The soothing tone, her brother's name, seemed to disperse the cloud, and bursting into tears, she exclaimed—
"He will never come—I know he will never come—my sin has killed him!"
"Your sin, Ellen, what can that have to do with Edward?"
"Because," the words "it was for him" were actually on her lips; but they were checked, and, in increasing excitement, she continued—"Nothing, nothing, indeed, with him—what could it have? But if he knows it—oh, it will so grieve him; perhaps it would be better I should go before he comes—and then, then, he need not know it; if, indeed, he ever comes."
"I do not think you quite know what you are saying, my dear Ellen; your uncomfortable dream has unsettled you. Try and keep quiet for an hour, and you will be better. Remember, suffering as this dreadful suspense is, your brother is still in a Father's gracious keeping; and that He will listen to your prayers for his safety, and if it be His good pleasure, still restore him to you."
"My prayers," answered Ellen, fearfully. "Mr. Howard said, there was a barrier between Him and me, while I would not confess; I had refused His mercy."
"Can you confess before God, Ellen? Can you lay your whole heart open before Him, and ask Him in his infinite mercy, and for your Saviour's sake, to forgive you?"
"I could, and did do so," answered Ellen, returning Mrs. Hamilton's earnestly inquiring look, by raising her large, expressive eyes, steadily and fearlessly, to her face; "but Mr. Howard told me it was a mockery and sin to suppose God would hear me or forgive me while I refused to obey Him, by being silent and obdurate to you. That if I wished His forgiveness, I must prove it by telling the whole to you, whom His commandments desired me to obey, and—and—as I dared not do that, I have been afraid to pray." And the shudder with which she laid her head again upon the pillow, betrayed the misery of the fear.
"And is it impossible, quite impossible that you can confide the source of your grief and difficulty to me, Ellen? Will you not do so, even if I promise forgiveness, not merely to you, but to all who may have erred? Answer me, my sweet child; your silence is fearfully injuring your mind and body. Why do you fancy you dare not tell me?"
"Because, because I have promised!" answered Ellen, in a fearful tone of returning excitement, and, sitting upright, she clasped her hands convulsively together, while her cheek burned with painful brilliancy. "Aunt Emmeline—oh, do not, pray do not speak to me in that kind tone! be harsh and cold again, I can bear it better. If you did but know how my heart and brain ache—how they long to tell you and so rest—but I can not—I dare not—I have promised."