Mr. Marshman was not permitted to leave the house. He was a great comfort to everybody. Not himself overburdened with sorrow, he was able to make that effort for the good of the rest which no one yet had been equal to. The whole family, except Mr. Humphreys, were gathered together at this time; and his grave, cheerful, and unceasing kindness, made that by far the most comfortable meal that had been taken. It was exceeding grateful to Ellen to see and hear him, from the old remembrance as well as the present effect. And he had not forgotten his old kindness for her; she saw it in his look, his words, his voice, shown in every way; and the feeling that she had got her old friend again, and should never lose him, now gave her more deep pleasure than anything else could possibly have done at that time. His own family, too, had not seen him in a long time, so his presence was matter of general satisfaction.
Later in the evening, Ellen was sitting beside him on the sofa, looking and listening he was like a piece of old music to her when John came to the back of the sofa and said he wanted to speak to her. She went with him to the other side of the room.
"Ellie," he said, in a low voice, "I think my father would like to hear you sing a hymn do you think you could?"
Ellen looked up, with a peculiar mixture of uncertainty and resolution in her countenance, and said, "Yes."
"Not if it will pain you too much and not unless you think you can surely go through with it, Ellen," he said, gently.
"No," said Ellen "I will try."
"Will it not give you too much pain? do you think you can?"
"No I will try," she repeated.
As she went along the hall she said and resolved to herself that she would do it. The library was dark; coming from the light, Ellen at first could see nothing. John placed her in a chair and went away himself to a little distance, where he remained perfectly still. She covered her face with her hands for a minute, and prayed for strength; she was afraid to try.
Alice and her brother were remarkable for beauty of voice and utterance. The latter, Ellen in part caught from them; in the former she thought herself greatly inferior. Perhaps she underrated herself: her voice, though not indeed powerful, was low and sweet, and very clear; and the entire simplicity and feeling with which she sang hymns, was more effectual than any higher qualities of tone and compass. She had been very much accustomed to sing with Alice, who excelled in beautiful truth and simplicity of expression; listening with delight, as she often had done, and often joining with her, Ellen had caught something of her manner.