A silent kiss to Ellen from each of the party, and Mr. Wallace led her out to the carriage. The next moment the sound of wheels told that they were off. Mary had stood listening for that sound. As it fell upon her ear she turned from us into an adjoining room, and her quick, heavy sobs reached us where we stood, showing that she had gone there to weep alone. We left her undisturbed for some minutes, and then Mrs. Melville went in and talked soothingly and cheeringly to her. Mary had learned early to control her feelings for the sake of others, and she soon came out with Mrs. Melville, looking and speaking calmly, though often, in the course of the evening, I saw a tear steal down her cheek without her seeming to notice it. Just before night, Mary rose and took her bonnet to return home. "Stay, Mary," said Mrs. Melville, "you are not going to leave us so soon. I will send over to let Mrs. Maclean know that you will not return to-night, and the messenger can bring any thing you may want."
And so Mary stayed that night, and the next day, and a week; and still, as she talked of going home, new reasons were found for delay. Her obliging temper and gentle manners rendered her so pleasing an inmate, that all found it painful to part with her; and at last it was arranged that she should remain at Colonel Melville's till Mr. Villars returned, continuing there to employ herself with her needle or pencil, and giving lessons in music, as she had hitherto done, to a few pupils. Leaving her to be loved and cherished by this kind family, we will follow Ellen to her new home.
CHAPTER XII.
NEW FRIENDS.
Little can be told of Ellen's journey. In ten minutes after leaving Colonel Melville's she found herself on board a steamboat, surrounded by a crowd of strangers. Unaccustomed to such scenes, she was bewildered by the confusion and bustle around her, and clung to Mr. Wallace as if he had been a friend of long years, instead of an acquaintance of a day. But so kind and good was Mr. Wallace, so thoughtful of Ellen's comfort, so considerate of her feelings, and so indulgent to her wishes, that under any circumstances he could not long have seemed a stranger to her. Ellen had travelled very little, and she soon began to feel an interest in what was passing around her. Mr. Wallace exerted himself to amuse her, pointing out to her the places they passed, or describing those through which their route lay. Thus engaged, Ellen's griefs were forgotten till she retired to her berth for the night, and then the remembrance of the sister, without whose good-night kiss she had never before slept since she could remember, came so vividly upon her, that bursting into tears, she sobbed herself to sleep. She was awakened early the next morning by the chambermaid, who came, at the request of Mr. Wallace, to assist her in dressing. From her Ellen learned that they had arrived in New York. Here Mr. Wallace remained a day and a night, that he might show Ellen something of the largest city in which she had ever been, and give her one good night's rest before they set out on the most fatiguing part of their journey. The next day they went by a steamboat to Albany, and from thence travelled on the railroad or the canal for three or four days and nights, passing through several large towns, of which Ellen saw nothing except the one street that formed part of their road. It was four o'clock in the afternoon when they entered the village of G——, situated on a small but beautiful lake. There Mr. Wallace resided, and here was the church in which he preached. He took her to his own house and introduced her to his wife, a lady with manners as kind and countenance as pleasing as his own. She placed some raspberry jam with bread and butter, both of her own making, on the table, and while Ellen partook of it, Mr. Wallace had his own little carriage prepared, and having placed her baggage in it, called to her to take her seat beside him. They were soon on the way to Mrs. Herbert's farm, which, though also on the borders of the lake, was three miles distant from G——. Ellen did not talk much on the way, for she could think of no more questions to ask about her Aunt Herbert or her cousins, and she could not talk of any thing else. It was a lovely afternoon. Though still early in May, the season was unusually forward, and the air was soft and balmy as June. As they approached Mrs. Herbert's place, the road descended to the very edge of the lake. There was not a ripple on the water, and its smooth surface glittered like gold beneath the beams of the almost setting sun. Orchards and gardens were full of bloom, and the long low farmhouse, which was so surrounded with trees that you scarce saw it till you had reached the very door, looked like the abode of peace and gentleness. Two boys who were fishing in the lake from its bank, about fifty yards from the house, were the only persons in sight. When they first saw the carriage, they stood looking steadily at it for a few minutes, as if to ascertain whose it was, then dropping their fishing rods, ran towards the house.
"There they go to give notice of our coming. Poor Charley, George has left him far behind. How hard he tries to get up with his brother! Suppose we stop and take him up," said the good-natured Mr. Wallace, at the same time checking his horse and standing up in the carriage to beckon to Charles.
The tired boy gladly obeyed the summons, having only one narrow field and a fence between him and the road.
"There, Charley," said Mr. Wallace as he helped him up the side of the carriage and placed him by Ellen, "you have been the first to see cousin Ellen, if George has carried the news of her coming to mamma."
"Oh! cousin Ellen," said Charles, "how glad I am you have come, it will make mamma so happy!"