"But when you return home, what a delightful surprise they will get; why, it would be worth enduring months of pain for," said Ellen, who seemed to have the happy faculty of always looking at the bright side.
"Very true, Ellen, but"—and an involuntary sigh followed the sentence—"you know not, and I trust will never know, from experience, that 'Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.'"
"I know something about that, too, Miss Agnes, though maybe you think me too young; but, indeed, there was once a weary while, when I watched the sea day after day, that is, when the scalding tears would let me see it, and shuddered to hear the fierce winds moaning round our dwelling, as though they had a human heart, and sighed and raved for some lost love. Oh, how I remember the day, when that long-looked for vessel came back again, for I had got up more down-hearted than ever, and I thought it no use hoping and waiting, for I shall never see it again,—and then the salt sea was not salter than the tears I shed, as I sat down on a rock by the shore, and thought of the stalwart form that would never meet my eye again, and of the kind voice that should never sound in my ears,—and as I looked on the sea, its bright waves rippling and smiling beneath my feet, it seemed to laugh and mock me cruelly, and I almost wished myself,—I know it was very wicked, Miss Agnes,—far, far beneath it, where I should forget my troubles, and my heart cease its aching. And then I laid my head on the rock, and covered my face with my hands, and cried as though I should never cease, until I felt something touch my face, and a voice that I knew too well said, 'Ellen, Ellen, what art thou breaking thy heart for in this manner?'—and I looked up, and saw two eyes, that, a moment before, I thought death had closed, shining brightly on me, and—but you have seen him yourself, Miss Agnes, and can easy guess how happy I was. Oh, it made up for all my weary days, and wretched, sleepless nights."
Agnes had listened with much interest to the simple narrative, and while her eyes filled with tears, she murmured, almost unconsciously,
"One touch of nature makes the whole world kin."
We would not like to vouch for it, but, perhaps, while Ellen had been speaking, with the remembrance of her relatives, another image had arisen in her mind, and she thought, "And he, too, he will hear of what they will deem my terrible fate."
There was pleasure, mingled with pain, as her heart suggested, that eyes, albeit unused to weep, might even now be shedding a tear over her untimely doom; for Arthur did not, could not, conceal the deep interest he felt in her welfare; and as she called to mind his kindness, his sympathy, when all the world seemed dark to her, she felt her heart thrill with strange emotion, and she asked herself, again and again, "Shall I ever be so happy as to see him once more?"
"Mr. Elliot is, indeed," said she, in reply to Ellen, after a short pause, "worthy of you, as far as I have had an opportunity of judging, and that is saying a good deal, Ellen. But I must tell you what I was thinking of, this morning, while I sat here alone. You told me, the other day, that the children of the neighborhood were growing up in fearful ignorance, destitute, as they are, of a teacher, and I thought, if it met with the approbation of their parents, that I could not be more usefully or happily employed, during the time that must intervene before I have an opportunity of returning to my friends, than instructing those little ones, a few hours each day. Our evenings, too, might be pleasantly occupied, for I overheard you, when I was lying ill, expressing a wish to know how to write, and these long winter evenings will afford abundant opportunity for your taking lessons, and any of your young companions, that may wish to join you."
Ellen was delighted with the proposition, and warmly expressed her thanks, and Agnes's wishes were speedily carried into effect. A small unoccupied cottage was fitted up as a school-house, to which all the children of the neighborhood, far and near, daily repaired, while at night the young people of both sex filled the good-sized room of Mr. Williamson's dwelling, thirsting for that instruction which Agnes was so willing to impart. Nor did her efforts end here. Of pastoral guidance these poor people were equally destitute; as sheep without a shepherd, they had long "stumbled on the dark mountains of sin and error," but now each Sabbath morning found them congregated in the school-house, singing the hymns that some of them had learned in childhood, in their distant native lands, or listening to the sweet tones of their teacher and guide, as she explained, by many simple and touching illustrations, the sacred Word, or offered up the fervent prayer, which from her lips seemed to come with double power, and caused even the sturdy fishermen's hearts to melt within them. The afternoon of the sacred day was especially devoted to the children; classes were formed, over which the most intelligent members of the community presided, conspicuous among whom was Ellen, whose naturally quick and clever mind, brought into contact with one so superior as Agnes, rapidly developed, while her whole appearance gave indications of how much she had profited by constant intercourse with her youthful companion.
Ellen's parents were not natives of the land in which she now resided. They had come from one of the counties of England, when Ellen was little more than an infant; their original destination being Canada, but having been wrecked on the Newfoundland coast, and lost nearly all they possessed, they had not means to travel farther; and while Williamson gladly joined the fishermen in their occupation for the purpose of temporarily supplying the necessities of his family, his wife,—who was a skilful needle woman, and clever at almost everything,—made herself generally useful among their families, and thus acquired much influence over them.