"I am leaving all I love in this world. Should I be happy if I were not going to somewhat I love better? Should I be happy if I had no secure prospect of meeting with them again? or if I were doubtful of my reception in that place whither I hope to go?"
Sophia burst into tears.
"Well, I don't know," said she; "I suppose you are right; but
I don't understand it."
Alice drew her face down to hers, and whispered something in her ear.
Undoubtedly Alice had much around, as well as within her, to make a declining life happy. Mrs. Vawse and Miss Marshman were two friends and nurses not to be surpassed in their different ways. Margery's motherly affection, her zeal, and her skill, left nothing for heart to wish in her line of duty. And all that affection, taste, and kindness, which abundant means, could supply, was at Alice's command. Still her greatest comfort was Ellen; her constant, thoughtful care; the thousand tender attentions, from the roses daily gathered for her table, to the chapters she read and the hymns she sung to her; the smile that often covered a pang; the pleasant words and tone that many a time came from a sinking heart; they were Alice's daily and nightly cordial. Ellen had learned self- command in more than one school; affection, as once before, was her powerful teacher now, and taught her well. Sophia openly confessed that Ellen was the best nurse; and Margery, when nobody heard her, muttered blessings on the child's head.
Mr. Humphreys came in often to see his daughter, but never stayed long. It was plain he could not bear it. It might have been difficult, too, for Alice to bear, but she wished for her brother. She reckoned the time from Mrs. Chauncey's letter to that when he might be looked for; but some irregularities in the course of the post-office made it impossible to count with certainty upon the exact time of his arrival. Meanwhile, her failure was very rapid. Mrs. Vawse began to fear he would not arrive in time.
The weeks of June ran out; the roses, all but a few late kinds, blossomed and died; July came.
One morning, when Ellen went into her room, Alice drew her close to her and said
"You remember, Ellie, in the Pilgrim's Progress, when Christiana and her companions were sent to go over the river? I think the messenger has come for me. You mustn't cry, love; listen this is the token he seems to bring me 'I have loved thee with an everlasting love.' I am sure of it, Ellie; I have no doubt of it; so don't cry for me. You have been my dear comfort, my blessing we shall love each other in heaven, Ellie."
Alice kissed her earnestly several times, and then Ellen escaped from her arms and fled away. It was long before she could come back again. But she came at last, and went on through all that day as she had done for weeks before. The day seemed long, for every member of the family was on the watch for John's arrival, and it was thought his sister would not live to see another. It wore away; hour after hour passed without his coming, and the night fell. Alice showed no impatience, but she evidently wished and watched for him; and Ellen whose affection read her face and knew what to make of the look at the opening door, the eye turned towards the window, the attitude of listening grew feverish with her intense desire that she should be gratified.