with a mixed feeling of pleasure and sadness. They carried her right back to the last evening, when she was walking up the hill with Timmins; she remembered her anger against Mrs. Dunscombe, and her kind friend's warning not to indulge it, and all his teaching that day; and tears came with the thought, how glad she should be to hear him speak to her again. Still looking up at the beautiful quiet stars, she thought of her dear far-off mother how long it was already since she had seen her faster and faster the tears dropped and then she thought of that glorious One who had made the stars, and was above them all, and who could and did see her mother and her, though ever so far apart, and could hear and bless them both. The little face was no longer upturned it was buried in her hands, and bowed to her lap, and tears streamed as she prayed that God would bless her dear mother and take care of her. Not once nor twice the fulness of Ellen's heart could not be poured out in one asking. Greatly comforted at last, at having as it were laid over the care of her mother upon One who was able, she thought of herself, and her late resolution to serve him. She was in the same mind still. She could not call herself a Christian yet, but she was resolved to be one; and she earnestly asked the Saviour she sought, to make her and keep her his child. And then Ellen felt happy.
Quiet, and weariness, and even drowsiness, succeeded. It was well the night was still, for it had grown quite cool, and a breeze would have gone through and through Ellen's nankeen coat. As it was, she began to be chilly, when Mr. Van Brunt, who, since he got into the cart, had made no remarks except to his oxen, turned round a little and spoke to her again.
"It's only a little bit of way we've got to go now," said he; "we're turning the corner."
The words seemed to shoot through Ellen's heart. She was wide awake instantly, and quite warm; and leaning forward in her little chair, she strove to pierce the darkness on either hand of her, to see whereabouts the house stood, and how things looked. She could discern nothing but misty shadows, and outlines of she could not tell what; the starlight was too dim to reveal any thing to a stranger.
"There's the house," said Mr. Van Brunt, after a few minutes more, "do you see it yonder?"
Ellen strained her eyes, but could make out nothing not even a glimpse of white. She sat back in her chair, her heart beating violently. Presently Mr. Van Brunt jumped down and opened a gate at the side of the road; and with a great deal of "gee"-ing the oxen turned to the right, and drew the cart a little way up hill then stopped on what seemed level ground.
"Here we are!" cried Mr. Van Brunt, as he threw his whip on the ground "and late enough! You must be tired of that little arm-cheer by this time. Come to the side of the cart, and I'll lift you down."
Poor Ellen! There was no help for it. She came to the side of the cart, and, taking her in his arms, her rough charioteer set her very gently and carefully on the ground.
"There!" said he, "now you can run right in; do you see that little gate?"
"No," said Ellen, "I can't see anything."
"Well, come here," said he, "and I'll show you. Here you're running agin the fence this way!"
And he opened a little wicket, which Ellen managed to stumble through.
"Now," said he, "go straight up to that door yonder, and open it, and you'll see where to go. Don't knock, but just pull the latch and go in."
And he went off to his oxen. Ellen at first saw no door, and did not even know where to look for it; by degrees, as her head became clearer, the large dark shadow of the house stood before her, and a little glimmering line of a path seemed to lead onward from where she stood. With unsteady steps, Ellen pursued it till her foot struck against the stone before the door. Her trembling fingers found the latch lifted it and she entered. All was dark there; but at the right a window showed light glimmering within. Ellen made towards it, and, groping, came to another door-latch. This was big and clumsy; however, she managed it, and, pushing open the heavy door, went in.
It was a good-sized, cheerful-looking kitchen. A fine fire was burning in the enormous fire-place; the white walls and ceiling were yellow in the light of the flame. No candles were needed, and none were there. The supper-table was set, and, with its snow-white tablecloth and shining furniture, looked very comfortable indeed. But the only person there was an old woman, sitting by the side of the fire, with her back towards Ellen. She seemed to be knitting, but did not move nor look round. Ellen had come a step or two into the room, and there she stood, unable to speak or to go any further. "Can that be Aunt Fortune?" she thought; "she can't be as old as that!"
In another minute a door opened at her right, just behind the old woman's back, and a second figure appeared at the top of a flight of stairs which led down from the kitchen. She came in, shutting the door behind her with her foot; and indeed both hands were full, one holding a lamp and a knife, and the other a plate of butter. The sight of Ellen stopped her short.
"What is this? and what do you leave the door open for, child?" she said.
She advanced towards it, plate and lamp in hand, and setting her back against the door, shut it vigorously.
"Who are you? and what's wanting?"
"I am Ellen Montgomery, Maam," said Ellen timidly.
"What?" said the lady, with some emphasis.
"Didn't you expect me, Maam?" said Ellen. "Papa said he would write."
"Why, is this Ellen Montgomery?" said Miss Fortune, apparently forced to the conclusion that it must be.
"Yes, Maam," said Ellen.
Miss Fortune went to the table, and put the butter and the lamp in their places.
"Did you say your father wrote to tell me of your coming?"
"He said he would, Maam," said Ellen.
"He didn't! Never sent me a line. Just like him! I never yet knew Morgan Montgomery do a thing when he promised he would."
Ellen's face flushed, and her heart swelled. She stood motionless.
"How did you get down here to-night?"
"I came in Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart," said Ellen.
"Mr. Van Brunt's ox-cart! Then he's got home, has he?" And hearing this instant a noise outside, Miss Fortune swept to the door, saying, as she opened it, "Sit down, child, and take off your things."
The first command, at least, Ellen obeyed gladly; she did not feel enough at home to comply with the second. She only took off her bonnet.
"Well, Mr. Van Brunt," said Miss Fortune, at the door, "have you brought me a barrel of flour?"
"No, Miss Fortune," said the voice of Ellen's charioteer,
"I've brought you something better than that."
"Where did you find her?" said Miss Fortune, something shortly.
"Up at Forbes's."
"What have you got there?"
"A trunk. Where is it to go?"
"A trunk! It must go up stairs; but how it is ever to get there, I am sure I don't know."
"I'll find a way to get it there, I'll engage, if you'll be so good as to open the
