"I will not, I will not, if I can help it," said Ellen.
"You can help it; but there is only one way. Now, Ellen, dear, I have three pieces of news for you, that I think you will like. One concerns you, another myself, and the third concerns both you and myself. Which will you have first?"
"Three pieces of good news!" said Ellen, with opening eyes; "I think I'll have my part first."
Directing Ellen's eyes to her pocket, Alice slowly made the corner of the letter show itself. Ellen's colour came and went quick as it was drawn forth; but when it was fairly out, and she knew it again, she flung herself upon it with a desperate eagerness Alice had not looked for; she was startled at the half-frantic way in which the child clasped and kissed it, weeping bitterly at the same time. Her transport was almost hysterical. She had opened the letter, but she was not able to read a word; and quitting Alice's arms, she threw herself upon the bed, sobbing in a mixture of joy and sorrow that seemed to take away her reason. Alice looked on surprised a moment, but only a moment, and turned away.
When Ellen was able to begin her letter, the reading of it served to throw her back into fresh fits of tears. Many a word of Mrs. Montgomery's went so to her little daughter's heart, that its very inmost cords of love and tenderness were wrung. It is true, the letter was short and very simple; but it came from her mother's heart; it was written by her mother's hand; and the very old remembered hand-writing had mighty power to move her. She was so wrapped up in her own feelings, that through it all she never noticed that Alice was not near her, that Alice did not speak to comfort her. When the letter had been read time after time, and wept over again and again, and Ellen at last was folding it up for the present, she bethought herself of her friend, and turned to look after her. Alice was sitting by the window, her face hid in her hands; and as Ellen drew near, she was surprised to see that her tears were flowing, and her breast heaving. Ellen came quite close, and softly laid her hand on Alice's shoulder. But it drew no attention.
"Miss Alice," said Ellen, almost fearfully, "dear Miss Alice" and her own eyes filled fast again "what is the matter? won't you tell me? Oh! don't do so! please don't!"
"I will not," said Alice, lifting her head; "I am sorry I have troubled you, dear; I am sorry, I could not help it."
She kissed Ellen, who stood anxious and sorrowful by her side, and brushed away her tears. But Ellen saw she had been shedding a great many.
"What is the matter, dear Miss Alice? what has happened to trouble you? won't you tell me?" Ellen was almost crying herself.
Alice came back to the rocking-chair, and took Ellen in her arms again; but she did not answer her. Leaning her face against Ellen's forehead, she remained silent. Ellen ventured to ask no more questions; but lifting her hand once or twice caressingly to Alice's face, she was distressed to find her cheek wet still. Alice spoke at last.