Christmas had come and gone, and Eustace Ingelow was at home again, but
things were not going well with him, and he was in consequence
proportionately gloomy. Never, since the day he surprised her in the
midst of her grief, had he had the chance of speaking to Nellie Dorrien
alone. Whether by accident or design, she had been invited to visit a
relative at a distance for Christmas. She had left Cranston a few days
before his arrival, and it seemed unlikely that her return would take
place before his departure, and he had failed in his undertaking, for no
trace could he discover of her missing brother. Venn had written
stating that he feared they would see no more of Roland Dorrien until
such time as that worthy chose to disclose his whereabouts. And
Eustace's heart had sunk. If Venn, a London man, could not trace his
friend, what chance had he himself, who could bring neither time nor
experience to bear upon his quest? His failure and misgivings he had
made known to Nellie, who had recognised the force of them. Poor
Eustace, however, was very unhappy. He had been looking forward to the
Christmas vacation with the bright, warm glow of first love fresh at his
heart, and with all the sanguine buoyancy of youth. Things would come
right somehow. But, now that his hopes were so cruelly disappointed,
and that the meetings, all the sweeter if stolen, to which he had been
looking forward, were not to be, the poor fellow hardly knew how to
conceal his despondency. In Olive he found a ready sympathiser, but
hers was a sympathy that was all on one side. Never since the receipt
of that last letter from Roland Dorrien had the girl opened her lips on
the subject of her griefs to any living soul. It was a strange
reticence--yet one that she heroically and rigidly preserved, and now,
though she entered lovingly into poor Eustace's troubles, of her own she
breathed not one word. With such elements of despondency in their midst
it was not to be wondered at that Christmas festivities this year had
seemed to the rector's family to fall somewhat flat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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