"But Mr. Lindsay, opposite! — I have called him my
father — I have given myself to him," she thought; "but I gave
myself to somebody else first; I can't undo that — and I never
will!" Again she tried to quiet and resign the care of herself
to better wisdom and greater strength than her own. "This may
all be arranged easily in some way I could never dream of,"
she said to herself; "I have no business to be uneasy. Two
months ago, and I was quietly at home, and seemed to be fixed
there for ever; and now, and without anything extraordinary
happening, here I am — just as fixed. Yes, and before that, at
Aunt Fortune's, it didn't seem possible that I could ever get
away from being her child; and yet how easily all that was
managed. And just so, in some way that I cannot imagine,
things may open so as to let me out smoothly from this." She
resolved to be patient, and take thankfully what she at
present had to enjoy; and in this mood of mind, the drive home
was beautiful; and the evening was happily absorbed in the
history of Scotland.
It was a grave question in the family that same evening,
whether Ellen should be sent to school. Lady Keith was decided
in favour of it; her mother seemed doubtful; Mr. Lindsay, who
had a vision of the little figure lying asleep on his library
sofa, thought the room had never looked so cheerful before,
and had near made up his mind that she should be its constant
adornment the coming winter.
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