Yet for all that, this joy often kept
company with bitter weeping; the stirring of anything like
pleasure roused sorrow up afresh, and though Ellen's look of
sadness grew less dark, Alice could not see that her face was
at all less white and thin. She never spoke of her mother,
after once hearing when and where she had died; she never
hinted at her loss, except exclaiming in an agony, "I shall
get no more letters!" and Alice dared not touch upon what the
child seemed to avoid so carefully: though Ellen sometimes
wept on her bosom, and often sat for hours still and silent,
with her head in her lap.
The time drew nigh when John was expected home for the
holidays. In the meanwhile they had had many visits from other
friends. Mr. Van Brunt had come several times, enough to set
the whole neighbourhood a-wondering, if they had only known
it; his good old mother oftener still; Mrs. Vawse as often as
possible; Miss Fortune once; and that because, as she said to
herself, "Everybody would be talking about what was none of
their business if she didn't." As neither she nor Ellen knew
in the least what to say to each other, the visit was rather a
dull one, spite of all Alice could do. Jenny Hitchcock, and
the Huffs, and the Dennisons and others, came now and then;
but Ellen did not like to see any of them all but Mrs. Vawse.
Alice longed for her brother.
He came at last, just before New Year.
Pages:
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585