"Oh, if you could only write to me, dear Emily, during your long absence, what a comfort it would be," exclaimed Gertrude.
"With Mrs. Ellis's assistance, my dear," replied Emily, "I will send you such news as I can of our movements; but, though you may not be able to hear much from me, you will be ever in my thoughts, and I shall never forget to commend my beloved child to the protection and care of One who will be to her a better friend than I can be."
In the course of the day Gertrude sought Mrs. Ellis, and astonished that lady by stating that she had come to have a few farewell words with her. Surprise, however, was soon superseded by the housekeeper's eagerness to expatiate upon the generosity of Mr. Graham, and the delights of the excursion in prospect. After wishing her a great deal of pleasure, Gertrude begged to hear from her by letter during her absence; to which request Mrs. Ellis only replied by asking if Gertrude thought a Thibet dress would be uncomfortable on the journey; and, when it was repeated with great earnestness, she, with equal unsatisfactoriness to the suppliant for epistolary favours, begged to know how many pairs of undersleeves she would probably require. Having responded to her questions, and at last gained her attention, Gertrude obtained from her a promise to write one letter, which would, she declared, be more than she had done for years.
Before leaving the house, Gertrude sought Mr. Graham's study, in hopes that he would take a friendly leave of her; but on her telling him that she had come to bid him "Good-bye," he indistinctly muttered the simple words of that universal formula—so deep in its meaning when coming from the heart; so chilling when uttered, as on the present occasion, by stern and nearly closed lips—and turning his back upon her, took up the tongs to mend his fire. So she went away, with a tear in her eye and a sadness in her heart.
A far different scene awaited her in the upper kitchen, where she went to seek Mrs. Prime and Katy. "Bless yer soul, dear Miss Gertrude!" said the former, stumbling up the staircase which led from the lower room, and wiping her hands on her apron—"how we shall miss yer! Why, the house won't be worth livin' in when you're out of it. My gracious! if you don't come back, we shall all die out in a fortnight. Why, you're the life and soul of the place! But there, I guess you know what's right; so, if you must go, we must bear it—though Katy and I'll cry our eyes out, for aught I know."
"Sure, Miss Gairthrue," said Irish Katy, "and it's right gude in you to be afther comin' to bid us good-bye. I don't see how you gets memory to think of us all, and I'm shure ye'll never be betther off than what I wish yer. I can't but think, miss, it'll go to help yer along, that everybody's gude wishes and blessin' goes with yer."
"Thank you, Katy, thank you," said Gertrude, touched by the simple earnestness of these good friends. "You must come and see me some time in Boston; and you too, Mrs. Prime, I shall depend upon it. Good-bye;" and the good-bye that now fell upon Gertrude's ear was a hearty and a true one; it followed her through the hall, and as the carriage drove away she heard it mingling with the rattling of the vehicle.