"And how do you know that?" "From Miss Hackett first; and afterwards George wrote to Miss Rodgers once to say Laura was very unwell," said Ethel, earnestly. "I tell you, Ethel, my mind is made up. Your sister has placed a barrier between herself and her family; all connexion has ceased. You shall not go!" exclaimed Mrs. Woodville, angrily. Perhaps, had Mr. and Mrs. Woodville been on good terms that day, the former would have acquiesced with his wife; but her peremptory command to his daughter in his presence roused him to show his perfect independence and contempt, and also knowing how mortifying it would be to her. Besides, Ethel was better away. She had displeased him; and her life was wretched at home: what need was there for her to remain ? "You may go, Ethel; because your sister is ill, and because you have rendered your presence here undesirable. But, mark me, this is no token of forgiveness to Laura; my opinion is formed on that point." "Oh, papa! now, when she is so ill-perhaps dying-it may be, dead!" Ethel said, weeping bitterly. "Don't annoy me by further allusion to this, Ethel," Mr. Woodville replied, with chilling coldness. And Ethel dare not speak again. Truly grateful for his permission, she hastily left the room, leaving her father and his wife to exchange angry words together. She lost no time in packing up her things. How thankful she felt for the permission her father had given at his office, for Minnie to go to Mrs. Barton's for the holidays! What a providential thing it was that the invitation had come for her just at this time! And Ethel thanked God for it. But a load of sorrow rested on her heart when she thought of Laura, and how long it would be before she could reach Barrington with all her haste. Never had an express train seemed so slow as the six hours' journey to London did. When there, she had to remain an hour in a cold waiting-room, where, from the lateness of the time, the fire had gone out. It was a sore trial of patience. Laura ill-perhaps dying-continually presented itself to her mind. At length she started once more. It was a new country to her, and she watched impatiently at each station to catch the name of Barrington. In two more weary hours it was reached, and Ethel stepped out into a perfect confusion of people, and a glare of light very bewildering. There was such a calling for porters, such pushing, and crushing, and clamoring for luggage, that Ethel feared the train would start before she had time to secure hers. When her boxes were at length taken from the van, one porter hurried one way with one thing and another with another, and Ethel rushed after them almost in despair, finding great difficulty in making them understand which way she desired them carried. At length she found herself in a dirty cigar-smelling fly (the only one left on the stand), with a worn-out skeleton of a horse, and the driver half drunk. "Where to, Miss?" he said, clashing the door with a violent noise. "Mr. Thornhill's, 6 Russel Street." 66 "I don't know; perhaps it is." "Well, I thinks I do, then," said the man, mounting the box, and commencing a vigorous application of the whip upon his miserable horse, which with difficulty could be beaten into a quick walk. On they went, through narrow, silent streets, until Ethel began to fear there was some mistake. "Are you right, do you think?" she inquired. Ethel reseated herself for some minutes longer, until she was suddenly jerked up against the causeway, and the fly stopped; the man descended, and pulled the bell violently. All was silent; not a light gleamed from any of the windows, and no sound proceeded for some minutes from the house. At length a man's head in a night-cap presented itself from an upper window. "Hallo? What on earth do you want, rousing people at this time of night?" said a voice unfamiliar to Ethel's ear. "Here's a lady a-waiting," said the driver. "A lady! Goodness!" "Is this Mr. Thornhill's?" inquired Ethel, anx iously. 66 Oh, no! "Do This is Mr. Turner's." you know where Mr. Thornhill lives?" "Is he an officer?" "Yes." “Oh, then, he lives in Russel Street." "Is not this Russel Street?" "No. Tyrrel Street." "You said Tyrrel Street, Miss." "No, I did not. No. 6 Russel Street I want to go to. Now do make haste; I am really very anxious to lose no time. How far is it from here?" "It's a mile, and my 'orse can't go no further." "But it must. Now, my good man, I cannot be kept waiting; go I will, and if you don't be quick I'll call a watchman. I have your number," said Ethel, authoritatively, feeling it was her only chance. "You will, eh?" said the man, with a drunken stare. "Yes, I certainly will," replied Ethel, beginning to feel very lonely and uncomfortable in this strange place. Fortunately, just as she spoke, another fly passed down the street. Ethel hailed it, and soon herself and luggage were on their way, after satisfying the exorbitant demands of the first man. This time they were right; and Ethel was driven down a long narrow street, and the fly stopped before a small dismal-looking house. A slovenly servant opened the door, and gave the satisfactory reply that Mr. Thornhill did live there, and looked stupefied with astonishment to see a young lady descend from the fly. Ethel sprung out. "How is your mistress?" she inquired, breathlessly. "Missus isn't no better; and the baby is dead," was the reply. Ethel's heart sunk within her. She hastily extended the fare to the man. The hall door was closed, and she stood within her sister's home. CHAPTER XV. "Mortal! however dark the cloud However desolate the spot Where thou art doomed to dwell, He knows thy frame, and what is best And the reed snapped on which thou leant, Have faith, pass on, and be content God doeth all things well."-J. W. FLETCHER. ETHEL was ushered from the narrow passage into a small room, where a little tin candlestick with an almost burnt-out candle upon the table was the only light. The powerful fumes of a cigar, combined with a strong odour of brandy, filled the room. The fire was almost out, and everything cold and cheerless. |