"Thou!"
One evening, it was New Year's eve, a large party was expected
at Mr. Lindsay's. Ellen was not of an age to go abroad to
parties, but at home her father and grandmother never could
bear to do without her when they had company. Generally Ellen
liked it very much; not called upon to take any active part
herself, she had leisure to observe and enjoy in quiet; and
often heard music, and often by Mr. Lindsay's side listened to
conversation in which she took great pleasure. To-night,
however, it happened that Ellen's thoughts were running on
other things; and Mrs. Lindsay's woman, who had come in to
dress her, was not at all satisfied with her grave looks, and
the little concern she seemed to take in what was going on.
"I wish, Miss Ellen, you'd please hold your head up, and look
somewhere; I don't know when I'll get your hair done if you
keep it down so."
"Oh, Mason, I think that'll do; it looks very well; you
needn't do anything more."
"I beg your pardon, Miss Ellen; but you know it's your
grandmother that must be satisfied, and she will have it just
so; there, now that's going to look lovely; but, indeed, Miss
Ellen, she won't be pleased if you carry such a soberish face
downstairs and what will the master say! Most young ladies
would be as bright as a bee at being going to see so many
people; and, indeed, it's what you should."
"I had rather see one or two persons than one or two hundred,"
said Ellen, speaking half to herself and half to Mrs. Mason.
"Well, for pity's sake, Miss Ellen, dear, if you can, don't
look as if it was a funeral! There! 't ain't much trouble to
fix you, anyhow; if you'd only care a little more about it, it
would be a blessing. Stop till I fix this lace. The master
will call you his white rosebud to-night, sure enough."
"That's nothing new," said Ellen, half-smiling.
Mason left her; and feeling the want of something to raise her
spirits, Ellen sorrowfully went to her Bible, and slowly
turning it over, looked along its pages to catch a sight of
something cheering before she went downstairs.
"_This God is our God for ever and ever: he will be our guide
even unto death_."
"Isn't that enough?" thought Ellen, as her eyes filled in
answer. "It ought to be John would say it was Oh! where is
he?"
She went on, turning leaf after leaf.
"_O Lord of hosts, blessed is the man that trusteth in thee!_"
"That is true, surely," she thought. "And I do trust in him
I am blessed, I am happy, come what may. He will let nothing
come to those that trust in him but what is good for them; if
he is my God, I have enough to make me happy I ought to be
happy I will be happy! I will trust him, and take what he
gives me, and try to leave, as John used to tell me, my
affairs in his hand."
For a minute tears flowed; then they were wiped away; and the
smile she gave Mr. Lindsay when she met him in the hall, was
not less bright than usual.
The company were gathered, but it was still early in the
evening when a gentleman came, who declined to enter the
drawing-room, and asked for Miss Lindsay.
"Miss Lindsay is engaged."
"An' what for suld ye say sae, Mr. Porterfield?" cried the
voice of the housekeeper, who was passing in the hall, "when
ye ken as weel as I do that Miss Ellen "
The butler stopped her with saying something about "my lady,"
and repeated his answer to the gentleman.
The latter wrote a word or two on a card which he drew from
his pocket, and desired him to carry it to Miss Ellen. He
carried it to Lady Keith.
"What sort of a person, Porterfield?" said Lady Keith,
crumpling the paper in her fingers; and withdrawing a little
from the company.
"Uncommon fine gentleman, my lady," Porterfield answered in a
low tone.
"A gentleman?" said Lady Keith, inquiringly.
"Certain, my lady! and as up and down spoken as if he was a
prince of the blood; he's somebody that is not accustomed to
be said 'no' to for sure."
Lady Keith hesitated. Recollecting, however, that she had just
left Ellen safe in the music-room, she made up her mind, and
desired Porterfield to show the stranger in. As he entered,
unannounced, her eyes unwillingly verified the butler's
judgment; and to the inquiry whether he might see Miss
Lindsay, she answered very politely, though with regrets, that
Miss Lindsay was engaged.
"May I be pardoned for asking," said the stranger, with the
slightest possible approach to a smile, "whether that decision
is imperative? I leave Scotland to-morrow my reasons for
wishing to see Miss Lindsay this evening are urgent."
Lady Keith could hardly believe her ears, or command her
countenance to keep company with her expressions of "sorrow
that it was impossible Miss Lindsay could not have the
pleasure that evening."
"May I beg, then, to know at what hour I may hope to see her
to-morrow?"
Hastily resolving that Ellen should on the morrow accept a
long-given invitation, Lady Keith answered that "she would not
be in town she would leave Edinburgh at an early hour."
The stranger bowed and withdrew; that was all the bystanders
saw. But Lady Keith, who had winced under an eye that she
could not help fancying read her too well, saw that in his
parting look which made her uneasy; beckoning a servant who
stood near, she ordered him to wait upon that gentleman to the
door.
The man obeyed; but the stranger did not take his cloak, and
made no motion to go.
"No, Sir! not that way," he said, sternly, as the servant laid
his hand on the lock; "show me to Miss Lindsay!"
"Miss Ellen!" said the man, doubtfully, coming back, and
thinking from the gentleman's manner that he must have
misunderstood Lady Keith; "where is Miss Ellen, Arthur?"
The person addressed threw his head back towards the door he
had just come from on the other side of the hall.
"This way, Sir, if you please; what name, Sir?"
"No name; stand back!" said the stranger as he entered.
There were a number of people gathered round a lady who was at
the piano singing. Ellen was there in the midst of them. The
gentleman advanced quietly to the edge of the group, and stood
there without being noticed; Ellen's eyes were bent on the
floor. The expression of her face touched and pleased him
greatly; it was precisely what he wished to see. Without
having the least shadow of sorrow upon it, there was in all
its lines that singular mixture of gravity and sweetness that
is never seen but where religion and discipline have done
their work well; the writing of the wisdom that looks soberly,
and the love that looks kindly, on all things. He was not sure
at first whether she were intently listening to the music, or
whether her mind was upon something far different and far
away; he thought the latter. He was right. Ellen at the moment
had escaped from the company and the noisy sounds of the
performer at her side; and while her eye was curiously tracing
out the pattern of the carpet, her mind was resting itself in
one of the verses she had been reading that same evening.
Suddenly, and as it seemed, from no connection with anything
in or out of her thoughts, there came to her mind the image of
John as she had seen him that first evening she ever saw him
at Carra-carra, when she looked up from the boiling chocolate
and espied him, standing in an attitude of waiting near the
door. Ellen at first wondered how that thought should have
come into her head just then; the next moment, from a sudden
impulse, she raised her eyes to search for the cause, and saw
John's smile.
It would not be easy to describe the change in Ellen's face.
Lightning makes as quick and as brilliant an illumination, but
lightning does not stay. With a spring she reached him, and
seizing both his hands, drew him out of the door near which
they were standing; and as soon as they were hidden from view,
threw herself into his arms in an agony of joy. Before,
however, either of them could say a word, she had caught his
hand again, and led him back along the hall to the private
staircase; she mounted it rapidly to _her room_, and there again
she threw herself into his arms, exclaiming, "O John! my dear
John! my dear brother!"
But neither smiles nor words would do for the overcharged
heart. The tide of joy ran too strong, and too much swelled
from the open sources of love and memory, to keep any bounds.
And it kept none. Ellen sat down, and bowing her head on the
arm of the sofa, wept with all the vehement passion of her
childhood, quivering from head to foot with convulsive sobs.
John might guess, from the outpouring now, how much her heart
had been secretly gathering for months past. For a little
while he walked up and down the room; but this excessive
agitation he was not willing should continue. He said nothing;
sitting down beside Ellen on the sofa, he quietly possessed
himself of one of her hands, and when in her excitement the
hand struggled to get away again, it was not permitted. Ellen
understood that very well, and immediately checked herself.
Better than words, the calm firm grasp of his hand quieted
her. Her sobbing stilled; she turned from the arm of the sofa,
and leaning her head upon him, took his hand in both hers and
pressed it to her lips, as if she were half beside herself.
But that was not permitted to last either, for his hand
quickly imprisoned hers again. There was silence still. Ellen
could not look up yet, and neither seemed very forward to
speak: she sat gradually quieting down into fulness of
happiness.
"I thought you never would come, John," at length Ellen half
whispered, half said.
"And I cannot stay now. I must leave you to-morrow, Ellen."
Ellen started up, and looked up now.
"Leave me! For how long? Where are you going?"
"Home."
"To America!" Ellen's heart died within her. Was _this_ the end
of all her hopes? did her confidence end _here?_ She shed no
tears now. He could see that she grew absolutely still from
intense feeling.
"What's the matter, Ellie?" said the low gentle tones she so
well remembered; "I am leaving you but for a time. I _must_ go
home now, but if I live you will see me again."
"Oh, I wish I was going with you!" Ellen exclaimed, bursting
into tears.
"My dear Ellie!" said her brother, in an altered voice,
drawing her again to his arms; "you cannot wish it more than
I!"
"I never thought you would leave me here, John."
"Neither would I, if I could help it; neither will I a minute
longer than I can help; but we must both wait, my own Ellie.
Do not cry so, for my sake!"
"Wait? till when?" said Ellen, not a little reassured.
"I have no power now to remove you from your legal guardians,
and you have no right to choose for yourself."
"And when shall I?"
"In a few years."
"A few years! But in the mean time, John, what shall I do
without you? If I could see you once in a while but there is
no one here not a single one to help me to keep right; no
one talks to me as you used to; and I am all the while afraid
I shall go wrong in something; what shall I do?"
"What the weak must always do, Ellie; seek for strength where
it may be had."
"And so I do, John," said Ellen, weeping; "but I want you; oh,
how much!"
"Are you not happy here?"
"Yes, I am happy; at least I thought I was half an hour ago
as happy as I can be. I have everything to make me happy,
except what would do it."
"We must both have recourse to our old remedy against sorrow
and loneliness; you have not forgotten the use of it, Ellie?"
"No, John," said Ellen, meeting his eyes with a tearful smile.
"They love you here, do they not?"
"Very much too much."
"And you love them?"
"Yes."
"That's a doubtful 'yes.' "
"I do love my father very much; and my grandmother too,
though not so much. I cannot help loving them;they love me so.
But they are so unlike you!"
"That is not much to the purpose, after all," said John,
smiling. "These are varieties of excellence in the world."
"Oh yes, but that isn't what I mean; it isn't a variety of
excellence. They make me do everything that they have a mind
I don't mean," she added, smiling, "that _that_ is not like you
but you always had a reason; they are different. My father
makes me drink wine every now and then I don't like to do
it, and he knows I do not, and I think that is the reason I
have to do it."
"That's not a matter of great importance, Ellie, provided they
do not make you do something wrong."
"They could not do that, I hope: and there is another thing
they cannot make me do."
"What is that?"
"Stay here when you will take me away."
There was a few minutes' thoughtful pause on both sides.
"You are grown, Ellie," said John; "you are not the child I
left you."
"I don't know," said Ellen smiling; "it seems to me I am just
the same."
"Let me see look at me."
She raised her face, and, amidst smiles and tears, its look
was not less clear and frank than his was penetrating. "Just
the same," was the verdict of her brother's eyes a moment
afterwards. Ellen's smile grew bright as she read it there.
"Why have you never come or written before, John?"
"I did not know where you were. I have not been in England for
many months till quite lately, and I could not get your
address. I think my father was without it for a long time, and
when at last he sent it to me, the letter miscarried never
reached me there were delays upon delays."
"And when did you get it?"
"I preferred coming to writing."
"And now you must go home so soon!"
"I must, Ellie. My business has lingered on a great while, and
it is quite time I should return. I expect to sail next week.
Mrs. Gillespie is going with me; her husband stays behind till
spring."
Ellen signed.
"I made a friend of a friend of yours whom I met in
Switzerland last summer M. Muller."
"M. Muller! did you! Oh, I am very glad! I am very glad you
know him he is the best friend I have got here, after my
father. I don't know what I should have done without him."
"I have heard him talk of you," said John, smiling.
"He has just come back; he was to be here this evening."
There was a pause again.
"It does not seem right to go home without you, Ellie," said
her brother, then. "I think you belong to me more than to
anybody."
"That is exactly what I think!" said Ellen, with one of her
bright looks, and then bursting into tears; "I am very glad
you think so too! I will always do whatever you tell me just
as I used to no matter what anybody else says."
"Perhaps I shall try you in two or three things, Ellie."
"Will you! in what? Oh, it would make me so happy so much
happier if I could be doing something to please you. I wish
I was at home with you again!"
"I will bring that about, Ellie, by-and-by, if you make your
words good."
"I shall be happy then," said Ellen, her old confidence
standing stronger than ever, "because I know you will if you
say so; though how you will manage I cannot conceive. My
father, and grandmother, and aunt cannot bear to hear me speak
of America; I believe they would be glad if there wasn't such
a place in the world. They would not even let me think of it
if they could help it; I never dare mention your name, or say
a word about old times. They are afraid of my loving anybody,
I believe. They want to have me all to themselves."
"What will they say to you then, Ellen, if you leave them to
give yourself to me?"
"I cannot help it," replied Ellen; "they must say what they
please;" and with abundance of energy, and not a few tears,
she went on: "I love them, but I have given myself to you a
great while ago; long before I was his daughter, you called me
your little sister I can't unto that, John, and I don't want
to it doesn't make a bit of difference that we were not born
so!"
John suddenly rose, and began to walk up and down the room.
Ellen soon came to his side, and leaning upon his arm as she
had been used to do in past times, walked up and down with
him, at first silently.
"What is it you wanted me to do, John?" she said, gently, at
length; "you said 'two or three things.' "
"One is that you keep up a regular and full correspondence
with me."
"I am very glad that you will let me do that," said Ellen;
"that is exactly what I should like, but "
"What?"
"I am afraid they will not let me."
"I will arrange that."
"Very well," said Ellen, joyously, "then it will do. Oh, it
would make me so happy! And you will write to me?"
"Certainly."
"And I will tell you everything about myself; and you will
tell me how I ought to do in all sorts of things? that will be
next best to being with you. And then you will keep me right."
"I won't promise you that, Ellie," said John, smiling; "you
must learn to keep yourself right."
"I know you will, though, however you may smile. What next?"
"Read no novels."
"I never do, John. I knew you did not like it, and I have
taken good care to keep out of the way of them. If I had told
anybody why, though, they would have made me read a dozen."
"Why, Ellie!" said her brother, "you must need some care to
keep a straight line where your course lies now."
"Indeed I do, John," said Ellen, her eyes filling with tears;
"Oh, how I have felt that sometimes! And then, how I wanted
you!"
Her hand was fondly taken in his, as many a time it had been
of old, and for a long time they paced up and down, the
conversation running sometimes in the strain that both loved,
and Ellen now never heard; sometimes on other matters; such a
conversation as those she had lived upon in former days, and
now drank in with a delight and eagerness inexpressible. Mr.
Lindsay would have been in dismay to have seen her uplifted
face, which, though tears were many a time there, was
sparkling and glowing with life and joy in a manner he had
never known it. She almost forgot what the morrow would bring,
in the exquisite pleasure of the instant, and hung upon every
word and look of her brother, as if her life were there.
"And in a few weeks," said Ellen at length, "you will be in
our old dear sitting-room again, and riding on the Black
Prince! and I shall be here! and it will be "
"It will be empty without you, Ellie; but we have a Friend
that is sufficient; let us love him and be patient."
"It is very hard to be patient," murmured Ellen. "But, dear
John, there was something else you wanted me to do, what is
it? You said 'two or three' things."
"I will leave that to another time."
"But why? I will do it, whatever it be pray tell me."
"No," said he, smiling, "not now; you shall know by-and-by
the time is not yet. Have you heard of your old friend Mr. Van
Brunt?"
"No what of him?"
"He has come out before the world as a Christian man."
"Has he?"
John took a letter from his pocket and opened it.
"You may see what my father says of him, and what he says of
you, too, Ellie; he has missed you much."
"Oh, I was afraid he would," said Ellen; "I was sure he did!"
She took the letter, but she could not see the words. John
told her she might keep it to read at her leisure.
"And how are they all at Ventnor? and how is Mrs. Vawse? and
Margery?"
"All well. Mrs. Vawse spends about half her time at my
father's."
"I am very glad of that."
"Mrs. Marshman wrote me to bring you back with me if I could,
and said she had a home for you always at Ventnor."
"How kind she is," said Ellen; "how many friends I find
everywhere. It seems to me, John, that everybody almost loves
me."
"That _is_ a singular circumstance! However, I am no exception
to the rule, Ellie."
"Oh, I know that!" said Ellen, laughing. "And Mr. George?"
"Mr. George is well."
"How much I love him!" said Ellen. "How much I would give to
see him. I wish you could tell me about poor Captain and the
Brownie, but I don't suppose you have heard of them. Oh, when
I think of it all at home, how I want to be there! Oh, John!
sometimes lately I have almost thought I should only see you
again in heaven."
"My dear Ellie! I shall see you there, I trust; but if we live
we shall spend our lives here together first. And while we are
parted, we will keep as near as possible by praying for and
writing to each other. And what God orders, let us quietly
submit to."
Ellen had much ado to command herself at the tone of these
words and John's manner, as he clasped her in his arms and
kissed her brow and lips. She strove to keep back a show of
feeling that would distress and might displease him. But the
next moment her fluttering spirits were stilled by hearing the
few soft words of a prayer that he breathed over her head. It
was a prayer for her and for himself, and one of its petitions
was, that they might be kept to see each other again. Ellen
wrote the words on her heart.
"Are you going?"
He showed his watch.
"Well, I shall see you to-morrow."
"Shall you be here?"
"Certainly, where else should I be? What time must you set
out?"
"I need not till afternoon, but how early can I see you?"
"As early as you please. Oh, spend all the time with me you
can, John!"
So it was arranged.
"And now, Ellie, you must go downstairs and present me to Mr.
Lindsay."
"To my father!"
For a moment Ellen's face was a compound of expressions. She
instantly acquiesced, however, and went down with her brother,
her heart, it must be confessed, going very pit-a-pat indeed.
She took him into the library, which was not this evening
thrown open to company; and sent a servant for Mr. Lindsay.
While waiting for his coming, Ellen felt as if she had not the
fair use of her senses. Was that John Humphreys quietly
walking up and down the library! Mr. Lindsay's library! and
was she about to introduce her brother to the person who had
forbidden her to mention his name? There was something,
however, in Mr. John's figure and air, in his utter coolness,
that insensibly restored her spirits. Triumphant confidence in
him overcame the fear of Mr. Lindsay; and when he appeared,
Ellen, with tolerable composure, met him, her hand upon John's
arm, and said, "Father, this is Mr. Humphreys," _my brother_
she dared not add.
"I hope Mr. Lindsay will pardon my giving him this trouble,"
said the latter; "we have one thing in common which should
forbid our being strangers to each other. I, at least, was
unwilling to leave Scotland without making myself known to Mr.
Lindsay."
Mr. Lindsay most devoutly wished the "thing in common" had
been anything else. He bowed, and was "happy to have the
pleasure," but evidently neither pleased nor happy. Ellen
could see that.
"May I take up five minutes of Mr. Lindsay's time to explain,
perhaps to apologize," said John, slightly smiling, "for what
I have said?"
A little ashamed, it might be, to have his feeling suspected,
Mr. Lindsay instantly granted the request, and politely
invited his unwelcome guest to be seated. Obeying a glance
from her brother which she understood, Ellen withdrew to the
further side of the room, where she could not hear what they
said. John took up the history of Ellen's acquaintness with
his family, and briefly gave it to Mr. Lindsay, scarce
touching on the benefits by them conferred on her, and
skilfully dwelling rather on Ellen herself, and setting forth
what she had been to them. Mr. Lindsay could not be
unconscious of what his visitor delicately omitted to hint at,
neither could he help making secretly to himself some most
unwilling admissions; and though he might wish the speaker at
the antipodes, and doubtless did, yet the sketch was too
happily given, and his fondness for Ellen too great, for him
not to be delightedly interested in what was said of her. And
however strong might have been his desire to dismiss his guest
in a very summary manner, or to treat him with haughty
reserve, the graceful dignity of Mr. Humphreys' manners made
either expedient impossible. Mr. Lindsay felt constrained to
meet him on his own ground the ground of high-bred
frankness, and grew secretly still more afraid that his real
feelings should be discerned.
Ellen, from afar, where she could not hear the words, watched
the countenances with great anxiety, and great admiration. She
could see that while her brother spoke with his usual perfect
ease, Mr. Lindsay was embarrassed. She half-read the truth.
She saw the entire politeness where she also saw the secret
discomposure, and she felt that the politeness was forced from
him. As the conversation went on, however, she wonderingly saw
that the cloud on his brow lessened she saw him even smile;
and when at last they rose, and she drew near, she almost
thought her ears were playing her false, when she heard Mr.
Lindsay beg her brother to go in with him to the company, and
be presented to Mrs. Lindsay. After a moment's hesitation this
invitation was accepted, and they went together into the
drawing-room.
Ellen felt as if she was in a dream. With a face as grave as
usual, but with an inward exultation and rejoicing in her
brother, impossible to describe, she saw him going about among
the company, talking to her grandmother; yes, and her
grandmother did not look less pleasant than usual, recognising
M. Muller, and in conversation with other people whom he knew.
With indescribable glee, Ellen saw that Mr. Lindsay managed
most of the time to be of the same group. Never more than that
night did she triumphantly think that Mr. John could do
anything. He finished the evening there. Ellen took care not
to seem too much occupied with him; but she contrived to be
near when he was talking with M. Muller, and to hang upon her
father's arm when he was in Mr. John's neighbourhood. And when
the latter had taken leave, and was in the hall, Ellen was
there before he could be gone. And there came Mr. Lindsay too,
behind her.
"You will come early to-morrow morning, John?"
"Come to breakfast, Mr. Humphreys, will you?" said Mr.
Lindsay, with sufficient cordiality.
But Mr. Humphreys declined his invitation, in spite of the
timid touch of Ellen's fingers upon his arm, which begged for
a different answer.
"I will be with you early, Ellie," he said, however.
"And oh! John," said Ellen, suddenly, "order a horse, and let
us have one ride together; let me show you Edinburgh."
"By all means," said Mr. Lindsay, "let us show you Edinburgh;
but order no horses, Mr. Humphreys, for mine are at your
service."
Ellen's other hand was gratefully laid upon her father's arm
as this second proposal was made and accepted.
"Let us show you Edinburgh," said Ellen to herself, as she and
Mr. Lindsay slowly and gravely went back through the hall. "So
there is an end of my fine morning! But, however, how foolish
I am! John has his own ways of doing things he can make it
pleasant in spite of everything."
She went to bed, not to sleep indeed, for a long time, but to
cry for joy, and all sorts of feelings at once.
Good came out of evil, as it often does, and as Ellen's heart
presaged it would when she arose the next morning. The ride
was preceded by half an hour's chat between Mr. John, Mr.
Lindsay, and her grandmother; in which the delight of the
evening before was renewed and confirmed. Ellen was obliged to
look down to hide the too bright satisfaction she felt was
shining in her face. She took no part in the conversation; it
was enough to hear. She sat with charmed ears, seeing her
brother overturning all her father's and grandmother's
prejudices, and making his own way to their respect at least,
in spite of themselves. Her marvelling still almost kept even
pace with her joy. "I knew he would do what he pleased," she
said to herself; "I knew they could not help that; but I did
not dream he would ever make them like him, that I never
dreamed!"
On the ride, again, Ellen could not wish that her father were
not with them. She wished for nothing; it was all a maze of
pleasure, which there was nothing to mar but the sense that
she would, by-and-by, wake up and find it was a dream. And no
not that either. It was a solid good and blessing, which,
though it must come to an end, she should never lose. For the
present there was hardly anything to be thought of but
enjoyment. She shrewdly guessed that Mr. Lindsay would have
enjoyed it too, but for herself; there was a little constraint
about him still, she could see. There was none about Mr. John;
in the delight of his words, and looks, and presence, Ellen
half the time forgot Mr. Lindsay entirely; she had enough of
them; she did not for one moment wish Mr. Lindsay had less.
At last the long, beautiful ride came to an end; and the rest
of the morning soon sped away, though, as Ellen had expected,
she was not permitted to spend any part of it alone with her
brother. Mr. Lindsay asked him to dinner, but this was
declined.
Not till long after he was gone did Ellen read Mr. Humphreys'
letter. One bit of it may be given:
"Mr. Van Brunt has lately joined our little church. This has
given me great pleasure. He had been a regular attendant for a
long time before. He ascribes much to your instrumentality;
but says his first thoughts (earnest ones) on the subject of
religion, were on the occasion of a tear that fell from
Ellen's eyes upon his hand one day when she was talking to him
about the matter. He never got over the impression. In his own
words, 'it scared him!' That was a dear child! I did not
know how dear till I had lost her. I did not know how severely
I should feel her absence; nor had I the least notion when she
was with us of many things respecting her that I have learnt
since. I half hoped we should yet have her back, but that will
not be. I shall be glad to see you, my son."
The correspondence with John was begun immediately, and was
the delight of Ellen's life. Mrs. Lindsay and her daughter
wished to put a stop to it; but Mr. Lindsay dryly said that
Mr. Humphreys had frankly spoken of it before him, and as he
made no objection then, he could not now.
Ellen puzzled herself a little to think what could be the
third thing John wanted of her; but, whatever it were, she was
very sure she would do it!
For the gratification of those who are never satisfied, one
word shall be added, to wit, that
The seed so early sown in little Ellen's mind, and so
carefully tended by sundry hands, grew in course of time to
all the fair structure and comely perfection it had bid fair
to reach: storms and winds that had visited it, did but cause
the root to take deeper hold; and at the point of its young
maturity it happily fell again into those hands that had of
all been most successful in its culture. In other words, to
speak intelligibly, Ellen did in no wise disappoint her
brother's wishes, nor he hers. Three or four more years of
Scottish discipline wrought her no ill; they did but serve to
temper and beautify her Christian character; and then, to her
unspeakable joy, she went back to spend her life with the
friends and guardians she best loved, and to be to them, still
more than she had been to her Scottish relations, the "light
of the eyes."
THE END.
PRINTED BY BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.
Typrographical errors :
chapter 7 : =look out nearly= silently corrected as =look out
near by=
chapter 7 : =That is true= silently corrected as ="That is true=
chapter 7 : =I suppose, said her friend= silently corrected as =I
suppose," said her friend=
chapter 7 : =great many things= silently corrected as ='great
many things=
chapter 9 : =sweeping of= silently corrected as =sweeping off=
chapter 9 : =but whether it would= silently corrected as ="but
whether it would=
chapter 12 : =little brick wall= silently corrected as =little
brick walk=
chapter 13 : =Just look, said Ellen= silently corrected as =Just
look," said Ellen=
chapter 16 : =Humprey's desire= silently corrected as =Humphreys'
desire=
chapter 17 : =you'd forgot= silently corrected as =you'd forget=
chapter 17 : =than to receive."= silently corrected as =than to
receive.' "=
chapter 18 : =well behaved-cow= silently corrected as =well-
behaved cow=
chapter 18 : =when you yet to= silently corrected as =when you
get to=
chapter 20 : =shouldn't wan't= silently corrected as =shouldn't
want=
chapter 22 : =that's seven= silently corrected as
=that's seven"=
chapter 23 : =my calling to fulfil '= silently corrected as
=my calling to fulfil ' "=
chapter 27 : =cried little Ellen Chauncey?= silently corrected
as =cried little Ellen Chauncey;=
Chapter 28 : =we are going to make presents= silently corrected
as ="we are going to make presents=
Chapter 28 : =I guess I didn't!"= silently corrected as =I guess
I didn't!=
Chapter 34 : =believed this lately.= silently corrected as
=believed this lately?=
Chapter 34 : =came to him= silently corrected as =came to him.=
Chapter 35 : =have the Bible Nancy= silently corrected as =have
the Bible, Nancy=
Chapter 35 : =however; that was no matter= silently corrected as
=however, that was no matter=
Chapter 37 : =her pony's neck!= silently corrected as =her pony's
neck,=
Chapter 37 : =merino at St. Claire= silently corrected as =merino
at St. Clair=
Chapter 37 : ='he'll be along= silently corrected as ="he'll be
along=
Chapter 39 : =was runnig over= silently corrected as =was running
over=
Chapter 39 : =that receiveth it.= silently corrected as =that
receiveth it.'=
Chapter 39 : =make think look= silently corrected as =make things
look=
Chapter 43 : =truth and grace.'= silently corrected as =truth and
grace."=
Chapter 45 : =de moi-même!"= silently corrected as =de moi-même!'
"=
Chapter 48 : =châlet= silently corrected as =chalet=
Chapter 49 : =rémarquablement= silently corrected as
=remarquablement=
Chapter 49 : =récommencé= silently corrected as =recommencé=