‘As I live,’ said her lover, ‘it is Clara Heywood, or her ghost!’
‘Do not be alarmed, Ellen,’ I said, ‘but one word with you.’
‘No, it’s she herself, as I’m alive,’ ejaculated Ellen: ‘but oh, how changed she is.’
‘One word, dear Ellen,’ I repeated.
‘I am not satisfied upon this subject,’ said the timid George, ‘so, as you seem resolved to stay here, I shall be off.’
‘Ellen,’ I repeated, as soon as George had departed ‘Have you forgotten me?’
‘No, Clara, no,’ answered the affectionate girl, ‘nor never shall forget you. I was even talking about you, as you called. Ah! Clara, you’re sadly altered; and so is everything since you went away. Such a day as it was, when you left us!—There wasn’t a dry eye, nor a cheerful word spoke in the village. Your poor father—’
‘Well—well!’ I hurriedly interrupted.
‘I see it grieves you,’ said Ellen; ‘I didn’t mean to make you sad—you look as if you had suffered enough. This is my wedding-day, Clara.’
Ellen sighed, and for a moment averted her head.