She dashed the letter to the ground, and
livid and trembling with various feelings, — rage was not the
only one, — she ran from her aunt's presence. She did not shed
any tears now; she could not; they were absolutely burnt up by
passion. She walked her room with trembling steps, clasping
and wringing her hands now and then, wildly thinking what
_could_ she do to get out of this dreadful state of things, and
unable to see anything but misery before her. She walked, for
she could not sit down; but presently she felt that she could
not breathe the air of the house; and taking her bonnet, she
went down, passed through the kitchen, and went out. Miss
Fortune asked where she was going, and bade her stay within
doors, but Ellen paid no attention to her.
She stood still a moment outside the little gate. She might
have stood long to look. The mellow light of an Indian summer
afternoon lay upon the meadow and the old barn and chip-yard;
there was beauty in them all under its smile. Not a breath was
stirring. The rays of the sun struggled through a blue haze,
which hung upon the hills and softened every distant object;
and the silence of nature all around was absolute, made more
noticeable by the far-off voice of somebody, it might be Mr.
Van Brunt calling to his oxen, very far off and not to be
seen; the sound came softly to her ear through the stillness.
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