"I will be a God to thee, and to thy seed after thee."
"That has come true, too!" she said, almost in surprise "and Mamma believed it would." And then, as by a flash, came back to her mind the time it was written; she remembered how, when it was done, her mother's head had sunk upon the open page she seemed to see again the thin fingers tightly clasped she had not understood it then she did now. "She was praying for me," thought Ellen "she was praying for me; she believed that would come true."
The book was dashed down, and Ellen fell upon her knees, in a perfect agony of weeping.
Even this, when she was calm again, served to steady her mind. There seemed to be a link of communion between her mother and her that was wanting before. The promise, written and believed in by the one, realized and rejoiced in by the other, was a dear something in common, though one had in the meanwhile removed to heaven, and the other was still a lingerer on the earth. Ellen bound the words upon her heart.
Another time, when they came to the last scene of Christian's journey, Ellen's tears ran very fast. John asked if he should pass it over, if it distressed her? She said, "Oh, no, it did not distress her;" she wanted him to go on, and he went on, though himself much distressed, and Alice was near as bad as Ellen. But the next evening, to his surprise, Ellen begged that before he went on to the second part, he would read that piece over again. And when he lent her the book, with only the charge that she should not go further than he had been, she pored over that scene with untiring pleasure, till she almost had it by heart. In short, never was a child more comforted and contented with a book than Ellen was with the Pilgrim's Progress. That was a blessed visit of John's. Alice said he had come like a sunbeam into the house; she dreaded to think what would be when he went away.
She wrote, him, however, when he had been gone a few weeks, that his will seemed to carry all before it, present or absent. Ellen went on steadily mending at least she did not go back any. They were keeping up their rides, also their studies, most diligently; Ellen was untiring in her efforts to do whatever he had wished her, and was springing forward, Alice said, in her improvement.
CHAPTER XXXV.
"This working-day world."
The spring had come; and Alice and Ellen were looking forward to pleasanter rides and walks, after the sun should have got a little warmth, and the snow should be gone; when one morning, in the early part of March, Mr. Van Brunt made his appearance. Miss Fortune was not well, and had sent him to beg that Ellen would come back to her. He was sorry, he said; he knew Ellen was in the best place; but her aunt wanted her, and "he s'posed she'd have to go." He did not know what was the matter with Miss Fortune; it was a little of one thing and a little of another; "he s'posed she'd overdid, and it was a wonder, for he didn't know she could do it. She thought she was as tough as a piece of shoe-leather, but even that could be wore out."
Ellen looked blank. However, she hurriedly set herself to get her things together; and, with Alice's help, in half an hour she was ready to go. The parting was hard. They held each other fast a good while, and kissed each other many times, without speaking.