St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1872-03-01

warmly, devotedly.
Two weeks from the day of my con-
versation with her they sailed for Liv-
crpool. The summer was to he spent in
England, and the winter in Nice or
Mcntonc.
Alice, the eldest daughter, ii loving,
sunshiny girl of twelve, was installed
III her mothers room. This was Ellen's S
way John would he drawn to the room
constantly. All her own little belong
ings were given to Alice.
"Only think, Auntie," said she.
''mamma has given me, all for my own,
her lovely toilet set, and all the Bohe
mian glass on the bureau. and her ivo-
ry brushes, She says when she comes
home she shall rcturnish her room and
papa's toor'
Oh, my wise Ellen. Could Emma
Long have done more subtly?
Early on the first evening after John
returned from New York. having seen
them off, missed him. said bitter
ly to myself, AT Mrs. Longs | sup
pose" and went up stairs to find Alice.
As drew near her room | heard his
voice, reading aloud. went in. He
and Alice were lying together on II
broad chlntZ covered lounge, as | had
so often seen him and Ellen.
''Oh, Auntie, come here" said Alice,
''hear mammals letter to me. She gave
it to papa in New York. She says it is
like the sealed orders they give to cap
tains sometimes, not to he opened till
they are out at sea. 1t is all about how
| tn fill hnr ,l.,.n t,, Aud
there are ever so many little notes in
side, more orders, which even papa
himself is not to see, only l suppose
he'll recognize the things when | do
them J.
At that moment, as | watched John
Gray's face, with Alice's nestled close.
and his arms claspcd tight around her.
while they had Ellen's letter, great
load rolled off my heart. | went
through many dark days afterward
but | never could quite despair when
| remembered the fatherhood and the
hu>handhood which were i'll his eyes
and his voice that night.
The story of the next twelve months
could he told i'll IL few words, so far as
its external incidents are concerned. 1t
could not he told i'll IL thousand volumes.
if attempted to reproduce the subtle
undcrcurrentS of John Gray's life and
mine. Each of lis was living IA double
life he more or less unconsciOuSly
with sharpcucd SENSES. such over
wrought emotions, that | only wonder
that my health did not give way. en-
dured Vicariously all the suspense and
torment of the deepest jealousy, with Il
SENSE of more than virnri"us r"Sp"nai
bIlity added. which was almost more
than human nature could bear. Ellen
little knew how heavy would he the
burden she laid upon me. Her most
express and explicit directions was that
the familiar intimacy between our fam
lily and Mrs. Longs was to he preserved
Inaltcred. This il would have been
impossible for me to do if Mis-. Long
had not herself recognized the necessity
of il, for her own full enjoyment of
Johns society. But il was IL hard
thing: my aunt. the ostcnsiblc head of
our house. WAS Il quiet woman. who had
nothing whatever To do with society .
and who felt in the outset Il great
shrinking from the brilliant Mrs. Long.
| had never been on intimate terms
with her. 81 that John and Alice were
really the only members of the house
hold VIII" could keep mp precisely the
old relation. And So il gradually came
about that in most of our meetings I'M
der each others roofs. strangers were
asked To till up the vacant places, and
in spite of all Emma Longs efforts and
mine. there WaS Il change III the atmoS-
phcrc of our Intercourse. But there
wa> enough "t intimacy Ia produce the
effect for which Ellen WAS most any
iuIS, i.c. to extend the shelter of our
recognition /" the friendship between
John and Emma, and to remove from
them both all temptation To ANY thing
clandc>tinc or secret. They still saw
each other almost daily they still
shared most of each othrrs'S interests
and pleasures : they still showed um-
/ gu>cd delight in each others presence.
/ Again and again went with them tu
/ the opera, To the theatre. and sat
| through the long hours. Watching. with
Il pain which seemed To me hardly less
/ than Ellrn's would have been. THEN
constant sympathy with each other III
every point of enjoy mcnt, their con
Stant torgetfulncsS of every one else.
But there was, all this time, another
side to John Gray's life, which | saw
and Emma Long did not BY every
steamer came packages of the most
marvellous letters from Ellen letters to
lis all hut to John, a diary of every
hour other life. Each night she spent
two hours in writing out the record OF
the day. | have never seen letter.
which SO reproduced the atmosphere o
the day, the scene. the heart They
were brilliant and effective in narra-
tive to degree that utterly aStonishcd
me but they We're also inetfahly tender
and loving, and SO subjective III theil
every word, that it was like seeing Ell.
len face to face to read them. At first
John did not show them even to me
but soon he began to say, These are
too rare to he kept to myself; | must
just read You this account or, "Hert
is page must read" until at last il
became his habit to read them aloud il
the evenings to the family, and even
to more intimate friends who chance,
to he with us. He grew proud beyOnt
expression of Ellen's talent for writing
and well he might. No one who list
ened to them but exclaimed, "Ther,
never were such letters before"
think there never were. And alOn,
knew the secret of them.
But these long, brilliant letters wer,
not all In every mail came also pack
ages for Alice - secret, mysteriou
things, which nobody could see, bu
which proved to he sometimes small
notes, to be given to papa at unexpect
ell times and places; sometimes littl
fancy articles, as pen-wiper, or ci
, gar case, hdlf worked by Ellen, to b
I