He had also
read, thought, and observed a great deal, and had left his long
boyhood behind him, during a space for study and meditation such as
he had never had before.
He was quite hopeless of his daughter's recovery, and made no secret
of it. In passing through London the best advice had been taken,
but only to obtain the verdict that the case was beyond all skill,
and that it was only a matter of weeks, when all that could be done
was to give as much gratification as possible. The one thing that
Ellen did care about was to be at home--to have Emily with her, and
once more see her school children, her church, and her garden.
Tired as she was she had sprung up in the carriage at the first
glimpse of Hillside spire, and had leant forward at the window,
nodding and smiling her greetings to all the villagers.
She had been taken at once to her room and her bed, but her father
had promised to beg Emily to come up by noon on the morrow. Then he
sat talking of local matters, not able to help showing what infinite
relief it was to him to be at home, and what music to his ears was
the Somersetshire dialect and deep English voice 'after all those
thin, shrill, screeching foreigners.'
Poor Emily! It was in mingled grief and gladness that she set off
the next day, with the trepidation of one to whom sickness and decay
were hitherto unknown.
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