Every one stabbed at
that poor heart. In a minute or so her father spoke again.
"I don't mean what I say. I often don't mean it now. Ellinor, you must
forgive me, my child!" He stooped, and lifted her up, and sat down,
taking her on his knee, and smoothing her hair off her hot forehead.
"Remember, child, how very miserable I am, and have forgiveness for me.
He had none, and yet he must have seen I had been drinking."
"Drinking, papa!" said Ellinor, raising her head, and looking at him with
sorrowful surprise.
"Yes. I drink now to try and forget," said he, blushing and confused.
"Oh, how miserable we are!" cried Ellinor, bursting into tears--"how very
miserable! It seems almost as if God had forgotten to comfort us!"
"Hush! hush!" said he. "Your mother said once she did so pray that you
might grow up religious; you must be religious, child, because she prayed
for it so often. Poor Lettice, how glad I am that you are dead!" Here
he began to cry like a child. Ellinor comforted him with kisses rather
than words. He pushed her away, after a while, and said, sharply: "How
much does he know? I must make sure of that. How much did you tell him,
Ellinor?"
"Nothing--nothing, indeed, papa, but what I told you just now!"
"Tell it me again--the exact words!"
"I will, as well as I can; but it was last August.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161