The weary long night seemed but as one thought of pain; and when the morning broke, Eleanor felt that she had grown old.
CHAPTER XIII.
IN DOUBT.
"We will have rings, and things, and fine array;
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday."
Eleanor was too sick to go down even to a late breakfast; and a raging headache kept off any inquiries or remonstrances that Mrs. Powle might have made to her if she had been well. Later in the day her little sister Julia came dancing in.
"Aren't you going to get up, Eleanor? What's the matter? I am going to open your window. You are all shut up here."
Back went the curtain and up went the window; a breath of fresh mild air came sweetly in, and Julia danced back to the bedside. There suddenly sobered herself.
"Eleanor, aren't you better? Can't you get up? It is so nice to-day."
Julia's fresh, innocent, gay manner, the very light play of her waving hair, not lighter than the childlike heart, were almost too much for her sister. They made Eleanor's heart ache.
"Where is everybody?"