"Mamma," poor Ellen would say, "just lay your hand on my forehead, will you? it's so hot! Oh, do, Mamma! where are you? Do put your hand on my forehead, won't you? Oh, do speak to me! why don't you, Mamma? Oh, why don't she come to me?"
Once, when Ellen was uneasily calling in this fashion for her mother's hand, Miss Fortune softly laid her own upon the child's brow; but the quick sudden jerk of the head from under it told her how well Ellen knew the one from the other; and, little as she cared for Ellen, it was wormwood to her.
Miss Fortune was not without offers of help during this sick time. Mrs. Van Brunt, and afterwards Mrs. Vawse, asked leave to come and nurse Ellen; but Miss Fortune declared it was more plague than profit to her; and she couldn't be bothered with having strangers about. Mrs. Van Brunt she suffered, much against her will, to come for a day or two: at the end of that, Miss Fortune found means to get rid of her civilly. Mrs. Vawse she would not allow to stay an hour. The old lady got leave, however, to go up to the sick room for a few minutes. Ellen, who was then in a high fever, informed her that her mother was downstairs, and her aunt Fortune would not let her come up; she pleaded, with tears, that she might come, and entreated Mrs. Vawse to take her aunt away, and send her mother. Mrs. Vawse tried to soothe her. Miss Fortune grew impatient.
"What on earth's the use," said she, "of talking to a child that's out of her head? she can't hear reason; that's the way she gets into whenever the fever's on her. I have the pleasure of hearing that sort of thing all the time. Come away, Mrs. Vawse, and leave her; she can't be better any way than alone, and I am in the room every other thing she's just as well quiet. Nobody knows," said Miss Fortune, on her way down stairs "nobody knows the blessings of taking care of other people's children that han't tried it. _I've_ tried it, to my heart's content."
Mrs. Vawse sighed, but departed in silence.
It was not when the fever was on her and delirium high that Ellen most felt the want she then so pitifully made known. There were other times when her head was aching, and, weary and weak, she lay still there oh, how she longed then for the dear wonted face, the old quiet smile that carried so much of comfort and assurance with it, the voice that was like heaven's music, the touch of that loved hand to which she had clung for so many years! She could scarcely bear to think of it, sometimes. In the still, wakeful hours of night, when the only sound to be heard was the heavy breathing of her aunt asleep on the floor by her side; and in the long, solitary day, when the only variety to be looked for was Miss Fortune's flitting in and out, and there came to be a sameness about that Ellen mourned her loss bitterly. Many and many were the silent tears that rolled down and wet her pillow; many a long- drawn sigh came from the very bottom of Ellen's heart: she was too weak and subdued now for violent weeping. She wondered sadly why Alice did not come to see her; it was another great grief added to the former. She never chose, however, to mention her name to her aunt. She kept her wonder and her sorrow to herself all the harder to bear for that. After two weeks Ellen began to mend, and then she became exceedingly weary of being alone and shut up to her room. It was a pleasure to have her Bible and hymn-book lying upon the bed, and a great comfort when she was able to look at a few words, but that was not very often, and she longed to see somebody, and hear something besides her aunt's dry questions and answers.