"That," said Ellen, hiding her face in her hands on his knee, and scarce able to speak with great effort "that which you said when I first came that which you said about "
"About what, my dear child?"
"My going away don't change anything, does it, Sir? Mayn't I come back, if ever I can?"
He raised her up and drew her close to his bosom again.
"My dear little daughter," said he, "you cannot be so glad to come back as my arms and my heart will be to receive you. I scarce dare hope to see that day, but all in this house is yours, dear Ellen, as well when in Scotland as here. I take back nothing, my daughter. Nothing is changed."
A word or two more of affection and blessing, which Ellen was utterly unable to answer in any way and she went to the carriage; with one drop of cordial in her heart, that she fed upon a long while. "He called me his daughter! he never said that before, since Alice died! Oh! so I will be as long as I live, if I find fifty new relations. But what good will a daughter three thousand miles off do him?"
CHAPTER XLVII.
The wide world grown wider.
The voyage was peaceful and prosperous; in due time the whole party found themselves safe in London. Ever since they set out, Ellen had been constantly gaining on Mrs. Gillespie's good-will; the Major hardly saw her but she had something to say about that "best-bred child in the world." "Best-hearted, too, I think," said the Major; and even Mrs. Gillespie owned that there was something more than good-breeding in Ellen's politeness. She had good trial of it; Mrs. Gillespie was much longer ailing than any of the party; and when Ellen got well, it was her great pleasure to devote herself to the service of the only member of the Marshman family now within her reach. She could never do too much. She watched by her, read to her, was quick to see and perform all the little offices of attention and kindness where a servant's hand is not so acceptable; and withal never was in the way nor put herself forward. Mrs. Gillespie's own daughter was much less helpful. Both she and William, however, had long since forgotten the old grudge, and treated Ellen as well as they did anybody rather better. Major Gillespie was attentive and kind as possible to the gentle, well-behaved little body that was always at his wife's pillow; and even Lester, the maid, told one of her friends "she was such a sweet little lady, that it was a pleasure and gratification to do anything for her." Lester acted this out; and in her kindly disposition Ellen found very substantial comfort and benefit throughout the voyage.
Mrs. Gillespie told her husband she should be rejoiced if it turned out that they might keep Ellen with them and carry her back to America; she only wished it were not for Mr. Humphreys, but herself. As their destination was not now Scotland, but Paris, it was proposed to write to Ellen's friends to ascertain whether any change had occurred, or whether they still wished to receive her. This, however, was rendered unnecessary. They were scarcely established in their hotel, when a gentleman from Edinburgh, an intimate friend of the Ventnor family, and whom Ellen herself had more than once met there, came to see them. Mrs. Gillespie bethought herself to make inquiries of him.