"Oh! Alice," sobbed Ellen, on her neck, "aren't you mistaken?
maybe you are mistaken!"
"I am not mistaken, my dear Ellie — my own Ellie," said
Alice's clear, sweet voice; — "nor sorry, except for others. I
will talk with you more about this. You will be sorry for me
at first, and then I hope you will be glad. It is only that I
am going home a little before you. Remember what I was saying
to you a while ago. Will you tell Mr. Van Brunt I should like
to see him for a few minutes, some time when he has leisure? —
And come to me early to-morrow, love."
Ellen could hardly get home. Her blinded eyes could not see
where she was stepping; and again and again her fulness of
heart got the better of everything else, and, unmindful of the
growing twilight, she sat down on a stone by the wayside, or
flung herself on the ground, to let sorrows have full sway. In
one of these fits of bitter struggling with pain, there came
on her mind, like a sunbeam across a cloud, the thought of
Jesus weeping at the grave of Lazarus. It came with singular
power. Did He love them so well? thought Ellen, and is He
looking down upon us with the same tenderness even now? — She
felt that the sun was shining still, though the cloud might be
between; her broken heart crept to His feet, and laid its
burden there, and after a few minutes she rose up and went on
her way, keeping that thought still close to her heart.
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