She checked herself instantly, and soon lay as
before, quiet and still, on her mother's bosom, with her eyes
fixed on the fire; and Mrs. Montgomery did not know that when
she now and then pressed a kiss upon the forehead that lay so
near her lips, it every time brought the water to Ellen's
eyes, and a throb to her heart. But after some half or three-
quarters of an hour had passed away, a sudden knock at the
door found both mother and daughter asleep; it had to be
repeated once or twice before the knocker could gain
attention.
"What is that, Mamma?" said Ellen, starting up.
"Somebody at the door. Open it quickly, love."
Ellen did so, and found a man standing there, with his arms
rather full of sundry packages.
"Oh, Mamma, my things!" cried Ellen, clapping her hands; "here
they are!"
The man placed his burden on the table and withdrew.
"Oh, Mamma, I am so glad they are come! Now, if I only had a
light — this is my desk, I know, for it's the largest; and I
think this is my dressing-box, as well as I can tell by
feeling — yes, it is, here's the handle on top; and this is my
dear workbox — not so big as the desk, nor so little as the
dressing-box. Oh, Mamma, mayn't I ring for a light?"
There was no need, for a servant just then entered, bringing
the wished-for candles, and the not-wished-for _tea_. Ellen was
capering about in the most fantastic style, but suddenly
stopped short at sight of the tea things, and looked very
grave.
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