And
very often, when she was not wanted upstairs, her old
grandmother would beg her to come and read to _her_ — perhaps at
the very moment when Ellen was busiest. Ellen did her best.
Miss Fortune never could be put off; her old mother sometimes
could, with a kiss and a promise — but not always; and then,
rather than she should fret, Ellen would leave everything, and
give half an hour to soothing and satisfying her. She loved to
do this at other times; now it was sometimes burdensome. Nancy
could not help her at all in these matters, for neither Miss
Fortune nor the old lady would let her come near them. Besides
all this, there was a measure of care constantly upon Ellen's
mind; she felt charged with the welfare of all about the
house; and under the effort to meet the charge, joined to the
unceasing bodily exertion, she grew thin and pale. She was
tired with Nancy's talk; she longed to be reading and studying
again; she longed — oh! how she longed! — for Alice's and
John's company again; and it was no wonder if she sometimes
cast very sad, longing looks further back still. Now and then
an old fit of weeping would come. But Ellen remembered John's
words; and often in the midst of her work, stopping short with
a sort of pang of sorrow and weariness, and the difficulty of
doing right, she would press her hands together and say to
herself, "I will try to be a good pilgrim!" Her morning hour
of prayer was very precious now; and her Bible grew more and
more dear.
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