"Home!" repeated Ellen when he had gone. "Oh, I wish they would not come home!"
She flung herself into the arms of a bonneted Mrs. Sassaman.
"They're coming here to-night!"
Mrs. Sassaman wept also.
"Don't cry, Ellen! You're young yet. You don't have it as bad as I who have lost two husbands. The thing for you is to marry and spite them. Marry some one who will stand up for you and tell Matthew the meaning. That's the thing for you to do."
She climbed into the spring wagon beside Calvin and was gone.
The day had promised to be fine, but at nine o'clock a soft rain began to fall. At ten o'clock Matthew came downstairs dressed in his best clothes and drove away. The pleasant courtesies once natural were forgotten or ignored in their mutual embarrassment and he did not bid his sister good-bye. It was not altogether pleasant that one's wedding day should be rainy, but the fields needed rain and he was not disturbed.
Through the long morning Ellen sat idle. She could not bear to be in the house, but sat on the porch, a lonely and mournful figure. A score of vague plans came into her mind only to be rejected. Could Matthew be won over?—she did not think so. Could her grandfather be persuaded?—she doubted it. Could they be compelled by law to give her what was right?—she had no friends to advise her. The mysterious visitor to whom her father had meant to entrust her—she thought of him with despair.
By turns grief and resentment overwhelmed her, but finally apathy succeeded both. The blow which she had received seemed to have injured her beyond recovery; plans were useless when all earthly hopes could be so quickly dissolved.
"I may die!" said she and found in that a dreary consolation.