Presently, Anne came and stood by her side in silence.
'Anne,' said Elizabeth, after a few minutes, 'I will tell you what I
have been thinking of. On the day when Horace laid the first stone
of this church, two years ago, something put me, I am sorry to say,
into one of my old fits of ill temper. It was the last violent
passion I ever was in; I either learnt to control them, or outgrew
them. And now, may this affair at the Consecration be the last of my
self-will and self-conceit; for indeed there is much that is
fearfully wrong in me to be corrected, before I can dare to think of
the Confirmation.'
Perhaps we cannot take leave of Elizabeth Woodbourne at a better
moment, therefore we will say no more of her, or of the other
inhabitants of the Vicarage, but make a sudden transition to the
conversation, which Anne had hoped to enjoy on the journey back to
Merton Hall.
She had told her father of nearly all her adventures, had given
Fido's history more fully, informed Rupert of all that he had missed,
and was proceeding with an account of Helen. 'Really,' said she, 'I
have much more hope of her being happy at home, than I had at first.
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