“I’m a fool to cry,” she said to herself; “but he might have had as good manners as his master, and said ‘good-bye.’”
Thisbe must have been deeply moved, or she would not have sat there upon a little box that she would not let out of her hands, probably on account of its insecurity, for it was tied up with two different kinds of string.
“It seems to me,” continued Julia, “as if it were all some terrible dream.”
“But one that is to have a happy waking, Julie.”
“Poor grandma! she looked as if it would kill her,” said Julia, sobbing gently.
“Hush!” cried Mrs Hallam, grasping her child’s arm as a spasm of pain ran through her, and her face grew deadly pale. “We must think of one who, in pain and suffering, was dragged from his wife and child—forced to suffer the most terrible degradations. He is waiting for us, Julie—waiting as he has waited all these years. We must turn our backs upon these troubles, and think only of him. Be firm, my child, be firm.” There was almost a savage emphasis in Mrs Hallam’s words as she spoke.
“I’ll try, dear; but, grandpa!” sobbed Julie, as she laid her arm upon the bulwark and her face upon it, that she might weep unseen; “shall we never see him and the pleasant old garden again?”
“Julie, this is childish,” whispered Mrs Hallam. “Remember, you are a woman now.”
“I do,” cried the girl quickly; “but a woman must feel grief at parting from those she loves.”
“Yes, but it must not overbear all, my child. Come, we must not give way now. Let us go below to our cabin.”