Ellen found her step-mother gossipping with a neighbour as if nothing was happening. Her farewell words were few.
“Goodbye. If I find you an honest woman next time I see you, it’s more than I expect, from what people say of the place you are going to. Come, now, Frank, don’t be in a passion. Better take care of your sister than look so proud about her.”
Frank now took care of his sister so far as to remove her while she had strength to go.
“O Frank!” she cried, as he put her arm within his own, and led her rapidly on, “what can there be about me that makes them all talk as they do?”
“Nothing about you, dear, but about the place. It is a dangerous place for vain, silly girls; but you need only mind your business, and think of father and mother, and what we have agreed to do for them, and you will do well enough.”
“And of Mr. Jackson, and grandmother, and how she almost broke my heart last night. Look, look! do you see how yonder trees stoop and shiver in the churchyard? What a shower of leaves!”
“’Tis a sudden gust. There have been many such of late.”
“Just so they went when Molly Shepherd’s funeral was going under them, and grandmother bade me beware of her shame. ’Tis just like a sign to me now! And here comes Mr. Jackson too.”
Mr. Jackson just stopped her to give her a little book as a remembrance, and to beg her to write to her grandfather, of whom he should inquire for her from time to time. It was now really very late.
“Don’t hurry yourself,” said Frank. “Walk quick if you like, but don’t be flurried. I’ll overtake the cart for you, I’ll be bound; and you had better look like yourself as you get in.”