The passions, which were apt
enough to rise in Ellen's mind upon occasions, were, for the
present, kept effectually in check. She could not forget that
her days with her mother would very soon be at an end, for a
long time at least; and this consciousness, always present to
her mind, forbade even the wish to do anything that might
grieve or disturb her. Love and tenderness had absolute rule
for the time, and even had power to overcome the sorrowful
thoughts that would often rise; so that in spite of them peace
reigned. And perhaps both mother and daughter enjoyed this
interval the more keenly because they knew that sorrow was at
hand.
All this while there was scarcely a day that the old
gentleman's servant did not knock at their door, bearing a
present of game. The second time he came with some fine larks;
next was a superb grouse; then woodcock again. Curiosity
strove with astonishment and gratitude in Ellen's mind.
"Mamma," she said, after she had admired the grouse for five
minutes, "I cannot rest without finding out who this old
gentleman is."
"I am sorry for that," replied Mrs. Montgomery, gravely, "for
I see no possible way of your doing it."
"Why, Mamma, couldn't I ask the man that brings the birds what
his name is? He must know it."
"Certainly not; it would be very dishonourable."
"Would it, Mamma? — why?"
"This old gentleman has not chosen to tell you his name; he
wrote his note without signing it, and his man has obviously
been instructed not to disclose it.
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