"It's not necessary for you to take that trouble, Thomas," said Ellen; "I don't mind going alone at all."
"I beg your pardon, Miss Ellen (Thomas touched his hat) but Mr. John left particular orders that I was to go with Miss Ellen whenever it pleased her to ride; never failing."
"Did he?" said Ellen; "but is it convenient for you now,
Thomas? I want to go as far as Mrs. Vawse's."
"It's always convenient, Miss Ellen always; Miss Ellen need not think of that at all, I am always ready."
Ellen mounted upon the Brownie, sighing for the want of the hand that used to lift her to the saddle; and spurred by this recollection, set off at a round pace.
Soon she was at Mrs. Vawse's; and soon, finding her alone, Ellen had spread out all her difficulties before her and given her the letters to read. Mrs. Vawse readily promised to speak on the subject to no one without Ellen's leave; her suspicions fell upon Mr. Van Brunt, not her grand-daughter. She heard all the story and read the letters before making any remark.
"Now, dear Mrs. Vawse," said Ellen, anxiously, when the last one was folded up and laid on the table, "what do you think?"
"I think, my child, you must go," said the old lady, steadily.
Ellen looked keenly, as if to find some other answer in her face; her own changing more and more for a minute, till she sunk it in her hands.
"Cela vous donne beaucoup de chagrin je le vois bien," said the old lady, tenderly. (Their conversations were always in Mrs. Vawse's tongue.)