In reading, too, she began to take new and strong
delight. Especially two or three new English periodicals,
which John sent for on purpose for her, were mines of pleasure
to Ellen. There was no fiction in them, either; they were as
full of instruction as of interest. At all times of the day
and night, in her intervals of business, Ellen might be seen
with one of these in her hand, nestled among the cushions of
the sofa, or on a little bench by the side of the fireplace in
the twilight, where she could have the benefit of the blaze,
which she loved to read by as well as ever. Sorrowful
remembrances were then flown, all things present were out of
view, and Ellen's face was dreamingly happy.
It was well there was always somebody by, who whatever he
might himself be doing, never lost sight of her. If ever Ellen
was in danger of bending too long over her studies, or
indulging herself too much in the sofa-corner, she was sure to
be broken off to take an hour or two of smart exercise, riding
or walking, or to recite some lesson (and their recitations
were very lively things), or to read aloud, or to talk.
Sometimes, if he saw that she seemed to be drooping or a
little sad, he would come and sit down by her side, or call
her to his, find out what she was thinking about, and then,
instead of slurring it over, talk of it fairly, and set it
before her in such a light that it was impossible to think of
it again gloomily, for that day at least.
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