Ellen remained quite still. Tears slowly trickled down her cheeks; but she did not, as was usual with her when agitated, weep violently. She seemed softened, subdued, humbled.
After some minutes had passed thus, she said, "Aunt Herbert, it seems as if I never could forget yesterday evening; and as if, so long as I remembered it, I never could be angry again. But I have so often thought I was cured, that I am afraid; do pray for me, Aunt Herbert—pray to God that I may never forget."
Mrs. Herbert was accustomed to pray with her children morning and evening, and she now knelt by Ellen's bed, and in the simple language of a child revealing its feelings to a father, poured out before God all those feelings of which Ellen's heart and hers were full. Fervently did she thank Him for having given them back, as if from the very grave, her beloved boy; for having saved the dear child beside her from the wretchedness of having taken away the life of another; and earnestly, solemnly did she pray that he would cast out from her that evil spirit, which, if it were indulged, would destroy her soul's life—would take from her that eternal life which the blessed Saviour had come into the world to reveal as the portion of all those who loved God and obeyed His commands.
Mrs. Herbert did not suffer either Ellen or Charles to rise on this day. When they met the next morning, nothing could be more touching than the humility with which Ellen entreated the forgiveness of Charles, and the generosity with which he declared that it was all his own fault, and that he never would tease her again.
CHAPTER XV.
A PLEASANT CONCLUSION.
I Fear my story has seemed hitherto sad and gloomy to my young readers; but this could not be avoided, for over the fairest scenes and happiest circumstances, one such uncontrolled temper as Ellen's will spread sorrow and gloom. This temper was no longer uncontrolled, and what has since passed of her life is in beautiful and delightful contrast with its earlier portion. I say her temper was no longer uncontrolled. Her nature was as sensitive as ever—as quick to feel joy or pain, pleasure or displeasure; but Ellen had learned to rule these feelings, and not to be ruled by them—not to speak or act as they dictated, till satisfied that the speech or the action was right.
I cannot deny myself the pleasure of relating one or two scenes, which may illustrate the effect of this change upon the happiness of Ellen's future life.
The bloom of spring and the sultriness of summer had given place to the varied foliage and cool bracing breeze of November. It was a bright but cool day, and a cheerful fire blazed in the open fireplace of Mrs. Herbert's parlor. Around it were seated all her own family, and Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, who were spending the day with her. All the ladies of the party had some employment for the fingers. Mrs. Wallace had brought her knitting, Mrs. Herbert was sewing on a shirt, and on Ellen's lap lay a half-stitched wristband, which had just been put down at the request of Charles, that she might sew a ball for him. Mr. Wallace loved children, and was very observant of them. For some minutes he had silently watched Ellen, interested by the patience with which she had listened to the manifold directions of both her cousins, and once, when her work seemed nearly completed, had taken it all out, to make some alterations which had occurred to George as desirable. As she gave Charles the ball and resumed her wristband, Mr. Wallace said, "Ellen, do you remember at what time you came here?"