Leaves us in the Street.
The going over the boat held them a long time, for Ellen's new
friend took kind pains to explain to her whatever he thought
he could make interesting; he was amused to find how far she
pushed her inquiries into the how and the why of things. For
the time her sorrows were almost forgotten.
"What shall we do now?" said he, when they had at last gone
through the whole "would you like to go to your friends?"
"I haven't any friends on board, Sir," said Ellen, with a
swelling heart.
"Haven't any friends on board! what do you mean? Are you
alone?"
"No, Sir," said Ellen, "not exactly alone; my father put me
in the care of a lady that is going to Thirlwall; but they are
strangers and not friends."
"Are they _un_friends? I hope you don't think, Ellen, that
strangers cannot be friends too?"
"No, indeed, Sir, I don't," said Ellen, looking up with a face
that was fairly brilliant with its expression of gratitude and
love. But, casting it down again, she added, "But they are not
my friends, Sir."
"Well, then," he, said smiling, "will you come with me?"
"Oh yes, Sir! if you will let me and if I shan't be a
trouble to you, Sir."
"Come this way," said he, "and we'll see if we cannot find a
nice place to sit down, where no one will trouble us."
Such a place was found. And Ellen would have been quite
satisfied though the gentleman had done no more than merely
permit her to remain there, by his side; but he took out his
little Bible, and read and talked to her for some time so
pleasantly that neither her weariness nor the way could be
thought of.
When he ceased reading to her, and began to read to himself,
weariness and faintness stole over her. She had had nothing to
eat, and had been violently excited that day. A little while
she sat in a dreamy sort of quietude then her thoughts grew
misty and the end of it was she dropped her head against the
arm of her friend, and fell fast asleep. He smiled at first,
but one look at the very pale little face changed the
expression of his own. He gently put his arm round her, and
drew her head to a better resting-place than it had chosen.
And there she slept till the dinner-bell rang. Timmins was
sent out to look for her, but Timmins did not choose to meddle
with the grave protector Ellen seemed to have gained; and Mrs.
Dunscombe declared herself rejoiced that any other hands
should have taken the charge of her.
After dinner Ellen and her friend went up to the promenade-
deck again, and there, for a while, they paced up and down,
enjoying the pleasant air and quick motion, and the lovely
appearance of everything in the mild hazy sunlight. Another
gentleman, however, joining them, and entering into
conversation, Ellen silently quitted her friend's hand, and
went and sat down at the side of the boat. After taking a few
turns more, and while still engaged in talking, he drew his
little hymn-book out of his pocket, and, with a smile, put it
into Ellen's hand as he passed. She gladly received it, and
spent an hour or more very pleasantly, in studying and turning
it over. At the end of that time, the stranger having left
him, Ellen's friend came and sat down by her side.
"How do you like my little book?" said he.
"Oh, very much indeed, Sir."
"Then you love hymns, do you?"
"Yes, I do Sir, dearly."
"Do you sometimes learn them by heart?"
"Oh yes, Sir, often. Mamma often made me. I have learnt two
since I have been sitting here."
"Have you?" said he; "which are they?"
"One of them is the one you showed me this morning, Sir."
"And what is your mind now about the question I asked you this
morning?"
Ellen cast down her eyes from his inquiring glance, and
answered, in a low tone, "Just what it was then, Sir."
"Have you been thinking of it since?"
"I have thought of it the whole time, Sir."
"And are you resolved you will obey Christ henceforth?"
"I am resolved to try, Sir."
"My dear Ellen, if you are in earnest, you will not try in
vain. He never yet failed any that sincerely sought him. Have
you a Bible?"
"Oh yes Sir! a beautiful one; Mamma gave it to me the other
day."
He took the hymn-book from her hand, and turning over the
leaves, marked several places in pencil.
"I am going to give you this," he said, "that it may serve to
remind you of what we have talked of to-day, and of your
resolution."
Ellen flushed high with pleasure.
"I have put this mark," said he, showing her a particular one,
"in a few places of this book, for you; wherever you find it,
you may know there is something I want you to take special
notice of. There are some other marks here too, but they are
mine _these_ are for you."
"Thank you, Sir," said Ellen, delighted; "I shall not forget."
He knew from her face what she meant not the _marks_.
The day wore on, thanks to the unwearied kindness of her
friend, with great comparative comfort to Ellen. Late in the
afternoon they were resting from a long walk up and down the
deck.
"What have you got in this package that you take such care
of?" said he, smiling.
"Oh, candies," said Ellen; "I am always forgetting them. I
meant to ask you to take some. Will you have some, Sir?"
"Thank you. What are they?"
"Almost all kinds, I believe, Sir I think the almonds are
the best."
He took one.
"Pray, take some more, Sir," said Ellen "I don't care for
them in the least."
"Then I am more of a child than you in this, at any rate
for I do care for them. But I have a little headache to-day; I
mustn't meddle with sweets."
"Then take some for to-morrow, Sir please do," said Ellen,
dealing them out very freely.
"Stop, stop!" said he "not a bit more; this won't do I
must put some of these back again; you'll want them to-morrow,
too."
"I don't think I shall," said Ellen; "I haven't wanted to
touch them to-day."
"Oh, you'll feel brighter to-morrow, after a night's sleep.
But aren't you afraid of catching cold? This wind is blowing
pretty fresh, and you've been bonnetless all day what's the
reason?"
Ellen looked down, and coloured a good deal.
"What's the matter?" said he, laughing; "has any mischief
befallen your bonnet?"
"No, Sir," said Ellen, in a low tone, her colour mounting
higher and higher "it was laughed at, this morning."
"Laughed at! who laughed at it?"
"Mrs. Dunscombe, and her daughter, and her maid."
"Did they! I don't see much reason in that, I confess. What
did they think was the matter with it?"
"I don't know, Sir; they said it was outlandish, and what a
figure I looked in it!"
"Well, certainly that was not very polite. Put it on, and let
me see." Ellen obeyed.
"I am not the best judge of ladies' bonnets, it is true," said
he, "but I can see nothing about it that is not perfectly
proper and suitable nothing in the world. So that is what
has kept you bareheaded all day? Didn't your mother wish you
to wear that bonnet?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Then that ought to be enough for you. Will you be ashamed of
what she approved, because some people, that haven't probably
half her sense, choose to make merry with it? is that
right?" he said, gently. "Is that honouring her as she
deserves?"
"No, Sir," said Ellen, looking up into his face, "but I never
thought of that before I am sorry."
"Never mind being laughed at, my child. If your mother says a
thing is right, that's enough for you let them laugh."
"I won't be ashamed of my bonnet any more," said Ellen, trying
it on; "but they made me very unhappy about it, and very
angry, too."
"I am sorry for that," said her friend, gravely. "Have you
quite got over it, Ellen?"
"Oh yes, Sir long ago."
"Are you sure?"
"I am not angry now, Sir."
"Is there no unkindness left towards the people who laughed at
you?"
"I don't like them much," said Ellen "how can I?"
"You cannot, of course, _like_ the company of ill-behaved
people, and I do not wish that you should; but you can and
ought to feel just as kindly disposed towards them as if they
had never offended you just as willing and inclined to
please them or do them good. Now, could you offer Miss
what's her name? some of your candies with as hearty
goodwill as you could before she laughed at you?"
"No, Sir, I couldn't. I don't feel as if I ever wished to see
them again."
"Then, my dear Ellen, you have something to do, if you were in
earnest in the resolve you made this morning. 'If ye forgive
unto men their trespasses, my Heavenly Father will also
forgive you; but if ye forgive not men their trespasses,
neither will my Father forgive your trespasses.' "
He was silent, and so was Ellen, for some time. His words had
raised a struggle in her mind; and she kept her face turned
towards the shore, so that her bonnet shielded it from view;
but she did not in the least know what she was looking at. The
sun had been some time descending through a sky of cloudless
splendour, and now was just kissing the mountain-tops of the
western horizon. Slowly and with great majesty he sank behind
the distant blue line, till only a glittering edge appeared
and then that was gone. There were no clouds hanging over his
setting, to be gilded and purpled by the parting rays, but a
region of glory long remained, to show where his path had
been.
The eyes of both were fixed upon this beautiful scene, but
only one was thinking of it. Just as the last glimpse of the
sun had disappeared, Ellen turned her face, bright again,
towards her companion. He was intently gazing towards the
hills that had so drawn Ellen's attention a while ago, and
thinking still more intently, it was plain; so, though her
mouth had been open to speak, she turned her face away again
as suddenly as it had just sought his. He saw the motion,
however.
"What is it, Ellen?" he said.
Ellen looked again, with a smile.
"I have been thinking, Sir, of what you said to me."
"Well?" said he, smiling, in answer.
I can't _like_ Mrs. Dunscombe and Miss Dunscombe as well as if
they hadn't done so to me, but I will try to behave as if
nothing had been the matter, and be as kind and polite to them
as if they had been kind and polite to me."
"And how about the sugar-plums?"
"The sugar-plums! Oh," said Ellen, laughing, "Miss Margaret
may have them all, if she likes I'm quite willing. Not but I
had rather give them to you, Sir."
"You give me something a great deal better when I see you try
to overcome a wrong feeling. You mustn't rest till you get rid
of every bit of ill-will that you feel for this and any other
unkindness you may suffer. You cannot do it yourself, but you
know who can help you. I hope you have asked Him, Ellen?"
"I have? Sir, indeed."
"Keep asking Him, and he will do everything for you."
A silence of some length followed. Ellen began to feel very
much the fatigue of this exciting day, and sat quietly by her
friend's side leaning against him. The wind had changed about
sundown, and now blew light from the south, so that they did
not feel it all.
The light gradually faded away, till only a silver glow in the
west showed where the sun had set, and the sober gray of
twilight was gently stealing over all the bright colours of
sky, and river, and hill; now and then a twinkling light began
to appear along the shores.
You are very tired," said Ellen's friend to her "I see you
are. A little more patience, my child we shall be at our
journey's end before a very great while."
"I am almost sorry," said Ellen, "though I _am_ tired. We don't
go in the steamboat to-morrow, do we, Sir?"
"No in the stage."
"Shall _you_ be in the stage, Sir?"
"No, my child. But I am glad you and I have spent this day
together."
"Oh, Sir," said Ellen, "I don't know what I should have done
if it hadn't been for you."
There was silence again, and the gentleman almost thought his
little charge had fallen asleep, she sat so still. But she
suddenly spoke again, and in a tone of voice that showed sleep
was far away.
"I wish I knew where Mamma is now."
"I do not doubt, my child, from what you told me, that it is
well with her, wherever she is. Let that thought comfort you
whenever you remember her."
"She must want me so much," said poor Ellen, in a scarcely
audible voice.
"She has not lost her best friend, my child."
"I know it, Sir," said Ellen, with whom grief was now getting
the mastery "but oh! it's just near the time when I used to
make the tea for her who'll make it now? she'll want me
oh, what shall I do!" and, overcome completely by this
recollection, she threw herself into her friend's arms and
sobbed aloud.
There was no reasoning against this. He did not attempt it;
but with the utmost gentleness and tenderness endeavoured, as
soon as he might, to soothe and calm her. He succeeded at
last; with a sort of despairing submission, Ellen ceased her
tears, and arose to her former position. But he did not rest
from his kind endeavours till her mind was really eased and
comforted which, however, was not long before the lights of
the city began to appear in the distance. And with them
appeared a dusky figure ascending the stairs, which, upon
nearer approach, proved by the voice to be Timmins.
"Is this Miss Montgomery?" said she "I can't see, I am sure,
it's so dark. Is that you, Miss Montgomery?"
"Yes," said Ellen, "it is I; do you want me?"
"If you please, Miss, Mrs. Dunscombe wants you to come right
down; we're almost in, she says, Miss."
"I'll come directly, Miss Timmins," said Ellen. "Don't wait
for me I won't be a minute I'll come directly."
Miss Timmins retired, standing still a good deal in awe of the
grave personage whose protection Ellen seemed to have gained.
"I must go," said Ellen, standing up and extending her hand;
"good-bye, Sir."
She could hardly say it. He drew her towards him and kissed
her cheek once or twice: it was well he did; for it sent a
thrill of pleasure to Ellen's heart that she did not get over
that evening, nor all the next day.
"God bless you, my child," he said gravely, but cheerfully;
"and good-night! you will feel better, I trust, when you
have had some rest and refreshment."
He took care of her down the stairs, and saw her safe to the
very door of the saloon, and within it, and there again took
her hand, and kindly bade her good-night.
Ellen entered the saloon only to sit down and cry as if her
heart would break. She saw and heard nothing till Mrs.
Dunscombe's voice bade her make haste and be ready, for they
were going ashore in five minutes.
And in less than five minutes, ashore they went.
"Which hotel, Maam?" asked the servant who carried her
baggage "the Eagle, or Foster's?"
"The Eagle," said Mrs. Dunscombe.
"Come this way, then, Maam," said another man, the driver of
the Eagle carriage; "now, Maam, step in, if you please."
Mrs. Dunscombe put her daughter in.
"But it's full!" said she to the driver; "there isn't room for
another one!"
"Oh yes, Maam, there is," said the driver, holding the door
open "there's plenty of room for you, Maam just get in,
Maam, if you please we'll be there in less than two
minutes."
"Timmins, you'll have to walk," said Mrs. Dunscombe. "Miss
Montgomery, would you rather ride, or walk with Timmins?"
"How far is it, Maam?" said Ellen.
"Oh, bless me! how can I tell how far it is? I don't know, I
am sure not far; say, quick would you rather walk or
ride?"
"I would rather walk, Maam, if you please," said Ellen.
"Very well," said Mrs. Dunscombe, getting in; "Timmins, you
know the way."
And off went the coach with its load; but, tired as she was,
Ellen did not wish herself in it.
Picking a passage-way out of the crowd, she and Timmins now
began to make their way up one of the comparatively quiet
streets.
It was a strange place that she felt. She had lived long
enough in the place she had left, to feel at home there: but
here she came to no street or crossing that she had ever seen
before; nothing looked familiar; all reminded her that she was
a traveller. Only one pleasant thing Ellen saw on her walk,
and that was the sky; and that looked just as it did at home;
and very often Ellen's gaze was fixed upon it, much to the
astonishment of Miss Timmins, who had to be not a little
watchful for the safety of Ellen's feet while her eyes were
thus employed. She had taken a great fancy to Ellen, however,
and let her do as she pleased, keeping all her wonderment to
herself.
"Take care, Miss Ellen!" cried Timmins, giving her arm a great
pull; "I declare I just saved you out of that gutter! Poor
child! you are dreadfully tired, ain't you?"
"Yes, I am very tired, Miss Timmins," said Ellen; "have we
much farther to go?"
"Not a great deal, dear; cheer up! we are almost there. I hope
Mrs. Dunscombe will want to ride one of these days herself,
and can't."
"Oh, don't say so, Miss Timmins," said Ellen, "I don't wish
so, indeed."
"Well, I should think you would," said Timmins; "I should
think you'd be fit to poison her; _I_ should, I know, if I was
in your place."
"Oh, no," said Ellen, "that wouldn't be right that would be
very wrong."
"Wrong!" said Timmins; "why would it be wrong? she hasn't
behaved good to you."
"Yes," said Ellen; "but don't you know the Bible says, if we
do not forgive people what they do to us, we shall not be
forgiven ourselves?"
"Well, I declare," said Miss Timmins, "you beat all! But
here's the Eagle hotel at last, and I am glad for your sake,
dear."
Ellen was shown into the ladies' parlour. She was longing for
a place to rest, but she saw directly it was not to be there.
The room was large and barely furnished; and round it were
scattered part of the carriage-load of people that had arrived
a quarter of an hour before her. They were waiting till their
rooms should be ready. Ellen silently found herself a chair,
and sat down to wait with the rest, as patiently as she might.
Few of them had as much cause for impatience; but she was the
only perfectly mute and uncomplaining one there. Her two
companions, however, between them, fully made up her share of
fretting. At length a servant brought the welcome news that
their room was ready, and the three marched up stairs. It made
Ellen's heart very glad when they got there, to find a good-
sized, cheerful-looking bed-room, comfortably furnished, with
a bright fire burning, large curtains let down to the floor,
and a nice warm carpet upon it. Taking off her bonnet, and
only that, she sat down on a low cushion by the corner of the
fire-place, and leaning her head against the jamb, fell asleep
almost immediately. Mrs. Dunscombe set about arranging herself
for the tea-table.
"Well!" she said "one day of this precious journey is over!"
"Does Ellen go with us to-morrow, Mamma?"
"Oh, yes! quite to Thirlwall."
"Well, you haven't had much plague with her to-day, Mamma."
"No I am sure I am much obliged to whoever has kept her out
of my way."
"Where is she going to sleep to-night?" asked Miss Margaret.
"I don't know, I am sure I suppose I shall have to have a
cot brought in here for her."
"What a plague!" said Miss Margaret. "It will lumber up the
room so! There's no place to put it. Couldn't she sleep with
Timmins?"
"Oh, she _could_, of course just as well as not only people
would make such a fuss about it it wouldn't do; we must bear
it for once. I'll try and not be caught in such a scrape
again."
"How provoking!" said Miss Margaret "how came father to do
so, without asking you about it?"
"Oh, he was bewitched, I suppose men always are. Look here,
Margaret I can't go down to tea with a train of children at
my heels. I shall leave you and Ellen up here, and I'll send
up your tea to you."
"Oh no, Mamma!" said Margaret, eagerly "I want to go down
with you. Look here, Mamma! she's asleep, and you needn't wake
her up that's excuse enough; you can leave her to have her
tea up here, and let me go down with you."
"Well," said Mrs. Dunscombe, "I don't care but make haste to
get ready, for I expect every minute when the tea-bell will
ring."
"Timmins! Timmins!" cried Margaret, "come here and fix me
quick! and step softly, will you? or you'll wake that
young one up, and then, you see, I shall have to stay up
stairs."
This did not happen, however. Ellen's sleep was much too deep
to be easily disturbed. The tea-bell itself, loud and shrill
as it was, did not even make her eyelids tremble. After Mrs.
and Miss Dunscombe were gone down, Timmins employed herself a
little while in putting all things about the room to rights;
and then sat down to take _her_ rest, dividing her attention
between the fire and Ellen, towards whom she seemed to feel
more and more kindness, as she saw that she was likely to
receive it from no one else. Presently came a knock at the
door "The tea for the young lady," on a waiter. Miss Timmins
silently took the tray from the man, and shut the door.
"Well!" said she to herself "if that ain't a pretty supper
to send up to a child that has gone two hundred miles to-day,
and had no breakfast! a cup of tea, cold enough, I'll
warrant bread and butter enough for a bird and two little
slices of ham as thick as a wafer! Well, I just wish Mrs.
Dunscombe had to eat it herself, and nothing else! I'm not
going to wake her up for that, I know, till I see whether
something better ain't to be had for love or money. So just
you sleep on, darling, till I see what I can do for you."
In great indignation, down stairs went Miss Timmins; and at
the foot of the stairs she met a rosy-cheeked, pleasant-faced
girl coming up.
"Are you the chambermaid?" said Timmins.
"I'm _one_ of the chambermaids," said the girl, smiling;
"there's three of us in this house, dear."
"Well, I am a stranger here," said Timmins, "but I want you to
help me, and I am sure you will. I've got a dear little girl
up stairs that I want some supper for she's a sweet child,
and she's under the care of some proud folks here in the tea-
room that think it's too much trouble to look at her; and
they've sent her up about supper enough for a mouse, and she's
half-starving; she lost her breakfast this morning by their
ugliness. Now ask one of the waiters to give me something nice
for her, will you? there's a good girl."
"James!" said the girl, in a loud whisper to one of the
waiters, who was crossing the hall. He instantly stopped and
came towards them, tray in hand, and making several extra-
polite bows as he drew near.
"What's on the supper-table, James?" said the smiling damsel.
"Everything that ought to be there, Miss Johns," said the man
with another flourish.
"Come, stop your nonsense," said the girl, "and tell me quick
I'm in a hurry."
"It's a pleasure to perform your commands, Miss Johns. I'll
give you the whole bill of fare. There's a very fine
beefsteak, fricasseed chickens, stewed oysters, sliced ham,
cheese, preserved quinces, with the usual complement of bread
and toast, and muffins, and dough-nuts, and new-year-cake, and
plenty of butter likewise salt and pepper likewise tea and
coffee, and sugar likewise "
"Hush!" said the girl. "Do stop, will you?" and then
laughing and turning to Miss Timmins, she added, "What will
you have?"
"I guess I'll have some of the chickens and oysters," said
Timmins; "that will be the nicest for her and a muffin or
two."
"Now, James, do you hear?" said the chambermaid; "I want you
to get me now, right away, a nice little supper of chickens
and oysters, and a muffin it's for a lady upstairs. Be as
quick as you can."
"I should be very happy to execute impossibilities for you,
Miss Johns, but Mrs. Custers is at the table herself."
"Very well that's nothing she'll think it's for somebody
upstairs and so it is."
"Ay, but the upstairs people is Tim's business I should be
hauled over the coals directly."
"Then ask Tim, will you? How slow you are! Now, James, if you
don't, I won't speak to you again."
"Till to-morrow? I couldn't stand that. It shall be done,
Miss Johns, instantum."
Bowing and smiling, away went James, leaving the girls
giggling on the staircase, and highly gratified.
"He always does what I want him to," said the good-humoured
chambermaid, "but he generally makes a fuss about it first.
He'll be back directly with what you want."
Till he came, Miss Timmins filled up the time with telling her
new friend as much as she knew about Ellen and Ellen's
hardships; with which Miss Johns was so much interested, that
she declared she must go up and see her; and when James in a
few minutes returned with a tray of nice things, the two women
proceeded together to Mrs. Dunscombe's room. Ellen had moved
so far as to put herself on the floor with her head on the
cushion for a pillow, but she was as sound asleep as ever.
"Just see now!" said Timmins "there she lies on the floor
enough to give her her death of cold; poor child! she's tired
to death and Mrs. Dunscombe made her walk up from the
steamboat to-night, rather than do it herself; I declare I
wished the coach would break down, only for the other folks. I
am glad I have got a good supper for her, though thank you,
Miss Johns."
"And I'll tell you what, I'll go and get you some nice hot
tea," said the chambermaid, who was quite touched by the sight
of Ellen's little pale face.
"Thank you," said Timmins "you're a darling. This is as cold
as a stone."
While the chambermaid went forth on her kind errand, Timmins
stooped down by the little sleeper's side. "Miss Ellen!" she
said "Miss Ellen! wake up, dear wake up, and get some
supper come! you'll feel a great deal better for it you
shall sleep as much as you like afterwards."
Slowly Ellen raised herself, and opened her eyes. "Where am
I?" she asked looking bewildered.
"Here, dear," said Timmins "wake up and eat something it
will do you good."
With a sigh poor Ellen arose and came to the fire.
"You're tired to death, ain't you?" said Timmins.
"Not quite," said Ellen. "I shouldn't mind that, if my legs
would not ache so and my head, too."
"Now I'm sorry!" said Timmins "but your head will be better
for eating, I know. See here I've got you some nice chicken,
and oysters, and I'll make this muffin hot for you by the fire
and here comes your tea. Miss Johns, I'm your servant, and
I'll be your bridesmaid with the greatest pleasure in life.
Now, Miss Ellen, dear, just you put yourself on that low
chair, and I'll fix you off."
Ellen thanked her, and did as she was told. Timmins brought
another chair to her side, and placed the tray with her supper
upon it, and prepared her muffin and tea; and having fairly
seen Ellen begin to eat, she next took off her shoes, and
seating herself on the carpet before her, she made her lap the
resting-place for Ellen's feet, chafing them in her hands, and
heating them at the fire; saying there was nothing like
rubbing and roasting to get rid of the leg-ache. By the help
of the supper, the fire, and Timmins, Ellen mended rapidly.
With tears in her eyes, she thanked the latter for her
kindness.
"Now just don't say one word about that," said Timmins "I
never was famous for kindness, as I know; but people must be
kind sometimes in their lives unless they happen to be made
of stone, which I believe some people are. You feel better,
don't you?"
"A great deal," said Ellen. "Oh, if I only could go to bed
now!"
"And you shall," said Timmins. "I know about your bed, and
I'll go right away and have it brought in." And away she went.
While she was gone, Ellen drew from her pocket her little
hymn-book, to refresh herself with looking at it. How quickly
and freshly it brought back to her mind the friend who had
given it, and his conversations with her, and the resolve she
had made! and again Ellen's whole heart offered the prayer she
had repeated many times that day
"Open my heart, Lord, enter in;
Slay every foe, and conquer sin."
Her head was still bent upon her little book when Timmins
entered. Timmins was not alone Miss Johns and a little cot-
bedstead came in with her. The latter was put at the foot of
Mrs. Dunscombe's bed, and speedily made up by the chambermaid,
while Timmins undressed Ellen; and very soon all the sorrows
and vexations of the day were forgotten in a sound, refreshing
sleep; but not till she had removed her little hymn-book from
the pocket of her frock to a safe station under her pillow; it
was with her hand upon it that Ellen went to sleep; and it was
in her hand still when she was waked the next morning.
The next day was spent in a wearisome stage coach, over a
rough, jolting road. Ellen's companions did nothing to make
her way pleasant, but she sweetened theirs with her sugar-
plums. Somewhat mollified, perhaps, after that, Miss Margaret
condescended to enter into conversation with her, and Ellen
underwent a thorough cross-examination as to all her own and
her parents' affairs, past, present, and future; and likewise
as to all that could be known of her yesterday's friend, till
she was heartily worried, and out of patience.
It was just five o'clock when they reached her stopping-place.
Ellen knew of no particular house to go to, so Mrs. Dunscombe
set her down at the door of the principal inn of the town,
called the "Star," of Thirlwall.
The driver smacked his whip, and away went the stage again,
and she was left, standing alone, beside her trunk, before the
piazza of the inn, watching Timmins, who was looking back at
her out of the stage window, nodding and waving good-bye.