Long to be remembered,
sweet and pure, was the pleasure of those summer days,
unclouded by a shade of discontent or disagreement on either
brow. Ellen loved the whole Marshman family now, for the sake
of one, the one she had first known; and little Ellen Chauncey
repeatedly told her mother in private that Ellen Montgomery
was the very nicest girl she had ever seen. They met with joy,
and parted with sorrow, entreating and promising if possible,
a speedy meeting again.
Amidst all the improvement and enjoyment of these summer
months — and they had a great deal of both for Ellen — there
was one cause of sorrow she could not help feeling, and it
began to press more and more. Letters — they came slowly — and
when they came, they were not at all satisfactory. Those in
her mother's hand dwindled and dwindled, till at last there
came only mere scraps of letters from her; and sometimes,
after a long interval, one from Captain Montgomery would come
alone. Ellen's heart sickened with long-deferred hope. She
wondered what could make her mother neglect a matter so
necessary for her happiness; sometimes she fancied they were
travelling about, and it might be inconvenient to write;
sometimes she thought, perhaps they were coming home without
letting her know, and would suddenly surprise her some day,
and make her half lose her wits with joy. But they did not
come, nor write; and, whatever was the reason, Ellen felt it
was very sad, and sadder and sadder as the summer went on.
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