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Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
32
Miss
Jessie
had
been
feeling
this
all
during
the
silence,
I
think;
for
the
tears
rolled
down
her
cheeks
like
rain,
at
these
words,
and
she
could
not
answer
at
first.
Then
she
put
her
hands
together
tight,
and
lifted
them
up,
and
said—
but
not
to
us—
“Though
He
slay
me,
yet
will
I
trust
in
Him.”
In
a
few
moments
more
Miss
Brown
lay
calm
and
still—
never
to
sorrow
or
murmur
more.
After
this
second
funeral,
Miss
Jenkyns
insisted
that
Miss
Jessie
should
come
to
stay
with
her
rather
than
go
back
to
the
desolate
house,
which,
in
fact,
we
learned
from
Miss
Jessie,
must
now
be
given
up,
as
she
had
not
wherewithal
to
maintain
it.
She
had
something
above
twenty
pounds
a
year,
besides
the
interest
of
the
money
for
which
the
furniture
would
sell;
but
she
could
not
live
upon
that:
and
so
we
talked
over
her
qualifications
for
earning
money.
“I
can
sew
neatly,”
said
she,
“and
I
like
nursing.
I
think,
too,
I
could
manage
a
house,
if
any
one
would
try
me
as
housekeeper;
or
I
would
go
into
a
shop
as
saleswoman,
if
they
would
have
patience
with
me
at
first.”
Miss
Jenkyns
declared,
in
an
angry
voice,
that
she
should
do
no
such
thing;
and
talked
to
herself
about
“some
people
having
no
idea
of
their
rank
as
a
captain’s
daughter,”
nearly
an
hour
afterwards,
when
she
brought
Miss
Jessie
up
a
basin
of
delicately-made
arrowroot,
and
stood
over
her
like
a
dragoon
until
the
last
spoonful
was
finished:
then
she
disappeared.
Miss
Jessie
began
to
tell
me
some
more
of
the
plans
which
had
suggested
themselves
to
her,
and
insensibly
fell
into
talking
of
the
days
that
were
past
and
gone,
and
interested
me
so
much
I
neither
knew
nor
heeded
how
time
passed.
We
were
both
startled
when
Miss
Jenkyns
reappeared,
and
caught
us
crying.
I
was
afraid
lest
she
would
be
displeased,
as
she
often
said
that
crying
hindered
digestion,
and
I
knew
she
wanted
Miss
Jessie
to
get
strong;
but,
instead,
she
looked
queer
and
excited,
and
fidgeted
round
us
without
saying
anything.
At
last
she
spoke.
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