Page:Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery.pdf/353

 “I—don’t—know. When the doctor came in that day I couldn’t remember anything—but now it seems to me that I remember something—just as if I’d dreamed it—of Ilse’s mother coming over the fields, singing. It was dark—and yet I could see the ace of hearts—oh, Aunty, I don’t know—I don’t like to think of it, some way.”

“We won’t talk of it again,” said Aunt Laura gently. “It is one of the things best not talked of—one of God’s secrets.”

“And Ilse—does her father love her now?” asked Emily eagerly.

“Love her! He can’t love her enough. It seems as if he were pouring out on her at once all the shut-up love of those twelve years.”

“He’ll likely spoil her now as much with indulgence as he did before with neglect,” said Elizabeth, coming in with Emily’s supper in time to hear Laura’s reply.

“It will take a lot of love to spoil Ilse,” laughed Laura. “She’s drinking it up like a thirsty sponge. And she loves him wildly in return. There isn’t a trace of grudge in her over his long neglect.”

“All the same,” said Elizabeth grimly, tucking pillows behind Emily’s back with a very gentle hand, oddly in contrast with her severe expression, “he won’t get off so easily. Ilse has run wild for twelve years. He won’t find it so easy to make her behave properly now—if he ever does.”

“Love will do wonders,” said Aunt Laura softly. “Of course, Ilse is dying to come and see you, Emily. But she must wait until there is no danger of infection. I told her she might write—but when she found I would have to read it because of your eyes she said she’d wait till you could read it yourself. Evidently”—Laura laughed again—“evidently Ilse has much of importance to tell you.”

“I didn’t know anybody could be as happy as I am