There are others who are whirled, in spite of
themselves, down dizzy rapids of agony away from their youth at one great
bound, into old age with another sudden shock; and thence into the vast
calm ocean where there are no shore-marks to tell of time.
This last, it seemed, was to be Ellinor's lot. Her youth had gone in a
single night, fifteen years ago, and now she appeared to have become an
elderly woman; very still and hopeless in look and movement, but as sweet
and gentle in speech and smile as ever she had been in her happiest days.
All young people, when they came to know her, loved her dearly, though at
first they might call her dull, and heavy to get on with; and as for
children and old people, her ready watchful sympathy in their joys as
well as their sorrows was an unfailing passage to their hearts. After
the first great shock of Mr. Corbet's marriage was over, she seemed to
pass into a greater peace than she had known for years; the last faint
hope of happiness was gone; it would, perhaps, be more accurate to say,
of the bright happiness she had planned for herself in her early youth.
Unconsciously, she was being weaned from self-seeking in any shape, and
her daily life became, if possible, more innocent and pure and holy. One
of the canons used to laugh at her for her constant attendance at all the
services, and for her devotion to good works, and call her always the
reverend sister.
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