"
It was a hard thing for Ellen to think that, in the estimation of the man
she loved, she must for ever seem the basest and most mercenary of
womankind; and yet how poor an excuse could she offer in the vague
pleading of her letter! She could not so much as hint at the truth; she
could not blacken her father's character. That Frank Randall should
despise her, only made her trial a little sharper, her daily burden a
little heavier, she told herself.
With her mind full of these thoughts, she had very little sympathy to
bestow upon Mrs. Tadman, whose fragmentary lamentations only worried her,
like the murmurs of some troublesome not-to-be-pacified child; whereby
that doleful person, finding her soul growing heavier and heavier, for
lack of counsel or consolation, could at last endure this state of
suspense no longer in sheer inactivity, but was fain to bestir herself
somehow, if even in the most useless manner. She got up from her seat
therefore, went over to the door, and, softly opening it, peered out into
the darkness beyond.
There was nothing, no glimmer of Stephen's candle, no sound of men's
footsteps or of men's voices; the merest blankness, and no more. The two
men had been away from the parlour something more than half an hour by
this time.
For about five minutes Mrs.
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