"I will answer your question by another, love. Did you find such pertinacious indulgence of gloom, help you to bring the object of your regret and anxiety, and of your own grief before your Heavenly Father?"
Emmeline hesitated, but only for a minute, then answered, with a crimson blush—
"No, mamma; I could not pray to God to protect dear papa, or to give me His blessing, half as earnestly and believingly as when I was happier; the more I indulged in gloomy thoughts, the more difficulty I had to turn them to prayer, and the last few days, I fear I have not even tried."
"Then, dearest, is it necessary for me to answer your former question? I see by that conscious look that it is not. You have always trusted my experience and affection, my Emmeline, trust them now, and try my plan. Think of your dear father, whom you can not love too well, or whose compelled absence really regret too much; but so think of him, as to pray continually in spirit to your gracious God, to have him always in His holy keeping, either on sea or land, in storm or calm, and so prosper his undertaking, as to permit his return to us still sooner than we at present expect. The very constant prayer for this, will make you rest secure and happy in the belief, that our God is with him wherever he is, as He is with us, and so give you cheerfulness and courage to attend to your daily duties, and conquer any thing like too selfish sorrow. Will you try this, love, even if it be more difficult now, than it would have been a few days ago?"
"I will indeed, mamma," and she raised her head from her mother's shoulder, and tried to smile. "When you first addressed me to-day, I thought you were almost harsh, and so cold—so you see even there I was thinking wrong—and now I am glad, oh, so glad, you did speak to me!"
"And I know who will be glad too, if I have prevented his having a Niobe for his Tiny, instead of the Euphrosyne, which I believe he sometimes calls you. I thought there was one particular duet that Percy is to be so charmed with, Emmy. Suppose you try it now." And, her tears all checked, her most unusual gloom dispersed, Emmeline obeyed with alacrity, and finding, when she had once begun, so many things to get perfect for the gratification of her brothers, that nearly three hours slipped away quite unconsciously; and when Caroline returned from a walk, she was astonished at the change in her sister, and touched by the affectionate self-reproach with which Emmeline, looking up in her face, exclaimed—
"Dear Caroline, I have been so pettish and so cross to you since papa left, that I am sure you must be quite tired of me; but I am going to be really a heroine now, and not a shy sentimental one; and bear the pain of papa's absence as bravely as you do."
And she did so; though at first it was, as her mother had warned her, very difficult to compel the requisite exertion, which for employment and cheerfulness, was now needed; but when the will is right, there is little fear of failure.
As each day passed, so quickly merging into weeks, that five had now slipped away since that fatal letter had been sent to Edward, the difficulty to do as she had intended, entreat Mrs. Langford to dispose of her trinkets and watch, became to Ellen, either in reality or seeming, more and more difficult. Her illness had confined her to her room for nearly a week, and when she was allowed to take the air, the state of nervous debility to which it had reduced her, of course prevented her ever being left alone. The day after Mr. Hamilton's appeal to his domestics, she had made a desperate attempt, by asking permission to be the bearer of a message from her aunt to the widow; and as the girls were often allowed and encouraged to visit their nurse, the request was granted without any surprise, though to the very last moment she feared one of her cousins or Miss Harcourt would offer to accompany her. They were all, however, too occupied with and for Mr. Hamilton, and she sought the cottage, and there, with such very evident mental agony, besought Mrs. Langford to promise her secrecy and aid, that the widow, very much against her conscience, was won over to accede. She was in most pressing want of money, she urged, and dared not appeal to her aunt. Not daring to say the whole amount which she so urgently required at once, she had only brought with her the antique gold cross and two or three smaller ornaments, which had been among her mother's trinkets, and a gold locket Percy had given her. Mrs. Langford was painfully startled. She had no idea her promise comprised acquiescence and assistance in any matter so very wrong and mysterious as this; and she tried every argument, every persuasion, to prevail on Ellen to confide all her difficulties to Mrs. Hamilton, urging that if even she had done wrong, it could only call for temporary displeasure, whereas the mischief of her present proceeding might never come to an end, and must be discovered at last; but Ellen was inexorable, though evidently quite as miserable as she was firm, and Mrs. Langford had too high an idea of the solemn nature of a pledged word to draw back, or think of betraying her. She said that, of course, it might be some weeks before she could succeed in disposing of them all; as to offer them all together, or even at one place, would be exposing herself to the most unpleasant suspicions.
One step was thus gained, but nearly a fortnight had passed, and she heard nothing from the widow.