[6.1] . . . Ellen was lying in the deep sweet sleep of childhood; the easy position, the gentle breathing, and the flush of health upon the cheek showed that all causes of sorrow were for the present far removed. Yet not so far either;—for once when Mrs. Montgomery stooped to kiss her, light as the touch of that kiss had been upon her lips, it seemed to awaken a train of sorrowful recollections in the little sleeper's mind. A shade passed over her face, and with gentle but sad accent the word, "Mamma!" burst from the parted lips. Only a moment,—and the shade passed away, and the expression of peace settle again upon her brow; but Mrs. Montgomery dared not try the experiment a second time.

[6.2] Long she stood looking upon her, as if she knew she was looking her last; then she knelt by the bedside and hid her face in the coverings,—but no tears came; the struggle in her mind and her anxious fear for the morning's trial, made weeping impossible. Her husband at length came to seek her, and it was well he did; she would have remained there on her knees all night. He feared something of the kind, and came to prevent it. Mrs. Montgomery suffered herself to be led away without making any opposition; and went to bed as usual, but sleep was far from her. The fear of Ellen's distress when she would be awakened and suddenly told the truth, kept her in an agony. In restless wakefulness she tossed and turned uneasily upon her bed, watching for the dawn, and dreading unspeakably to see it.

[6.3] The captain, in happy unconsciousness of his wife's distress and utter inability to sympathize with it, was soon in a sound sleep, and his heavy breathing was an aggravation of her trouble; it kept repeating, what indeed she knew already, that the only one in the world who ought to have shared and soothed her grief was not capable of doing either. Wearied with watching and tossing to and fro, she at length lost herself a moment in uneasy slumber, from which she suddenly started in terror, and seizing her husband's arm to arouse him, exclaimed, "It is time to wake Ellen!" but she had to repeat her efforts two or three times before she succeeded in making herself heard. [In contrast to Ellen's mother, her father the Captain demonstrates lack of sympathy with family member, particularly in suffering]

[6.4] "What is the matter?" said he heavily, and not over well pleased at the interruption.

[6.5] "It is time to wake Ellen."

[6.6] "No it isn't," said he, relapsing,—"it isn't time yet this great while."

[6.7] "Oh, yes it is," said Mrs. Montgomery;—"I am sure it is; I see the beginning of dawn in the east."

[6.8] "Nonsense! it's no such thing; it's the glimmer of the lamplight; what is the use of your exciting yourself so for nothing. It won't be dawn these two hours. Wait till I find my repeater [watch?], and I'll convince you."

[6.9] He found and struck it.

[6.10] "There! I told you so—only one quarter after four; it would be absurd to wake her yet. Do go to sleep and leave it to me; I'll take care it is done in proper time."

[6.11] Mrs. Montgomery sighed heavily, and again arranged herself to watch the eastern horizon, or rather with her face in that direction; for she could see nothing. But more quietly now she lay gazing into the darkness which it was in vain to try to penetrate; and thoughts succeeding thoughts in a more regular train, at last fairly cheated her into sleep, much as she wished to keep it off. She slept soundly for near an hour; and when she awoke the dawn had really begun to break in the eastern sky. She again aroused Captain Montgomery, who this time allowed it might be as well to get up; but it was with unutterable impatience that she saw him lighting a lamp, and moving about as leisurely as if he had nothing more to do than to get ready for breakfast at eight o'clock.

[6.12] "Oh, do go speak to Ellen!" she said, unable to control herself. "Never mind brushing your hair till afterwards. She will have no time for anything. Oh, do not wait any longer! what are you thinking of?"

[6.13] "What are you thinking of?" said the captain;—"there's plenty of time. Do quiet yourself—you're getting as nervous as possible. I'm going immediately [directly]."

[6.14] Mrs. Montgomery fairly groaned with impatience and an agonizing dread of what was to follow the disclosure to Ellen. But her husband coolly went on with his preparations, which indeed were not long in finishing; and then taking the lamp he at last went. He had in truth delayed on purpose, wishing the final leave-taking to be as brief as possible; and the grey streaks of light in the east were plainly showing themselves when he opened the door of his little daughter's room. He found her lying very much as her mother had left her,—in the same quiet sleep, and with the same expression of calmness and peace spread over her whole face and person. It touched even him,—and he was not readily touched by anything;—it made him loath to say the word that would drive all that sweet expression so quickly and completely away. It must be said, however; the increasing light warned him he must not tarry; but it was with a hesitating and almost faltering voice that he said, "Ellen!"

[6.15] She stirred in her sleep, and the shadow came over her face again.

[6.16] "Ellen! Ellen!"

[6.17] She started up,—broad awake now;—and both the shadow and the peaceful expression were gone from her face. It was a look of blank astonishment at first with which she regarded her father, but very soon indeed that changed into one of bleak despair. He saw that she understood perfectly what he was there for, and that there was no need at all for him to trouble himself with making painful explanations.

[6.18] "Come, Ellen," he said,—"that's a good child, make haste and dress. There's no time to lose now, for the carriage will soon be at the door; and your mother wants to see you, you know."

[6.19] Ellen hastily obeyed him, and began to put on her stockings and shoes.

[6.20] "That's right—now you'll be ready directly. You are going with Mrs. Dunscombe—I have engaged her to take charge of you all the way quite to Thirlwall; she's the wife of Captain Dunscombe, whom you saw here the other day, you know; and her daughter is going with her, so you will have charming company. I dare say you will enjoy the journey very much; and your aunt will meet you at Thirlwall. Now, make haste—I expect the carriage every minute. I meant to have called you before, but I overslept myself. Don't be long."

[6.21] And nodding encouragement, her father left her.

[6.22] "How did she bear it?" asked Mrs. Montgomery when he returned.

[6.23] "Like a little hero. She didn't say a word, or shed a tear. I expected nothing but that she would make a great fuss; but she has all the old spirit that you used to have,—and have yet, for anything I know. She behaved admirably."

[6.24] Mrs. Montgomery sighed deeply. She understood far better than her husband what Ellen's feelings were, and could interpret much more truly than he the signs of them; the conclusions she drew from Ellen's silent and tearless reception of the news differed widely from his. She now waited anxiously and almost fearfully for her appearance, which did not come as soon as she expected it. [<Captain-father excluded (or excludes himself) from family-feminine sympathy>]

[6.25] It was a great relief to Ellen when her father ended his talking, and left her to herself; for she felt she could not dress herself so quick with him standing there and looking at her, and his desire that she should be speedy in what she had to do could not be greater than her own. Her fingers did their work as fast as they could, with every joint trembling. But though a weight like a mountain was upon the poor child's heart, she could not cry; and she could not pray,—though true to her constant habit she fell on her knees by her bedside as she always did; it was in vain; all was in a whirl in her heart and head, and after a minute, she rose again, clasping her little hands together with an expression of sorrow that it was well her mother could not see.

[6.26] She was dressed very soon, but she shrank from going to her mother's room while her father was there. To save time she put on her coat, and everything but her bonnet and gloves; and then stood leaning against the bed-post, for she could not sit down, watching with most intense anxiety to hear her father's step come out of the room and go down stairs. Every minute seemed too long to be borne; poor Ellen began to feel as if she could not contain herself.

[6.27] Yet five [minutes] had not passed away when she heard the roll of carriage-wheels which came to the door and then stopped, and immediately her father opening the door to come out. Without waiting any longer Ellen opened her own, and brushed past him into the room he had quitted. Mrs. Montgomery was still lying on the bed, for her husband has insisted on her not rising. She said not a word, but opened her arms to receive her little daughter; and with a cry of indescribable expression Ellen sprang upon the bed and was folded in them. [<excellent narration] But then neither of them spoke or wept. What could words say? Heart met heart in that agony, for each knew all that was in the other. No,—not quite all. Ellen did not know that the whole of bitterness death had for her mother she was tasting then. But it was true. Death had no more power to give her pain after this parting should be over. His after-work,—the parting between soul and body,—would be welcome rather; yes, very welcome.

[6.28] Mrs. Montgomery knew it all well. She knew this was the last embrace between them. She knew it would be the very last time that dear little form would ever lie on her bosom, or be pressed in her arms; and it almost seemed to her that soul and body must part company too when they should be rent asunder. Ellen's grief was not like this;— she did not think it was the last time;—but she was a child of very high spirit and violent passions, untamed at all by sorrow's discipline; and in proportion violent was the tempest excited by this first real trial. Perhaps, too, her sorrow was sharpened by a sense of wrong and a feeling of indignation at her father's cruelty in not waking her earlier.

[6.29] Not many minutes had passed in this sad embrace, and no word had yet been spoken, no sound uttered, except Ellen's first inarticulate cry of mixed affection and despair, when Captain Montgomery's step was again heard slowly ascending the stairs. "He is coming to take me away!" thought Ellen; and in terror lest she should go without a word from her mother, she burst forth with, "Mamma! speak!"

[6.30] A moment before, and Mrs. Montgomery could not have spoken. But she could now; and as clearly and calmly the words were uttered as if nothing had been the matter, only her voice fell a little toward the last.

[6.31] "God bless my darling child! and make her his own,—and bring her to that home where parting cannot be."

[6.32] Ellen's eyes had been dry until now; but when she heard the sweet sound of her mother's voice, it opened all the fountains of tenderness within her. She burst into uncontrollable weeping; it seemed as if she would pour out her very heart in tears; and she clung to her mother with a force that made it a difficult task for her father to remove her. He could not do it at first; and Ellen seemed not to hear anything that was said to her. He was very unwilling to use harshness; and after a little, though she had paid no attention to his entreaties or commands, yet sensible of the necessity of the case, she gradually relaxed her hold and suffered him to draw her away from her mother's arms. He carried her down stairs, and put her on the front seat of the carriage, beside Mrs. Dunscombe's maid,—but Ellen could never recollect how she got there, and she did not feel the touch of her father's hand, nor hear him when he bid her good-by; and she did not know that he put a large paper of candies and sugar-plums in her lap. She knew nothing but that she had lost her mother.

[6.33] "It will not be so long," said the captain, in a kind of apologizing way; "she will soon get over it, and you will not have any trouble with her."

[6.34] "I hope so," returned the lady [Mrs. Dunscombe’s maid], rather shortly; and then, as the captain was making his parting bow, she added, in no very pleased tone of voice, "Pray, Captain Montgomery, is this young lady to travel without a bonnet?"

[6.35] "Bless me! no," said the captain. "How is this? hasn't she a bonnet? I beg a thousand pardons, ma'am,—I'll bring it on the instant."

[6.36] After a little delay, the bonnet was found, but the captain overlooked the gloves in his hurry.

[6.37] "I am very sorry you have been delayed, ma'am," said he.

[6.38] "I hope we may be able to reach the boat yet," replied the lady. "Drive on as fast as you can!"

[6.39] A very polite bow from Captain Montgomery—a very slight one from the lady—and off they drove.

[6.40] "Proud enough," thought the captain, as he went up the stairs again. "I reckon she don't thank me for her travelling companion. But Ellen's off—that's one good thing:—and now I'll go and engage berths in the England." [effective rendering of lack of family feeling by father-Captain as representative of public sphere of competitive capitalism]

End of Chapter 6 > Chapter 10

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