But Ellinor begged
that she might be taken into the library--into the schoolroom--anywhere
(thought she) not looking on the side of the house on the flower-garden,
which she had felt in all her illness as a ghastly pressure lying within
sight of those very windows, through which the morning sun streamed right
upon her bed--like the accusing angel, bringing all hidden things to
light.
And when Ellinor was better still, when the Bath-chair had been sent up
for her use, by some kindly old maid, out of Hamley, she still petitioned
that it might be kept on the lawn or town side of the house, away from
the flower-garden.
One day she almost screamed, when, as she was going to the front door,
she saw Dixon standing ready to draw her, instead of Fletcher the servant
who usually went. But she checked all demonstration of feeling; although
it was the first time she had seen him since he and she and one more had
worked their hearts out in hard bodily labour.
He looked so stern and ill! Cross, too, which she had never seen him
before.
As soon as they were out of immediate sight of the windows, she asked him
to stop, forcing herself to speak to him.
"Dixon, you look very poorly," she said, trembling as she spoke.
"Ay!" said he. "We didn't think much of it at the time, did we, Miss
Nelly? But it'll be the death on us, I'm thinking.
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