"I'll tell you what," said Miss Fortune "if you want me to believe that all this talk means something, I'll tell you what you shall do you shall just tell Mr. Van Brunt to-morrow about it all, and how ugly you have been these two days, and let him know you were wrong and I was right. I believe he thinks you cannot do anything wrong, and I should like him to know it for once."
Ellen struggled hard with herself before she could speak; Miss
Fortune's lips began to wear a scornful smile.
"I'll tell him!" said Ellen, at length; "I'll tell him I was wrong, if you wish me to."
"I do wish it. I like people's eyes to be opened. It'll do him good, I guess, and you too. Now, have you anything more to say?"
Ellen hesitated; the colour came and went; she knew it wasn't a good time, but how could she wait?
"Aunt Fortune," she said, "you know I told you I behaved very ill about that letter won't you forgive me?"
"Forgive you? yes, child; I don't care anything about it."
"Then you will be so good as to let me have my letter again?" said Ellen, timidly.
"Oh, I can't be bothered to look for it now; I'll see about it some other time; take your candle and go to bed now, if you've nothing more to say."
Ellen took her candle and went. Some tears were wrung from her by hurt feeling and disappointment; but she had the smile of conscience, and, as she believed, of Him whose witness conscience is. She remembered that "great rock in a weary land," and she went to sleep in the shadow of it.