Wishing her
aunt should not see her swollen eyes, she was going quietly
through to her own room, when Miss Fortune called her. Ellen
stopped. Miss Fortune was sitting before the fire with an open
letter lying in her lap, and another in her hand. The latter
she held out to Ellen, saying, "Here, child, come and take
this."
"What is it?" said Ellen, slowly coming towards her.
"Don't you see what it is?" said Miss Fortune, still holding
it out.
"But who is it from?" said Ellen.
"Your mother."
"A letter from Mamma, and not to me!" said Ellen, with
changing colour. She took it quick from her aunt's hand. But
her colour changed more as her eye fell upon the first words,
"My dear Ellen," and turning the paper, she saw upon the back,
"Miss Ellen Montgomery." Her next look was to her aunt's face,
with her eye fired, and her cheek paled with anger, and when
she spoke her voice was not the same.
"This is _my_ letter," she said, trembling; "who opened it?"
Miss Fortune's conscience must have troubled her a little, for
her eye wavered uneasily. Only for a second, though.
"Who opened it?" she answered; "_I_ opened it. I should like to
know who has a better right. And I shall open every one that
comes, to serve you for looking so; — that you may depend
upon."
The look, and the words, and the injury together, fairly put
Ellen beside herself.
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