He went to the back-kitchen window, at which the cook was standing
peeling the potatoes for dinner, and found her crying bitterly. Ernest
was much distressed, for he liked the cook, and, of course, wanted
to know what all the matter was, who it was that had just gone off
in the pony carriage, and why? The cook told him it was Ellen, but
said that no earthly power should make it cross her lips why it was
she was going away; when, however, Ernest took her au pied de la
lettre and asked no further questions, she told him all about it after
extorting the most solemn promises of secrecy.
It took Ernest some minutes to arrive at the facts of the case,
but when he understood them he leaned against the pump, which stood
near the back-kitchen window, and mingled his tears with the cook's.
Then his blood began to boil within him. He did not see that after
all his father and mother could have done much otherwise than they
actually did. They might perhaps have been less precipitate, and tried
to keep the matter a little more quiet, but this would not have been
easy, nor would it have mended things very materially. The bitter fact
remains that if a girl does certain things she must do them at her
peril, no matter how young and pretty she is nor to what temptation
she has succumbed.
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