again, as loud as she could.
"Halloo!" answered a rough, deep voice. The light suddenly stopped.
"That's he! that's he!" exclaimed Ellen, in an ecstasy, and almost dancing. "I know it; it's Mr. Van Brunt! it's Mr. Van Brunt! Oh, Miss Alice – !"
Struggling between crying and laughing, Ellen could not stand it, but gave way to a good fit of crying. Alice felt the infection, but controlled herself, though her eyes watered as her heart sent up its grateful tribute; as well as she could, she answered the halloo.
The light was seen advancing towards them. Presently it glimmered faintly behind the fence, showing a bit of the dark rails covered with snow, and they could dimly see the figure of a man getting over them. He crossed the road to where they stood. It was Mr. Van Brunt.
"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Van Brunt," said Alice's sweet voice, but it trembled a little.
That gentleman, at first dumb with astonishment, lifted his lantern to survey them, and assure his eyes that his ears had not been mistaken.
"Miss Alice! – My goodness alive! – How in the name of wonder! – And my poor little lamb! – But what on 'arth, ma'am! you must be half dead. Come this way; just come back a little bit. Why, where were you going, ma'am?"
"To your house, Mr. Van Brunt; I have been looking for it with no little anxiety, I assure you."
"Looking for it! Why, how on 'arth! you wouldn't see the biggest house ever was built half a yard off such a plaguy night as this."
"I thought I should see the light from the windows, Mr. Van Brunt."
"The light from the windows! Bless my soul! the storm rattled so again the windows that mother made me pull the great shutters to. I won't have 'em shut again of a stormy night, that's a fact; you'd ha' gone far enough afore you'd ha' seen the light through them shutters."
"Then we had passed the house already, hadn't we?"
"Indeed had you, ma'am. I guess you saw my light, ha'n't you?"
"Yes, and glad enough we were to see it, too."
"I suppose so. It happened so to-night – now that is a queer thing – I minded that I hadn't untied my horse. He's a trick of being untied at night, and won't sleep well if he ain't; and mother wanted me to let him alone 'cause of the awful storm, but I couldn't go to my bed in peace till I had seen him to his'n. So that's how my lantern came to be going to the barn in such an awk'ard night as this."
They had reached the little gate, and Mr. Van Brunt with some difficulty pulled it open. The snow lay thick upon the neat brick walk which Ellen had trod the first time with wet feet and dripping garments. A few steps farther and they came to the same door that had opened then so hospitably to receive her. As the faint light of the lantern was thrown upon the old latch and door-posts, Ellen felt at home, and a sense of comfort sank down into her heart which she had not known for some time.
CHAPTER XX
True is, that whilome that good poet said,
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne:
For a man by nothing is so well bewrayed
As by his manners, in which plaine is showne
Of what degree and what race he is growne.
– Faerie Queene.
Mr. Van Brunt flung open the door, and the two wet and weary travellers stepped after him into the same cheerful, comfortable-looking kitchen that had received Ellen once before. Just the same – tidy, clean-swept up, a good fire, and the same old red-backed chairs standing round on the hearth in most cosy fashion. It seemed to Ellen a perfect storehouse of comfort; the very walls had a kind face for her. There were no other faces, however; the chairs were all empty. Mr. Van Brunt put Alice in one and Ellen in another, and shouted, "Mother! here!" muttering that she had taken herself off with the light somewhere. Not very far; for in half a minute, answering the call, Mrs. Van Brunt and the light came hurriedly in.
"What's the matter, 'Brahm? who's this? why, 'taint Miss Alice! My gracious me! and all wet! oh dear, dear! poor lamb! Why, Miss Alice, dear, where have you been? – and if that ain't my little Ellen! oh dear! what a fix you are in; – well, darling, I'm glad to see you again, a'most any way."
She crossed over to kiss Ellen as she said this; but surprise was not more quickly alive than kindness and hospitality. She fell to work immediately to remove Alice's wet things, and to do whatever their joint prudence and experience might suggest to ward off any ill effects from the fatigue and exposure the wanderers had suffered; and while she was thus employed, Mr. Van Brunt busied himself with Ellen, who was really in no condition to help herself. It was curious to see him carefully taking off Ellen's wet hood (not the blue one), and knocking it gently to get rid of the snow; evidently thinking that ladies' things must have delicate handling. He tried the cloak next, but boggled sadly at the fastening of that, and at last was fain to call in help.
"Here, Nancy! where are you? step here and see if you can undo this here thing, whatever you call it; I believe my fingers are too big for it."
It was Ellen's former acquaintance who came forward in obedience to this call. Ellen had not seen before that she was in the room. Nancy grinned a mischievous smile of recognition as she stooped to Ellen's throat, and undid the fastening of the cloak, and then shortly enough bade her "get up, that she might take it off." Ellen obeyed, but was very glad to sit down again. While Nancy went to the door to shake the cloak, Mr. Van Brunt was gently pulling off Ellen's wet gloves, and on Nancy's return, he directed her to take off the shoes, which were filled with snow. Nancy sat down on the floor before Ellen to obey this order; and, tired and exhausted as she was, Ellen felt the different manner in which her hands and feet were waited upon.
"How did you get into this scrape?" said Nancy; "this was none of my doings, anyhow. It'll never be dry weather, Ellen, where you are. I won't put on my Sunday go-to-meeting clothes when I go a-walking with you. You had ought to ha' been a duck or a goose, or something like that. What's that for, Mr. Van Brunt?"
This last query, pretty sharply spoken, was in answer to a light touch of that gentleman's hand upon Miss Nancy's ear, which came rather as a surprise. He deigned no reply.
"You're a fine gentleman!" said Nancy tartly.
"Have you done what I gave you to do?" said Mr. Van Brunt coolly.
"Yes – there!" said Nancy, holding up Ellen's bare feet on one hand, while the fingers of the other, secretly applied in ticklish fashion to the soles of them, caused Ellen suddenly to start and scream.
"Get up!" said Mr. Van Brunt; Nancy didn't think best to disobey. "Mother, ha'n't you got nothing you want Nancy to do?"
"Sally," said Mrs. Van Brunt, "you and Nancy go and fetch here a couple of pails of hot water, right away."
"Go, and mind what you are about," said Mr. Van Brunt, "and after that keep out of this room, and don't whisper again till I give you leave. Now, Miss Ellen, dear, how do you feel?"
Ellen said in words that she felt "nicely." But the eyes and the smile said a great deal more; Ellen's heart was running over.
"Oh, she'll feel nicely, I'll be bound," said Mrs. Van Brunt; "wait till she gets her feet soaked, and then – !"
"I do feel nicely now," said Ellen. And Alice smiled in answer to their inquiries, and said if she only knew her father was easy there would be nothing wanting to her happiness.
The bathing of their feet was a great refreshment, and their kind hostess had got ready a plentiful supply of hot herb tea, with which both Alice and Ellen were well dosed. While they sat sipping this, toasting their feet before the fire, Mrs. Van Brunt and the girls meanwhile preparing their room, Mr. Van Brunt suddenly entered. He was cloaked and hatted, and had a riding whip in his hand.
"Is there any word you'd like to get home, Miss Alice? I'm going to ride a good piece that way, and I can stop as good as not."
"To-night, Mr. Van Brunt!" exclaimed Alice in astonishment.
Mr. Van Brunt's silence seemed to say that to-night was the time and no other.
"But the storm is too bad," urged Alice. "Pray don't go till to-morrow."
"Pray don't, Mr. Van Brunt!" said Ellen.
"Can't help it – I've got business; must go. What shall I say, ma'am?"
"I should be very glad," said Alice, "to have my father know where I am. Are you going very near the Nose?"
"Very near."
"Then I shall be greatly obliged if you will be so kind as to stop and relieve my father's anxiety. But how can you go in such weather? and so dark as it is."
"Never fear," said Mr. Van Brunt. "We'll be back in half-an-hour, if 'Brahm and me don't come across a snow-drift a leetle too deep. Good-night, ma'am." And out he went.
"'Back in half-an-hour,'" said Alice, musing. "Why, he said he had been to untie his horse for the night! He must be going on our account, I am sure, Ellen!"
"On your account," said Ellen, smiling. "Oh, I knew that all the time, Miss Alice. I don't think he'll stop to relieve Aunt Fortune's anxiety."
Alice sprang to call him back, but Mrs. Van Brunt assured her it was too late, and that she need not be uneasy, for her son "didn't mind the storm no more than a weather-board." 'Brahm and 'Brahm could go anywhere in any sort of a time. "He was agoing without speaking to you, but I told him he had better, for maybe you wanted to send some word particular. And your room's ready now, dear, and you'd better go to bed and sleep as long as you can."
They went thankfully. "Isn't this a pleasant room?" said Ellen, who saw everything in rose-colour; "and a nice bed. But I feel as if I could sleep on the floor to-night. Isn't it a'most worth while to have such a time, Miss Alice, for the sake of the pleasure afterwards?"
"I don't know, Ellen," said Alice, smiling; "I won't say that; though it is worth paying a price for to find how much kindness there is in some people's hearts. As to sleeping on the floor, I must say I never felt less inclined to it."
"Well, I am tired enough too," said Ellen, as they laid themselves down. "Two nights with you in a week! Oh those weeks before I saw you, Miss Alice!"
One earnest kiss for good night; and Ellen's sigh of pleasure on touching the pillow was scarcely breathed when sleep deep and sound fell upon her eyelids.
It was very late next morning when they awoke, having slept rather heavily than well. They crawled out of bed feeling stiff and sore in every limb; each confessing to more evil effects from their adventure than she had been aware of the evening before. All the rubbing and bathing and drinking that Mrs. Van Brunt had administered had been too little to undo what wet and cold and fatigue had done. But Mrs. Van Brunt had set her breakfast-table with everything her house could furnish that was nice; a bountifully-spread board it was. Mr. Humphreys was there too; and no bad feelings of two of the party could prevent that from being a most cheerful and pleasant meal. Even Mr Humphreys and Mr. Van Brunt, two persons not usually given to many words, came out wonderfully on this occasion; gratitude and pleasure in the one, and generous feeling on the part of the other, untied their tongues; and Ellen looked from one to the other in some amazement to see how agreeable they could be. Kindness and hospitality always kept Mrs. Van Brunt in full flow; and Alice, whatever she felt, exerted herself, and supplied what was wanting everywhere; like the transparent glazing which painters use to spread over the dead colour of their pictures; unknown, it was she gave her life and harmony to the whole. And Ellen in her enjoyment of everything and everybody, forgot or despised aches and pains, and even whispered to Alice that coffee was making her well again.
But happily breakfasts must come to an end, and so did this, prolonged though it was. Immediately after, the party, whom circumstances had gathered for the first and probably the last time, scattered again; but the meeting had left pleasant effects on all minds. Mrs. Van Brunt was in general delight that she had entertained so many people she thought a great deal of, and particularly glad of the chance of showing her kind feelings towards two of the number. Mr. Humphreys remarked upon "that very sensible, good-hearted man, Mr. Van Brunt, towards whom he felt himself under great obligation." Mr. Van Brunt said, "the minister warn't such a grum man as people called him;" and moreover said, "it was a good thing to have an education, and he had a notion to read more." As for Alice and Ellen, they went away full of kind feeling for every one, and much love to each other. This was true of them before; but their late troubles had drawn them closer together and given them fresh occasion to value their friends.
Mr. Humphreys had brought the little one-horse sleigh for his daughter, and soon after breakfast Ellen saw it drive off with her. Mr. Van Brunt then harnessed his own and carried Ellen home. Ill though she felt, the poor child made an effort and spent part of the morning in finishing the long letter to her mother which had been on the stocks since Monday. The effort became painful towards the last; and the aching limbs and trembling hand of which she complained were the first beginnings of a serious fit of illness. She went to bed that same afternoon, and did not leave it again for two weeks. Cold had taken violent hold of her system; fever set in and ran high; and half the time little Ellen's wits were roving in delirium. Nothing however could be too much for Miss Fortune's energies; she was as much at home in a sick room as in a well one. She flew about with increased agility; was upstairs and downstairs twenty times in the course of the day, and kept all straight everywhere. Ellen's room was always the picture of neatness; the fire, the wood-fire, was taken care of; Miss Fortune seemed to know by instinct when it wanted a fresh supply, and to be on the spot by magic to give it. Ellen's medicines were dealt out in proper time; her gruels and drinks perfectly well made and arranged with appetising nicety on a little table by the bedside where she could reach them herself; and Miss Fortune was generally at hand when she was wanted. But in spite of all this there was something missing in that sick room – there was a great want; and whenever the delirium was upon her Ellen made no secret of it. She was never violent; but she moaned, sometimes impatiently and sometimes plaintively, for her mother. It was a vexation to Miss Fortune to hear her. The name of her mother was all the time on her lips; if by chance her aunt's name came in, it was spoken in a way that generally sent her bouncing out of the room.
