“Do you?” said Helen in a languid voice.
“I do,” said Miss Clarendon; “and I hope you do not intend to do as you did yesterday, to lie in bed all day.”
Helen turned, sighed, and Mrs. Pennant said, “Yesterday is over, my dear Esther—no use in talking of yesterday.”
“Only to secure our doing better to-day, ma’am,” replied Miss Clarendon with prompt ability.
Helen was all submission, and she got up, and that was well. Miss Clarendon went in quest of arrow-root judiciously; and aunt Pennant stayed and nourished her patient meanwhile with “the fostering dew of praise;” and let her dress as slowly and move as languidly as she liked, though Miss Clarendon had admonished her “not to dawdle.”
As soon as she was dressed, Helen went to the window and threw up the sash for the first time to enjoy the fresh air, and to see the prospect which she was told was beautiful; and she saw that it was beautiful, and, though it was still winter, she felt that the air was balmy; and the sun shone bright, and the grass began to be green, for spring approached. But how different to her from the spring-time of former years! Nature the same, but all within herself how changed! And all which used to please, and to seem to her most cheerful, now came over her spirits with a sense of sadness;—she felt as if all the life of life was gone. Tears filled her eyes, large tears rolled slowly down as she stood fixed, seeming to gaze from that window at she knew not what. Aunt Pennant unperceived stood beside her, and let the tears flow unnoticed. “They will do her good; they are a great relief sometimes.” Miss Clarendon returned, and the tears were dried, but the glaze remained, and Miss Clarendon saw it, and gave a reproachful look at her aunt, as much as to say, “Why did you let her cry?” And her aunt’s look in reply was, “I could not help it, my dear.”
“Eat your arrow-root,” was all that transpired to Helen. And she tried to eat, but could not; and Miss Clarendon was not well pleased, for the arrow-root was good, and she had made it; she felt Miss Stanley’s pulse, and said that “It was as good a pulse as could be, only low and a little fluttered.”
“Do not flutter it any more, then, Esther my dear,” said Mrs. Pennant.
“What am I doing or saying, ma’am, that should flutter anybody that has common sense?”
“Some people don’t like to have their pulse felt,” said aunt Pennant.