"How soon?" repeated Mrs. Montgomery, with an agonized accent.
"Why, I'm a little afraid of startling you Dunscombe's wife must go, he told me, to-morrow morning; and we arranged that she could call in the carriage at six o'clock to take up Ellen."
Mrs. Montgomery put her hands to her face and sank back against the sofa.
"I was afraid you would take it so," said her husband, "but I don't think it is worth while. It is a great deal better as it is; a great deal better than if she had a long warning. You would fairly wear yourself out if you had time enough, and you haven't any strength to spare."
It was some while before Mrs. Montgomery could recover composure and firmness enough to go on with what she had to do, though, knowing the necessity, she strove hard for it. For several minutes she remained quite silent and quiet, endeavouring to collect her scattered forces; then sitting upright and drawing her shawl around her, she exclaimed "I must waken Ellen immediately!"
"Waken Ellen!" exclaimed her husband, in his turn; "what on earth for? That's the very last thing to be done."
"Why, you would not put off telling her until to-morrow morning?" said Mrs. Montgomery.
"Certainly I would; that's the only proper way to do. Why in the world should you wake her up, just to spend the whole night in useless grieving? unfitting her utterly for her journey, and doing yourself more harm than you can undo in a week. No, no; just let her sleep quietly, and you can go to bed and do the same. Wake her up, indeed! I thought you were wiser."
"But she will be so dreadfully shocked in the morning!"
"Not one bit more that she would be to-night, and she won't have so much time to feel it. In the hurry and bustle of getting off, she will not have time to think about her feelings; and once on the way, she will do well enough; children always do."