It was well there was always somebody by, who whatever he might himself be doing, never lost sight of her. If ever Ellen was in danger of bending too long over her studies, or indulging herself too much in the sofa-corner, she was sure to be broken off to take an hour or two of smart exercise, riding or walking, or to recite some lesson (and their recitations were very lively things), or to read aloud, or to talk. Sometimes, if he saw that she seemed to be drooping or a little sad, he would come and sit down by her side, or call her to his, find out what she was thinking about, and then, instead of slurring it over, talk of it fairly, and set it before her in such a light that it was impossible to think of it again gloomily, for that day at least. Sometimes he took other ways, but never, when he was present, allowed her long to look weary or sorrowful. He often read to her, and every day made her read aloud to him. This Ellen disliked very much at first, and ended with as much liking it. She had an admirable teacher. He taught her how to manage her voice, and how to manage the language, in both which he excelled himself, and was determined that she should; and, besides this, their reading often led to talking that Ellen delighted in. Always when he was making copies for her she read to him, and once at any rate in the course of the day.
Every day, when the weather would permit, the Black Prince and the Brownie, with their respective riders, might be seen abroad in the country, far and wide. In the course of their rides, Ellen's horsemanship was diligently perfected. Very often their turning-place was on the top of the Cat's Back, and the horses had a rest and Mrs. Vawse a visit before they went down again. They had long walks, too, by hill and dale; pleasantly silent or pleasantly talkative all pleasant to Ellen!
Her only lonely or sorrowful time was when John was gone to Randolph. It began early Saturday morning, and perhaps ended with Sunday night; for all Monday was hope and expectation. Even Saturday she had not much time to mope; that was the day for her great week's mending. When John was gone, and her morning affairs were out of the way, Ellen brought out her work-basket, and established herself on the sofa for a quiet day's sewing without the least fear of interruption. But sewing did not always hinder thinking. And then, certainly, the room did seem very empty, and very still; and the clock, which she never heard the rest of the week, kept ticking an ungracious reminder that she was alone. Ellen would sometimes forget it, in the intense interest of some nice little piece of repair which must be exquisitely done in a wrist-band or a glove; and then perhaps Margery would softly open the door and come in.
"Miss Ellen, dear, you're lonesome enough; isn't there something I can do for you? I can't rest for thinking of your being here all by yourself."
"Oh, never mind, Margery," said Ellen, smiling "I am doing very well. I am living in hopes of Monday. Come and look here, Margery how will that do? don't you think I am learning to mend?"
"It's beautiful, Miss Ellen! I can't make out how you've learned so quick. I'll tell Mr. John some time who does these things for him."
"No, indeed, Margery! don't you. Please not, Margery. I like to do it very much, indeed, but I don't want he should know it, nor Mr. Humphreys. Now you won't, Margery, will you?"
"Miss Ellen, dear, I wouldn't do the least little thing as would be worrisome to you, for the whole world. Aren't you tired sitting here all alone?"
"Oh, sometimes a little," said Ellen, sighing. "I can't help that, you know."
"I feel it even out there in the kitchen," said Margery; "I feel it lonesome hearing the house so still I miss the want of Mr. John's step up and down the room. How fond he is of walking so, to be sure! How do you manage, Miss Ellen, with him making his study here? don't you have to keep uncommon quiet?"