Mrs.
Vawse was surprised to see that her face was sadder that day
than it had been for many past; she could not understand it.
Ellen did not explain. It was late in the day before he
reached home, and her anxious watch of hope and fear for the
sound of his horse's feet grew very painful. She busied
herself with setting the tea-table; it was all done; and she
could by no means do anything else. She could not go to the
door to listen there; she remembered too well the last time;
and she knew he would remember it.
He came at last. Ellen's feeling had judged rightly of his,
for the greeting was without a word on either side; and when
he left the room to go to his father, it was very, very long
before he came back. And it seemed to Ellen for several days
that he was more grave, and talked less, than even the last
time he had been at home. She was sorry when Mrs. Vawse
proposed to leave them. But the old lady wisely said they
would all feel better when she was gone; and it was so. Truly
as she was respected and esteemed on all sides, it was felt a
relief by every one of the family when she went back to her
mountain top. They were left to themselves; they saw what
their numbers were; there was no restraint upon looks, words,
or silence. Ellen saw at once that the gentlemen felt easier —
that was enough to make her so. The extreme oppression that
had grieved and disappointed her the first few days after
John's return, gave place to a softened gravity; and the
household fell again into its old ways; only that upon every
brow there was a chastened air of sorrow, in everything that
was said a tone of remembrance, and that a little figure was
going about where Alice's used to move as mistress of the
house.
Pages:
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773