"If you will only not speak and look at me so," said Ellen; "it makes me very unhappy."
"Hush!" said he, kissing her; "do not give me occasion."
"I did not give you occasion, Sir?"
"Why, Ellen!" said Mr. Lindsay, half-displeased again, "I shall begin to think your aunt Keith is right, that you are a true Lindsay. But so am I, and I will have only obedience from you, without either answering or argumenting."
"You shall," murmured Ellen. "But do not be displeased with me, father."
Ellen had schooled herself to say that word; she knew it would greatly please him; and she was not mistaken, though it was spoken so low that his ears could but just catch it. Displeasure was entirely overcome. He pressed her to his heart, kissing her with great tenderness, and would not let her go from his arms till he had seen her smile again; and during all the day he was not willing to have her out of his sight.
It would have been easy that morning for Ellen to have made a breech between them that would not readily have been healed. One word of humility had prevented it all, and fastened her more firmly than ever in Mr. Lindsay's affection. She met with nothing from him but tokens of great and tender fondness; and Lady Keith told her mother apart that there would be no doing anything with George; she saw he was getting bewitched with that child.
CHAPTER XLIX.
Thought is free.
In a few weeks they moved to Edinburgh, where arrangements were speedily made for giving Ellen every means of improvement that masters and mistresses, books and instruments, could afford.