"To them I could say much, if I had strength. But words are little. If blessings and prayers from a full heart are worth anything, they are the richer. My love and gratitude to them cannot "
The writer had failed here; and what there was of the letter had evidently been written at different times. Captain Montgomery's was to the same purpose. He directed Ellen to embrace the first opportunity of suitable guardians, to cross the Atlantic, and repair to No. , Georgestreet, Edinburgh; said that Miss Fortune would give her the money she would need, which he had written to her to do, and that the accompanying letter Ellen was to carry with her, and deliver to Mrs. Lindsay, her grandmother.
Ellen felt as if her head would split. She took up that letter, gazed at the strange name and direction which had taken such new and startling interest for her, wondered over the thought of what she was ordered to do with it, marvelled what sort of fingers they were which would open it, or whether it would ever be opened; and finally, in a perfect maze, unable to read, think, or even weep, she carried her package of letters into her own room, the room that had been Alice's, laid herself on the bed, and them beside her, and fell into a deep sleep.
She woke up towards evening, with the pressure of a mountain weight upon her mind. Her thoughts and feelings were a maze still; and not Mr. Humphreys himself could be more grave and abstracted than poor Ellen was that night. So many points were to be settled, so many questions answered to herself, it was a good while before Ellen could disentangle them, and know what she did think and feel, and what she would do.
She very soon found out her own mind upon one subject she would be exceeding sorry to be obliged to obey the directions in the letters. But must she obey them?
"I have promised Alice," thought Ellen "I have promised Mr. Humphreys; I can't be adopted twice. And this Mrs. Lindsay my grandmother! she cannot be nice, or she wouldn't have treated my mother so. She cannot be a nice person; hard she must be hard; I never want to see her. My mother! But then my mother loved her, and was very glad to have me go to her. Oh! oh! how could she! how could they do so! when they didn't know how it might be with me, and what dear friends they might make me leave! Oh, it was cruel! But then they did not know, that is the very thing they thought I would have nobody but Aunt Fortune, and so it's no wonder oh, what shall I do! What ought I to do? These people in Scotland must have given me up by this time; it's let me see it's just about three years now a little less since these letters were written. I am older now, and circumstances are changed; I have a home, and a father, and a brother; may I not judge for myself? But my mother and my father have ordered me what shall I do! If John were only here but perhaps he would make me go he might think it right. And to leave him, and maybe never to see him again! and Mr. Humphreys! and how lonely he would be without me! I cannot! I will not! Oh, what shall I do! What shall I do!"
Ellen's meditations gradually plunged her in despair; for she could not look at the event of being obliged to go, and she could not get rid of the feeling, that perhaps it might come to that. She wept bitterly it didn't mend the matter. She thought painfully, fearfully, long and was no nearer an end. She could not endure to submit the matter to Mr. Humphreys; she feared his decision; and she feared also that he would give her the money Miss Fortune had failed to supply for the journey; how much it might be, Ellen had no idea. She could not dismiss the subject as decided by circumstances, for conscience pricked her with the fifth commandment. She was miserable. It happily occurred to her, at last, to take counsel with Mrs. Vawse; this might be done, she knew, without betraying Nancy; Mrs. Vawse was much too honourable to press her as to how she came by the letters, and her word could easily be obtained not to speak of the affairs to any one. As for Miss Fortune's conduct, it must be made known; there was no help for that. So it was settled; and Ellen's breast was a little lightened of its load of care for that time; she had leisure to think of some other things.
Why had Miss Fortune kept back the letters? Ellen guessed pretty well, but she did not know quite all. The package, with its accompanying despatch to Miss Fortune, had arrived shortly after Ellen first heard the news of her mother's death, when she was refuged with Alice at the parsonage. At the time of its being sent, Captain Montgomery's movements were extremely uncertain; and, in obedience to the earnest request of his wife, he directed that, without waiting for his own return, Ellen should immediately set out for Scotland. Part of the money for her expenses he sent; the rest he desired his sister to furnish, promising to make all straight when he should come home. But it happened that he was already this lady's debtor in a small amount, which Miss Fortune had serious doubts of ever being repaid: she instantly determined that if she had once been a fool in lending him money, she would not a second time in adding to the sum; if he wanted to send his daughter on a wild-goose-chase after great relations, he might come home himself and see to it; it was none of her business. Quietly taking the remittance to refund his own owing, she of course threw the letters into her box, as the delivery of them would expose the whole transaction. There they lay till Nancy found them.
Early next morning, after breakfast, Ellen came into the kitchen, and begged Margery to ask Thomas to bring the Brownie to the door. Surprised at the energy in her tone and manner, Margery gave the message, and added, that Miss Ellen seemed to have picked up wonderfully; she hadn't heard her speak so brisk since Mr. John went away.
The Brownie was soon at the door, but not so soon as Ellen, who had dressed in feverish haste. The Brownie was not alone; there was old John saddled and bridled, and Thomas Grimes in waiting.