Where did you
get your English, Ellen?"
"From my brother," said Ellen, with a smile of pleasure.
Mr. Lindsay's brow rather clouded.
"Whom do you mean by that?"
"The brother of the lady that was so kind to me." Ellen
disliked to speak the loved names in the hearing of ears to
which she knew they would be unlovely.
"How was she so kind to you?"
"Oh, Sir! in everything — I cannot tell you; she was my friend
when I had only one beside; she did everything for me."
"And who was the other friend? your aunt?"
"No, Sir."
"This brother?"
"No, Sir; that was before I knew him."
"Who then?"
"His name was Mr. Van Brunt."
"Van Brunt! Humph! And what was he?"
"He was a farmer, Sir."
"A Dutch farmer, eh? How came you to have anything to do with
him?"
"He managed my aunt's farm, and was a great deal in the
house."
"He was? And what makes you call this other your brother?"
"His sister called me her sister — and that makes me his."
"It is very absurd," said Lady Keith, "when they are nothing
at all to her, and ought not to be."
"It seems, then, you did not find a friend in your aunt,
Ellen, eh?"
"I don't think she loved me much," said Ellen, in a low voice.
"I am very glad we are clear of obligation on her score," said
Mrs. Lindsay.
"Obligation! — And so you had nothing else to depend on,
Ellen, but this man — this Van something — this Dutchman! What
did he do for you?"
"A great deal, Sir.
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