The language of Eunice completely bewildered the mind of Eveline. It was so strange and so unexpected. She knew not what reply to make.
“All will come out right in the end, Evie,” pursued Eunice. “Trust in that, sister, and trust in it implicitly. As Mr. Carlton showed so beautifully last Sunday, there is not the smallest circumstance of our lives that is not in some way connected with our future, and which the future will not show to be a link in a progressive series of causes, all tending to bring out some good result. If Henry has suffered his mind to be estranged from you, no matter what may be the cause, depend upon it that it is for the best. This you will one day see. Be brave, then, dear Evie, to meet the present danger; and let the reflection, that whatever occurs, whether joyous or grievous, is under the Divine permission, support you in the trial.”
The head of Eveline sunk upon the breast of her sister, and her tears continued to flow; but the deep agitation of her bosom had subsided. An hour after, and she was calm; but her face was pale, and the marks of suffering were upon it. She was still alone with her sister. They had been sitting silent for some time, when Eveline said—
“I am distressed in doubt of the cause of this sudden change manifested toward me. What can it mean, Eunice? Something dreadful has been said about me.”
“It may be nothing about you, in particular, sister.”
“About all of us? What can be said about all of us?”
The eyes of Eunice grew dim as she replied—
“Have you noticed how distressed father has looked for some time?”
“Yes, ever since we heard of brother’s death.”
“But there is another cause besides that for his distress of mind, Evie; I am sure of it. Grief for even those most tenderly beloved, is softened by time, but father looks more troubled every day. Troubled—yes, that is the word. It is not grief that bows him down, sister, depend upon it, but trouble.”