' She had sent for him to entreat him to forgive Griffith
and recall the pair to Chantry House. 'Not now,' she said, 'but
when I am gone.'
My father could deny her nothing, though he showed that the sight of
her made the entreaty all the harder to him; and she pleaded, 'But
you know this was not his doing. I never was strong, and it had
begun before. Only think how sad it would have been for him.'
My father would have promised anything with that wasted hand on his,
those fervent eyes gazing on him, and he told her he would have
given his pardon long ago, if it had been sought, as it never had
been.
'Ah! perhaps he did not dare!' she said. 'Won't you write when all
this is over, and then you will be one family again as you used to
be?'
He promised, though he scarcely knew where Griffith was. Clarence,
however, did. He had answered Ellen's letter, and it had made him
ask for a few days' leave of absence. So he came down on the
Saturday, and was allowed a quarter of an hour beside Ellen's sofa
in the Sunday evening twilight. He brought away the calm, rapt
expression I had sometimes seen on his face at church, and Ellen
made a special entreaty that he might share the morrow's feast.
There are some things that cannot be written of, and that was one.
Still we had not thought the end near at hand, though on Tuesday
morning a message was sent that Ellen was suffering and exhausted,
and could not see Emily.
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