You will write--Herbert Livingstone, Langham Vicarage, Yorkshire;
you will promise me to write. If I could do anything for her, but I can
but pray. Oh, my darling; my darling! and I have no right to be with
her."
"Go away, there's a good young man," said Miss Monro, all the more
pressing to hurry him out by the front door, because she was afraid of
his emotion overmastering him, and making him noisy in his
demonstrations. "Yes, I will write; I will write, never fear!" and she
bolted the door behind him, and was thankful.
Two minutes afterwards there was a low tap; she undid the fastenings, and
there he stood, pale in the moonlight.
"Please don't tell her I came to ask about her; she might not like it."
"No, no! not I! Poor creature, she's not likely to care to hear anything
this long while. She never roused at Mr. Corbet's name."
"Mr. Corbet's!" said Livingstone, below his breath, and he turned and
went away; this time for good.
But Ellinor recovered. She knew she was recovering, when day after day
she felt involuntary strength and appetite return. Her body seemed
stronger than her will; for that would have induced her to creep into her
grave, and shut her eyes for ever on this world, so full of troubles.
She lay, for the most part, with her eyes closed, very still and quiet;
but she thought with the intensity of one who seeks for lost peace, and
cannot find it.
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