"It is not necessary, my dear child," said Mrs. Montgomery, returning the pressure of her hand; "I know all that you would say."
There was as much sorrow as joy at that moment in the heart of the joyfullest of the two.
"Where are we going now, Mamma?" said Ellen again, after a while.
"I wished and intended to have gone to St. Clair and Fleury's, to get you some merino and other things, but we have been detained so long already that I think I had better go home. I feel somewhat tired."
"I am very sorry, dear Mamma," said Ellen; "I am afraid I kept you too long about that desk."
"You did not keep me, daughter, any longer than I chose to be kept. But I think I will go home now, and take the chance of another fine day for the merino."
CHAPTER IV.
The Bitter-sweet of Life.
When dinner was over and the table cleared away, the mother and daughter were left, as they always loved to be, alone. It was late in the afternoon, and already somewhat dark, for clouds had gathered over the beautiful sky of the morning, and the wind, rising now and then, made its voice heard. Mrs. Montgomery was lying on the sofa, as usual, seemingly at ease; and Ellen was sitting on a little bench before the fire, very much at her ease, indeed, without any seeming about it. She smiled as she met her mother's eyes.
"You have made me very happy to-day, Mamma."