“It seems like a long parting, just because I am going a long way,” said she, trying to laugh. “But if we all go to the same place, and there are meadows and cows, and the same sort of life we have been accustomed to, there is little to mind in going, except Mr. Jackson, to be sure, and grandfather, and—and——” “Where is father?” asked Frank, distressed at her sobs; “surely he is not gone out just now?” Ellen ran to the door to look about for him, and saw her father leaning against the wall. “Where’s your money?” he asked. “You had need take care of money when you have got it. All the rest is moonshine, to my thinking.” “There is very bright sunshine where we are going, if they all say true,” said Ellen; “and that you will find, father, before a year is over. You may trust Frank and Mr. Jackson, I am sure; and so——” “I trust nobody. I have had enough of trusting people,” cried Castle. “All this is your doing, remember, both of you; so never cast it up to me. Go, go. ’Tis getting very late. Where’s your money, I ask you, child?” “Safe, father, sewed into my stays. But, father, what _can_ happen to us so bad as living here, as—as—we have done lately?” “Go, children, go, and leave off talking about our meeting again at the other side of the world. If I go to the bottom half-way, Ellen, it will be none the worse for you, but the better, except that Frank must go too, and you would not like that so well.” “O father——!” “Well, one kiss more; and God bless _you_, whatever becomes of me!” Ellen found her step-mother gossipping with a neighbour as if nothing was happening. Her farewell words were few. “Goodbye. If I find you an honest woman next time I see you, it’s more than I expect, from what people say of the place you are going to. Come, now, Frank, don’t be in a passion. Better take care of your sister than look so proud about her.” Frank now took care of his sister so far as to remove her while she had strength to go. “O Frank!” she cried, as he put her arm within his own, and led her rapidly on, “what can there be about me that makes them all talk as they do?” “Nothing about you, dear, but about the place. It is a dangerous place for vain, silly girls; but you need only mind your business, and think of father and mother, and what we have agreed to do for them, and you will do well enough.” “And of Mr. Jackson, and grandmother, and how she almost broke my heart last night. Look, look! do you see how yonder trees stoop and shiver in the churchyard? What a shower of leaves!” “’Tis a sudden gust. There have been many such of late.” “Just so they went when Molly Shepherd’s funeral was going under them, and grandmother bade me beware of her shame. ’Tis just like a sign to me now! And here comes Mr. Jackson too.” Mr. Jackson just stopped her to give her a little book as a remembrance, and to beg her to write to her grandfather, of whom he should inquire for her from time to time. It was now really very late.