The Wide, Wide World

"Ellen," said Mr. Humphreys then, after a few minutes. She rose and went to the sofa. He folded her close to his breast.

"Thank you, my child," he said presently; "you have been a comfort to me. Nothing but a choir of angels could have been sweeter."

As Ellen went away back through the hall her tears almost choked her; but for all that there was a strong throb of pleasure at her heart.

"I have been a comfort to him," she repeated. "Oh, dear Alice! so I will."

CHAPTER XLIV

A child no more! – a maiden now —
A graceful maiden with a gentle brow;
A cheek tinged lightly, and a dove-like eye,
And all hearts bless her as she passes by.

    – Mary Howitt.

The whole Marshman family returned to Ventnor immediately after the funeral, Mr. George excepted; he stayed with Mr. Humphreys over the Sabbath, and preached for him; and much to every one's pleasure lingered still a day or two longer; then he was obliged to leave them. John also must go back to Doncaster for a few weeks; he would not be able to get home again before the early part of August. For the month between, and as much longer indeed as possible, Mrs. Marshman wished to have Ellen at Ventnor; assuring her that it was to be her home always whenever she chose to make it so. At first neither Mrs. Marshman nor her daughters would take any denial; and old Mr. Marshman was fixed upon it. But Ellen begged with tears that she might stay at home, and begin at once, as far as she could, to take Alice's place. Her kind friends insisted that it would do her harm to be left alone for so long, at such a season. Mr. Humphreys at the best of times kept very much to himself, and now he would more than ever; she would be very lonely. "But how lonely he will be if I go away!" said Ellen: "I can't go." Finding that her heart was set upon it, and that it would be a real grief to her to go to Ventnor, John at last joined to excuse her; and he made an arrangement with Mrs. Vawse instead that she should come and stay with Ellen at the parsonage till he came back. This gave Ellen great satisfaction; and her kind Ventnor friends were obliged unwillingly to leave her.

The first few days after John's departure were indeed sad days – very sad to every one; it could not be otherwise. Ellen drooped miserably. She had, however, the best possible companion in her old Swiss friend. Her good sense, her steady cheerfulness, her firm principle, were always awake for Ellen's good, ever ready to comfort her, to cheer her, to prevent her from giving undue way to sorrow, to urge her to useful exertion. Affection and gratitude, to the living and the dead, gave powerful aid to these efforts. Ellen rose up in the morning and lay down at night with the present pressing wish to do and be for the ease and comfort of her adopted father and brother all that it was possible for her. Very soon, so soon as she could rouse herself to anything, she began to turn over in her mind all manner of ways and means for this end. And in general, whatever Alice would have wished, what John did wish, was law to her.

"Margery," said Ellen one day, "I wish you would tell me all the things Alice used to do; so that I may begin to do them, you know, as soon as I can."

"What things, Miss Ellen?"

"I mean, the things she used to do about the house, or to help you, don't you know? all sorts of things. I want to know them all, so that I may do them as she did. I want to very much."

"Oh, Miss Ellen, dear," said Margery tearfully, "you are too little and tender to do them things; I'd be sorry to see you, indeed!"

"Why no, I am not, Margery," said Ellen; "don't you know how I used to do at Aunt Fortune's? Now tell me – please, dear Margery. If I can't do it, I won't, you know."

"Oh, Miss Ellen, she used to see to various things about the house; I don't know as I can tell 'em all directly; some was to help me; and some to please her father or Mr. John, if he was at home; she thought of every one before herself, sure enough."

"Well, what, Margery? what are they? Tell me all you can remember?"

"Why, Miss Ellen, for one thing, she used to go into the library every morning to put it in order, and dust the books and papers and things; in fact, she took the charge of that room entirely; I never went into it at all, unless once or twice in the year, or to wash the windows."

Ellen looked grave; she thought with herself there might be a difficulty in the way of her taking this part of Alice's daily duties; she did not feel that she had the freedom of the library.

"And then," said Margery, "she used to skim the cream for me, most mornings, when I'd be busy; and wash up the breakfast things."

"Oh, I forgot all about the breakfast things!" exclaimed Ellen, "how could I? I'll do them to be sure after this. I never thought of them, Margery. And I'll skim the cream too."

"Dear Miss Ellen, I wouldn't want you to; I didn't mention it for that, but you was wishing me tell you – I don't want you to trouble your dear little head about such work. It was more the thoughtfulness that cared about me than the help of all she could do, though that wasn't a little; I'll get along well enough!"

"But I should like to, it would make me happier; and don't you think I want to help you too, Margery?"

"The Lord bless you, Miss Ellen," said Margery, in a sort of desperation, setting down one iron and taking up another, "don't talk in that way or you'll upset me entirely. I ain't a bit better than a child," said she, her tears falling fast on the sheet she was hurriedly ironing.

"What else, dear Margery?" said Ellen presently. "Tell me what else?"

"Well, Miss Ellen," said Margery, dashing away the water from either eye, "she used to look over the clothes when they went up from the wash; and put them away; and mend them if there was any places wanted mending."

"I am afraid I don't know how to manage that," said Ellen, very gravely. "There is one thing I can do, I can darn stockings very nicely; but that's only one kind of mending. I don't know much about the other kinds."

"Ah well; but she did, however," said Margery, searching in her basket of clothes for some particular pieces. "A beautiful mender she was, to be sure! Look here, Miss Ellen, just see that patch – the way it is put on – so evenly by a thread all round; and the stitches, see – and see the way this rent is darned down; oh, that was the way she did everything!"

"I can't do it so," said Ellen, sighing, "but I can learn; that I can do. You will teach me, Margery, won't you?"

"Indeed, Miss Ellen, dear, it's more than I can myself; but I will tell you who will, and that's Mrs. Vawse. I am thinking it was her she learned of in the first place – but I ain't certain. Anyhow, she's a first-rate hand."

"Then I'll get her to teach me," said Ellen; "that will do very nicely. And now, Margery, what else?"

"Oh dear, Miss Ellen – I don't know – there was a thousand little things that I'd only recollect at the minute; she'd set the table for me when my hands was uncommon full; and often she'd come out and make some little thing for the master when I wouldn't have the time to do the same myself; and I can't tell – one can't think of those things but just at the minute. Dear Miss Ellen, I'd be sorry indeed to see you atrying your little hands to do all that she done."

"Never mind, Margery," said Ellen, and she threw her arms round the kind old woman as she spoke. "I won't trouble you – and you won't be troubled if I am awkward about anything at first, will you?"

Margery could only throw down her holder to return most affectionately as well as respectfully Ellen's caress, and press a very hearty kiss upon her forehead.

Ellen next went to Mrs. Vawse to beg her help in the mending and patching line. Her old friend was very glad to see her take up anything with interest, and readily agreed to do her best in the matter. So some old clothes were looked up; pieces of linen, cotton, and flannel gathered together; a large basket found to hold all these rags of shape and no shape; and for the next week or two Ellen was indefatigable. She would sit making vain endeavours to arrange a large linen patch properly, till her cheeks were burning with excitement; and bend over a darn, doing her best to make invisible stitches, till Mrs. Vawse was obliged to assure her it was quite unnecessary to take so much pains. Taking pains, however, is the sure way to success. Ellen could not rest satisfied till she had equalled Alice's patching and darning; and though, when Mrs. Vawse left her, she had not quite reached that point, she was bidding fair to do so in a little while.

In other things she was more at home. She could skim milk well enough, and immediately began to do it for Margery. She at once also took upon herself the care of the parlour cupboard and all the things in it, which she well knew had been Alice's office; and, thanks to Miss Fortune's training, even Margery was quite satisfied with her neat and orderly manner of doing it. Ellen begged her when the clothes came up from the wash, to show her where everything went, so that for the future she might be able to put them away; and she studied the shelves of the linen closet, and the chests of drawers in Mr. Humphreys' room, till she almost knew them by heart. As to the library, she dared not venture. She saw Mr. Humphreys at meals and at prayers – only then. He had never asked her to come into his study since the night she sang to him, and as for her asking – nothing could have been more impossible. Even when he was out of the house, out by the hour, Ellen never thought of going where she had not been expressly permitted to go.

When Mr. Van Brunt informed his wife of Ellen's purpose to desert her service and make her future home at the parsonage, the lady's astonishment was only less than her indignation, the latter not at all lessened by learning that Ellen was to become the adopted child of the house. For a while her words of displeasure were poured forth in a torrent; Mr. Van Brunt meantime saying very little, and standing by like a steadfast rock that the waves dash past, not upon. She declared that this was "the cap-sheaf of Miss Humphreys' doings; she might have been wise enough to have expected as much; she wouldn't have been such a fool if she had! This was what she had let Ellen go there for! a pretty return!" But she went on. "She wondered who they thought they had to deal with; did they think she was going to let Ellen go in that way? she had the first and only right to her; and Ellen had no more business to go and give herself away than one of her oxen; they would find it out, she guessed, pretty quick; Mr. John and all; she'd have her back in no time!" What were her thoughts and feelings, when, after having spent her breath, she found her husband quietly opposed to this conclusion, words cannot tell. Her words could not; she was absolutely dumb, till he had said his say; and then, appalled by the serenity of his manner, she left indignation on one side for the present and began to argue the matter. But Mr. Van Brunt coolly said he had promised; she might get as many helps as she liked, he would pay for them and welcome; but Ellen would have to stay where she was. He had promised Miss Alice; and he wouldn't break his word "for kings, lords, and commons." A most extraordinary expletive for a good Republican – which Mr. Van Brunt had probably inherited from his father and grandfather. What can waves do against a rock? The whilome Miss Fortune disdained a struggle which must end in her own confusion, and wisely kept her chagrin to herself, never even approaching the subject afterwards, with him or any other person. Ellen had left the whole matter to Mr. Van Brunt, expecting a storm and not wishing to share it. Happily it all blew over.

As the month drew to an end, and indeed long before, Ellen's thoughts began to go forward eagerly to John coming home. She had learned by this time how to mend clothes; she had grown somewhat wonted to her new round of little household duties; in everything else the want of him was felt. Study flagged; though knowing what his wish would be, and what her duty was, she faithfully tried to go on with it. She had no heart for riding or walking by herself. She was lonely; she was sorrowful; she was weary; all Mrs. Vawse's pleasant society was not worth the mere knowledge that he was in the house; she longed for his coming.

He had written what day they might expect him. But when it came Ellen found that her feeling had changed; it did not look the bright day she had expected it would. Up to that time she had thought only of herself; now she remembered what sort of a coming home this must be to him; and she dreaded almost as much as she wished for the moment of his arrival. Mrs. Vawse was surprised to see that her face was sadder that day than it had been for many past; she could not understand it. Ellen did not explain. It was late in the day before he reached home, and her anxious watch of hope and fear for the sound of his horse's feet grew very painful. She busied herself with setting the tea-table; it was all done; and she could by no means do anything else. She could not go to the door to listen there; she remembered too well the last time; and she knew he would remember it.

He came at last. Ellen's feelings had judged rightly of his, for the greeting was without a word on either side; and when he left the room to go to his father, it was very, very long before he came back. And it seemed to Ellen for several days that he was more grave and talked less than even the last time he had been at home. She was sorry when Mrs. Vawse proposed to leave them. But the old lady wisely said they would all feel better when she was gone; and it was so. Truly as she was respected and esteemed, on all sides, it was felt a relief by every one of the family when she went back to her mountain top. They were left to themselves; they saw what their numbers were; there was no restraint upon looks, words, or silence. Ellen saw at once that the gentlemen felt easier, that was enough to make her so. The extreme oppression that had grieved and disappointed her the first few days after John's return, gave place to a softened gravity; and the household fell again into all its old ways; only that upon every brow there was a chastened air of sorrow, in everything that was said a tone of remembrance, and that a little figure was going about where Alice's used to move as mistress of the house.

Thanks to her brother, that little figure was an exceeding busy one. She had in the first place, her household duties, in discharging which she was perfectly untiring. From the cream skimmed for Margery, and the cups of coffee poured out every morning for Mr. Humphreys and her brother, to the famous mending, which took up often one half of Saturday, whatever she did was done with her best diligence and care; and from love to both the dead and the living, Ellen's zeal never slackened. These things, however, filled but a small part of her time, let her be as particular as she would; and Mr. John effectually hindered her from being too particular. He soon found plenty for both her and himself to do.

Not that they ever forgot or tried to forget Alice; on the contrary. They sought to remember her, humbly, calmly, hopefully, thankfully. By diligent performance of duty, by Christian faith, by conversation and prayer, they strove to do this; and after a time succeeded. Sober that winter was, but it was very far from being an unhappy one.

"John," said Ellen one day, some time after Mrs. Vawse had left them, "do you think Mr. Humphreys would let me go into his study every day when he is out, to put it in order and dust the books?"

"Certainly. But why does not Margery do it?"

"She does, I believe, but she never used to; and I should like to do it very much if I was sure he would not dislike it. I would be careful not to disturb anything; I would leave everything just as I found it."

"You may go when you please, and do what you please there, Ellie."

"But I don't like to – I couldn't without speaking to him first; I should be afraid he would come back, and find me there, and he might think I hadn't had leave."

"And you wish me to speak to him, is that it? Cannot you muster resolution enough for that, Ellie?"

Ellen was satisfied, for she knew by his tone he would do what she wanted.