The Wide, Wide World. Warner Susan
"but oh, it's just near the time when I used to make the tea for her—who'll make it now? she'll want me—oh, what shall I do?" and overcome completely by this recollection, she threw herself into her friend's arms and sobbed aloud.
There was no reasoning against this; he did not attempt it; but with the utmost gentleness and tenderness endeavoured, as soon as he might, to soothe and calm her. He succeeded at last; with a sort of despairing submission, Ellen ceased her tears, and arose to her former position. But he did not rest from his kind endeavours till her mind was really eased and comforted; which, however, was not long before the lights of a city began to appear in the distance. And with them appeared a dusky figure ascending the stairs, which, upon nearer approach, proved by the voice to be Timmins.
"Is this Miss Montgomery?" said she; "I can't see, I am sure, it's so dark. Is that you, Miss Montgomery?"
"Yes," said Ellen, "it is I; do you want me?"
"If you please, miss, Mrs. Dunscombe wants you to come right down; we're almost in, she says, miss."
"I'll come directly, Miss Timmins," said Ellen. "Don't wait for me—I won't be a minute—I'll come directly."
Miss Timmins retired, standing still a good deal in awe of the grave personage whose protection Ellen seemed to have gained.
"I must go," said Ellen, standing up and extending her hand "Good-bye, sir."
She could hardly say it. He drew her towards him and kissed her cheek once or twice; it was well he did, for it sent a thrill of pleasure to Ellen's heart that she did not get over that evening, nor all the next day.
"God bless you, my child," he said gravely, but cheerfully; "and good-night!—you will feel better, I trust, when you have had some rest and refreshment."
He took care of her down the stairs, and saw her safe to the very door of the saloon, and within it; and there again took her hand and kindly bade her good-night.
Ellen entered the saloon only to sit down and cry as if her heart would break. She saw and heard nothing till Mrs. Dunscombe's voice bade her make haste and be ready, for they were going ashore in five minutes.
And in less than five minutes ashore they went.
"Which hotel, ma'am?" asked the servant who carried her baggage—"the Eagle, or Foster's?"
"The Eagle," said Mrs. Dunscombe.
"Come this way, then, ma'am," said another man, the driver of the Eagle carriage. "Now, ma'am, step in, if you please."
Mrs. Dunscombe put her daughter in.
"But it's full!" said she to the driver; "there isn't room for another one."
"Oh yes, ma'am, there is," said the driver, holding the door open; "there's plenty of room for you, ma'am—just get in, ma'am, if you please—we'll be there in less than two minutes."
"Timmins, you'll have to walk," said Mrs. Dunscombe. "Miss Montgomery, would you rather ride, or walk with Timmins?"
"How far is it, ma'am?" said Ellen.
"Oh, bless me! how can I tell how far it is? I don't know, I am sure—not far; say quick—would you rather walk or ride?"
"I would rather walk, ma'am, if you please," said Ellen.
"Very well," said Mrs. Dunscombe, getting in;—"Timmins, you know the way."
And off went the coach with its load; but tired as she was, Ellen did not wish herself along.
Picking a passage-way out of the crowd, she and Timmins now began to make their way up one of the comparatively quiet streets.
It was a strange place—that she felt. She had lived long enough in the place she had left to feel at home there; but here she came to no street or crossing that she had ever seen before; nothing looked familiar; all reminded her that she was a traveller. Only one pleasant thing Ellen saw on her walk, and that was the sky; and that looked just as it did at home; and very often Ellen's gaze was fixed upon it, much to the astonishment of Miss Timmins, who had to be not a little watchful for the safety of Ellen's feet while her eyes were thus employed. She had taken a great fancy to Ellen, however, and let her do as she pleased, keeping all her wonderment to herself.
"Take care, Miss Ellen!" cried Timmins, giving her arm a great pull. "I declare I just saved you out of that gutter! poor child! you are dreadfully tired, ain't you?"
"Yes, I am very tired, Miss Timmins," said Ellen; "have we much further to go?"
"Not a great deal, dear; cheer up! we are almost there. I hope Mrs. Dunscombe will want to ride one of these days herself, and can't."
"Oh, don't say so, Miss Timmins," said Ellen, "I don't wish so, indeed."
"Well, I should think you would," said Timmins. "I should think you'd be fit to poison her;—I should, I know, if I was in your place."
"Oh no," said Ellen, "that wouldn't be right; that would be very wrong."
"Wrong!" said Timmins—"why would it be wrong? she hasn't behaved good to you."
"Yes," said Ellen, "but don't you know the Bible says if we do not forgive people what they do to us, we shall not be forgiven ourselves?"
"Well, I declare!" said Miss Timmins, "you beat all! But here's the Eagle at last, and I am glad for your sake, dear."
Ellen was shown into the ladies' parlour. She was longing for a place to rest, but she saw directly it was not to be there. The room was large, and barely furnished; and round it were scattered part of the carriage-load of people that had arrived a quarter of an hour before her. They were waiting till their rooms should be ready. Ellen silently found herself a chair and sat down to wait with the rest, as patiently as she might. Few of them had as much cause for impatience; but she was the only perfectly mute and uncomplaining one there. Her two companions, however, between them, fully made up her share of fretting. At length a servant brought the welcome news that their room was ready, and the three marched upstairs. It made Ellen's very heart glad when they got there, to find a good-sized, cheerful-looking bed-room, comfortably furnished, with a bright fire burning, large curtains let down to the floor, and a nice warm carpet upon it. Taking off her bonnet, and only that, she sat down on a low cushion by the corner of the fire-place, and leaning her head against the jamb, fell fast asleep almost immediately. Mrs. Dunscombe set about arranging herself for the tea-table.
"Well!" she said, "one day of this precious journey is over!"
"Does Ellen go with us to-morrow, mamma?"
"Oh yes!—quite to Thirlwall."
"Well, you haven't had much plague with her to-day, mamma."
"No—I am sure I am much obliged to whoever has kept her out of my way."
"Where is she going to sleep to-night?" asked Miss Margaret.
"I don't know, I am sure. I suppose I shall have to have a cot brought in here for her."
"What a plague!" said Miss Margaret. "It will lumber up the room so! There's no place to put it. Couldn't she sleep with Timmins?"
"Oh, she could, of course—just as well as not, only people would make such a fuss about it!—it wouldn't do;—we must bear it for once. I'll try and not be caught in such a scrape again."
"How provoking!" said Miss Margaret. "How came father to do so without asking you about it?"
"Oh, he was bewitched, I suppose—men always are. Look here, Margaret, I can't go down to tea with a train of children at my heels. I shall leave you and Ellen up here, and I'll send up your tea to you."
"Oh no, mamma!" said Margaret eagerly; "I want to go down with you. Look here, mamma! she's asleep, and you needn't wake her up—that's excuse enough. You can leave her to have tea up here, and let me go down with you."
"Well," said Mrs. Dunscombe, "I don't care; but make haste to get ready, for I expect every minute the tea-bell will ring."
"Timmins!