Eltinge speak at the prayer-meeting last night in such a way that
I wanted to see him and ask his help and advice, and he has been
very, very kind to me. He can tell you all."
"Yes, if he chooses," said the old gentleman with a laugh. "Sister
knows me too well in my character of father confessor to expect me
to tell everything."
They made her at home as the simple and well-bred only can do.
After dinner Miss Eltinge tried to entertain her for a while, but
at last said, with appreciative tact:
"My dear, I think you will best enjoy yourself if you are left to
range the old house and place at will. After my brother has rested
he will join you again."
Ida was glad to be alone. She had made a promise of far-reaching
and vital import that morning. Life was taking on new aspects that
were so unfamiliar that she was bewildered. She went back to the
garden, and, taking Mr. Eltinge's seat, leaned against the emblematic
pear-tree, which she curiously began to associate with herself,
and for which she was already conscious of something like affection.
"Oh," she sighed, "if my life would only come to abound with deeds
corresponding to the fruit that is bending these boughs above me,
it could not be a burden, thought it might be very sad and lonely.
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