Dr. Collins peremptorily said, "No; let the child stay where she is. Aunt Clarissa would do her more harm in a fortnight than the good she would be likely to gain by being present at such a scene."
Ellen wrote her father very affectionate, sympathizing letters, begging him to send her word when there was the least change for the worse. Every morning she walked hastily to the office, her young heart heaving with anxiety, lest she should learn that her dear little brother was dead. She had begun to pray now, and with her whole soul, she begged for a blessing on her brother,—that his sins might be forgiven, and he prepared for heaven before his last change should come.
"Oh, how I wish Aunt Collins could have had the care of him!" she exclaimed one morning, with a burst of tears, returning from the office with the intelligence that the poor boy's life was fast drawing to a close. "How can I endure to have him die so?"
"You must pray, and pray earnestly, dear cousin," replied Mary. "God is both able and willing to bless the poor boy. His Spirit can work on the heart of the dear sufferer even when, to those around him, he may appear unconscious."
"I can't help thinking that I might have been taken. If I had died before I came here, while I was so wicked, oh, it makes me shudder to think what might have become of me!"
Mary put her arm tenderly about her cousin, and murmured, softly,—
"We ought to be thankful, dear, if anything leads us to review God's dealings with us; and to call to mind his many mercies."
"Do you think, Mary, I shall ever be a Christian?" sighed Ellen, hiding her face in her cousin's shoulder.
"Yes, darling; I think you have already begun to walk the strait and narrow road. You love to pray; and I feel sure you have chosen Jesus as your Saviour."
"But you know, Mary, how many things I do that are wrong every day. I thought when I had become a Christian, that it would be so easy to do right. I have such a quick temper, too, that I speak before I think."