Ellen had been told of this custom, but habit had never made it familiar. Only once she had happened to hear this notice of death given out; and that was long ago; the bell could not be heard at Miss Fortune's house. It came upon her now with all the force of novelty and surprise. As the number of the years of Alice's life was sadly tolled out, every stroke was to her as if it fell upon a raw nerve. Ellen hid her face in her lap, and tried to keep from counting, but she could not; and as the tremulous sound of the last of the twenty-four died away upon the air, she was shuddering from head to foot. A burst of tears relieved her when the sound ceased.
Just then a voice close beside her said low, as if the speaker might not trust its higher tones "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help."
How differently that sound struck upon Ellen's ear! With an indescribable air of mingled tenderness, weariness, and sorrow, she slowly rose from her seat, and put both her arms round the speaker's neck. Neither said a word; but to Ellen the arm that held her was more than all words; it was the dividing line between her and the world on this side everything, on that side nothing.
No word was spoken for many minutes.
"My dear, Ellen," said her brother, softly, "how came you here?"
"I don't know," whispered Ellen; "there was nobody there I couldn't stay in the house."
"Shall we go home now?"
"Oh, yes whenever you please."
But neither moved yet. Ellen had raised her head; she still stood with her arm upon her brother's shoulder; the eyes of both were on the scene before them the thoughts of neither. He presently spoke again.
"Let us try to love our God better, Ellie, the less we have left to love in this world; that is His meaning let sorrow but bring us closer to him. Dear Alice is well she is well, and if we are made to suffer, we know and we love the hand that has done it; do we not, Ellen?"