When once fairly excited, Ellen's passions were always extreme. During the former peaceful and happy part of her life, the occasions of such excitement had been very rare. Of late, unhappily, they had occurred much oftener. Many were the bitter fits of tears she had known within a few weeks. But now it seemed as if all the scattered causes of sorrow that had wrought those tears were gathered together, and pressing upon her at once, and that the burden would crush her to the earth. To the earth it brought her, literally. She slid from her seat at first, and, embracing the stone on which she had sat, she leaned her head there; but presently in her agony quitting her hold of that, she cast herself down upon the moss, lying at full length upon the cold ground, which seemed, to her childish fancy the best friend she had left. But Ellen was wrought up to the last pitch of grief and passion. Tears brought no relief. Convulsive weeping only exhausted her. In the extremity of her distress and despair, and in that lonely place, out of hearing of every one, she sobbed aloud, and even screamed, for almost the first time in her life; and these fits of violence were succeeded by exhaustion, during which she ceased to shed tears, and lay quite still, drawing only long, sobbing sighs, now and then.
How long Ellen had lain there, or how long this would have gone on before her strength had been quite worn out, no one can tell. In one of these fits of forced quiet, when she lay as still as the rocks around her, she heard a voice close by say, "What is the matter, my child?"
The silver sweetness of the tone came singularly upon the tempest in Ellen's mind. She got up hastily, and, brushing away the tears from her dimmed eyes, she saw a young lady standing there, and a face, whose sweetness well matched the voice, looking upon her with grave concern. She stood motionless and silent.
"What is the matter, my dear?"
The tone found Ellen's heart, and brought the water to her eyes again, though with a difference. She covered her face with her hands. But gentle hands were placed upon hers, and drew them away; and the lady, sitting down on Ellen's stone, took her in her arms; and Ellen hid her face in the bosom of a better friend than the cold earth had been like to prove her. But the change overcame her; and the soft whisper, "Don't cry any more," made it impossible to stop crying. Nothing further was said for some time; the lady waited till Ellen grew calmer. When she saw her able to answer, she said, gently
"What does all this mean, my child? What troubles you? Tell me, and I think we can find a way to mend matters."
Ellen answered the tone of voice with a faint smile, but the words with another gush of tears.
"You are Ellen Montgomery, aren't you?"
"Yes, Maam."
"I thought so. This isn't the first time I have seen you; I have seen you once before."