" Ellen would have said more, but a feeling
in her throat stopped her.
"Now, just hear that, will you?" said Lady Keith. "Just think
of her in that farmhouse, with that sweeping and dusting woman
and a Dutch farmer, for these three years!"
"No," said Ellen, "not all the time; this last year I have
been—"
"Where, Ellen?"
"At the other house, Sir."
"What house is that?"
"Where that lady and gentleman lived that were my best
friends."
"Well, it's all very well," said Lady Keith; "but it is past
now; it is all over, you need not think of them any more. We
will find you better friends than any of these Dutch Brunters
or Grunters."
"Oh, aunt Keith!" said Ellen, "if you knew" — But she burst
into tears.
"Come, come," said Mr. Lindsay, taking her into his arms, "I
will not have that. Hush, my daughter. What is the matter,
Ellen?"
But Ellen had with some difficulty contained herself two or
three times before in the course of the conversation, and she
wept now rather violently.
"What is the matter, Ellen?"
"Because," sobbed Ellen, thoroughly roused, "I love them
dearly! and I ought to love them with all my heart. I cannot
forget them, and never shall; and I can never have better
friends — never! it's impossible — Oh, it's impossible."
Mr. Lindsay said nothing at first, except to soothe her; but
when she had wept herself into quietness upon his breast, he
whispered —
"It is right to love these people if they were kind to you;
but, as your aunt says, that is past.
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