No sound was heard within that peaceful
home for many days and nights but the sobs and groans of the unhappy
Elinor. She mourned for the love of her youth, as one without hope. She
resisted every attempt at consolation, and refused to be comforted. When
the first frantic outbreak of sorrow had stagnated into a hopeless and
tearless gloom, which threatened the reason of the sufferer, the Squire
visited the cottage, and brought with him the merchant's letter, that
fully corroborated his former statement, and the wretched heart-broken
girl could no longer cherish the most remote probability to which hope
could cling.
Twelve months passed away. The name of Algernon was never mentioned in
her presence; and she still continued to wear the deepest mourning. A
strange apathy had succeeded her once gay flow of spirits, and she
seemed alike indifferent to herself and all the world. To the lover-like
attentions of Mark Hurdlestone she paid no regard, and appeared wholly
unconscious of his admiration. Mortified by her coldness, even his
patience was nearly exhausted; when the death of her mother, who had
been a long time in declining health, cast Elinor, friendless and
unprotected, on the world. This circumstance, hailed with unspeakable
joy by Mr. Hurdlestone, plunged the poor girl, doubly an orphan, into
despair.
A lady in the neighborhood, pitying her distress, received her into her
family, until she could adopt some plan for her future maintenance; but
all her attempts to console Elinor for her loss proved abortive.
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