Morning dawned,—a blustering, November morning, the dull leaden sky adding to the gloom which surrounded the family as they gathered, at an unusually early hour, around the table for breakfast.

"You must remember your promise, Mary, to make us a long visit this winter, and we'll have a very pleasant time," said Mr. Saunders, as he uttered a few parting words and waited for the carriage. "And Frank has a standing invitation to make our house his home whenever he can leave his studies."

[CHAPTER XXIII.]

END OF TRUTH AND OF LYING.

THE parting was over, and they were fairly on their way; but Ellen could not so suddenly repress her tears, though her father's voice fell soft and lovingly on her ear. His heart was filled with pleasure at the praises of his child to which he had been listening from Dr. Collins; and, as they hurried on after the iron horse, a smile played on his lip, while she, stealthily wiping her eyes, read again and again a tiny note which Frank had crowded into her hand.

"Forgive, dear cousin, the fretfulness and peevishness I have manifested since the day we dug up the dahlia roots. I meant to have made this last fortnight of your stay in P— so pleasant that you would always have remembered it. My only excuse for my foolish conduct is a remark you made to me that night, but which, at present, I cannot repeat. I know, Ellen, you will try to do right wherever you are; and I hope you will be happy.
"FRANK."

The evening of the same day found our young friend seated at her father's table, Aunt Clarissa, primly dressed in a rich, rustling black silk, behind the urn, and her own beautiful sister Alice opposite.

Here, in the old familiar rooms, more than she had ever done, did Ellen miss her brother Joseph; but she felt that this was not the time to cherish sad reflections.

"I am in my own dear home," her heart kept repeating, "with a fond father and aunt ready to indulge every wish, however foolish, and a sister more beautiful than I ever dreamed of to be the companion of my every day life."

And yet, before Ellen retired, she felt that she would give all she had for just one glimpse of the friends she had left.