It was the middle of a
fine afternoon, and Alice and her father had gone in the
sleigh to Carra-carra. Ellen had chosen to stay behind, but
Margery did not know this, and of course did not tell John.
After paying a visit to her in the kitchen, he had come back
to the empty sitting-room, and was thoughtfully walking up and
down the floor, when the door of Alice's room slowly opened,
and Ellen appeared. It was never her way, when she could help
it, to show violent feeling before other people; so she had
been trying to steel herself to meet John without crying, and
now came in with her little grave face, prepared not to give
way. His first look had like to overset it all.
"Ellie!" said he; "I thought everybody was gone. My dear
Ellie!"
Ellen could hardly stand the tone of these three words, and
she bore with the greatest difficulty the kiss that followed
them; it took but a word or two more, and a glance at the old
look and smile, to break down entirely all her guard.
According to her usual fashion, she was rushing away; but John
held her fast, and, though gently, drew her close to him.
"I will not let you forget that I am your brother, Ellie,"
said he.
Ellen hid her face on his shoulder, and cried as if she had
never cried before.
"Ellie," said he after a while, speaking low and tenderly,
"the Bible says, 'We have known and believed the love that God
hath towards us;' — have you remembered and believed this
lately?"
Ellen did not answer.
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