She went there, and sitting down on the floor,
covered her face with her hands. "What shall I do? what shall
I do?" she said to herself, "I never shall govern this tongue
of mine. Oh, I wish I had not said that! they will never
forgive it. What can I do to make them pleased with me again?
Shall I go to my father's study and beg him — but I can't ask
him to forgive me — I haven't done wrong — I can't unsay what
I said. I can do nothing. I can only go in the way of my duty,
and do the best I can, and maybe they will come round again.
But, oh dear!"
A flood of tears followed this resolution.
Ellen kept it; she tried to be blameless in all her work and
behaviour, but she sorrowfully felt that her friends did not
forgive her. There was a cool air of displeasure about all
they said and did; the hand of fondness was not laid upon her
shoulder, she was not wrapped in loving arms, as she used to
be a dozen times a day: no kisses fell on her brow or lips.
Ellen felt it, more from Mr. Lindsay than both the others; her
spirits sunk; she had been forbidden to speak of her absent
friends, but that was not the way to make her forget them; and
there was scarce a minute in the day when her brother was not
present to her thoughts.
Sunday came — her first Sunday in Edinburgh. All went to
church in the morning; in the afternoon Ellen found that
nobody was going; her grandmother was lying down.
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