She said nothing. There was no wild cry of horror: only a sudden motion of her hands towards her bosom, where she held them pressed; and they saw her face turn of a deathly white, even to her lips, as the blood flew to her heart. Then she uttered a low sigh and sank down in a chair, where she was still seated, gazing vacantly before her into the future, when her father returned and flew to her side.
He looked at his wife without speaking, but his eyes said plainly, “You have heard?” and Mrs Ellis bowed her head.
“Mary, my darling,” the old man whispered, as he caught her to his heart. And at this she uttered a faint cry, and hid her poor white face upon her hands.
“We can do nothing, mother,” whispered Ellis. “Let her rest. Time is the only cure for this. I tried to hide it, but I knew it must come at last, and it has come.”
“Good-bye—good-bye for ever,” murmured Mary, almost in a whisper; and her words sent a chill through both their breasts.
Chapter Twenty.
From that hour they saw the poor girl droop and begin to fade like some flower stricken by blight. No murmur escaped her lips, and John Grange’s name was never mentioned. But it was noted at home that she appeared to be more gently affectionate to those about her, and anxious to please her father, while many a time poor Mrs Ellis told her husband that she was sure “our Mary” was slowly sinking into the grave.
“Wait a bit, wife—wait a bit,” he would reply testily. “It’s quite natural. You’ll see it will pass off, and she’ll forget.”