And though it was placid, too, her eye searched the
crack of the door with a keen wistfulness that went to Alice's
heart. But as the door was gently pushed open, and the eye
caught the figure that stood behind it, the sudden and entire
change of expression took away all her powers of speech.
Ellen's face became radiant; she rose from her chair, and as
Alice came silently in, and kneeling down to be near her, took
her in her arms, Ellen put both hers round Alice's neck, and
laid her face there; one was too happy and the other too
touched, to say a word.
"My poor child!" was Alice's first expression.
"No, I ain't," said Ellen, tightening the squeeze of her arms
round Alice's neck; "I am not poor at all now."
Alice presently rose, sat down in the rocking-chair, and took
Ellen in her lap; and Ellen rested her head on her bosom, as
she had been wont to do of old time on her mother's.
"I am too happy," she murmured. But she was weeping, and the
current of tears seemed to gather force as it flowed. What was
little Ellen thinking of just then? Oh, those times gone by! —
when she had sat just so; her head pillowed on another as
gentle breast; kind arms wrapped round her, just as now; the
same little, old double-gown; the same weak, helpless feeling;
the same committing herself to the strength and care of
another; — how much the same, and, oh! how much not the same!
— and Ellen knew both.
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