She was shown into a large room, where nobody was, and sat down, with a beating heart, while the servant went upstairs; looking with a strange feeling upon what was to be her future home. The house was handsome, comfortably, luxuriously furnished, but without any attempt at display. Things rather old-fashioned than otherwise; plain, even homely, in some instances; yet evidently there was no sparing of money in any line of use or comfort; nor were reading and writing, painting and music, strangers there. Unconsciously acting upon her brother's principle of judging of people from their works, Ellen, from what she saw gathered around her, formed a favourable opinion of her relations, without thinking of it, for indeed she was thinking of something else.
A lady presently entered, and said that Mrs. Lindsay was not very well. Seeing Ellen's very hesitating look, she added, "Shall I carry her any message from you?"
This lady was well-looking and well-dressed; but somehow there was something in her face or manner that encouraged Ellen to an explanation; she could make none. She silently gave her her father's letter, with which the lady left the room.
In a minute or two she returned, and said her mother would see Ellen upstairs, and asked her to come with her. This, then, must be Lady Keith, but no sign of recognition. Ellen wondered, as her trembling feet carried her upstairs, and to the door of a room where the lady motioned her to enter; she did not follow herself.
A large pleasant dressing-room but Ellen saw nothing but the dignified figure and searching glance of a lady in black, standing in the middle of the floor. At the look which instantly followed her entering, however, Ellen sprang forward, and was received in arms that folded her as fondly and as closely as ever those of her own mother had done. Without releasing her from their clasp, Mrs. Lindsay presently sat down, and placing Ellen on her lap, and for a long time without speaking a word, she overwhelmed her with caresses caresses often interrupted with passionate bursts of tears. Ellen herself cried heartily for company, though Mrs. Lindsay little guessed why. Along with the joy and tenderness arising from the finding a relation that so much loved and valued her, and along with the sympathy that entered into Mrs. Lindsay's thoughts, there mixed other feelings. She began to know, as if by instinct, what kind of a person her grandmother was. The clasp of the arms that were about her said as plainly as possible, "I will never let you go!" Ellen felt it. She did not know, in her confusion, whether she was most glad or most sorry; and this uncertainty mightily helped the flow of her tears.
When this scene had lasted some time, Mrs. Lindsay began with the utmost tenderness to take off Ellen's gloves, her cape (her bonnet had been hastily thrown off long before); and smoothing back her hair, and taking the fair little face in both her hands, she looked at it and pressed it to her own, as indeed something most dearly prized and valued. Then saying, "I must lie down; come in here, love," she led her into the next room, locked the door, made Ellen stretch herself on the bed, and placing herself beside her, drew her close to her bosom again, murmuring, "My own child my precious child my Ellen my own darling! why did you stay away so long from me, tell me?"
It was necessary to tell; and this could not be done without revealing Miss Fortune's disgraceful conduct. Ellen was sorry for that. She knew her mother's American match had been unpopular with her friends, and now what notions this must give them of one at least of the near connections to whom it had introduced her! She winced under what might be her grandmother's thoughts. Mrs. Lindsay heard her in absolute silence, and made no comment, and at the end again kissed her lips and cheeks, embracing her, Ellen felt, as a recovered treasure that would not be parted with. She was not satisfied till she had drawn Ellen's head fairly to rest on her breast, and then her caressing hand often touched her cheek, or smoothed back her hair, softly now and then asking slight questions about her voyage and journey, till, exhausted from excitement more than fatigue, Ellen fell asleep.
Her grandmother was beside her when she awoke, and busied herself, with evident delight, in helping her to get off her travelling clothes, and put on others, and then she took her down stairs, and presented her to her aunt.
Lady Keith had not been at home, nor in Scotland, at the time the letters passed between Mrs. Montgomery and her mother, and the result of that correspondence respecting Ellen had been known to no one except Mrs. Lindsay and her son. They had long given her up, the rather as they had seen in the papers the name of Captain Montgomery among those lost in the ill-fated Duc d'Orleans. Lady Keith, therefore, had no suspicion who Ellen might be. She received her affectionately, but Ellen did not get rid of her first impression.
Her uncle she did not see until late in the day, when he came home. The evening was extremely fair, and having obtained permission, Ellen wandered out into the shrubbery, glad to be alone, and glad, for a moment, to exchange new faces for old; the flowers were old friends to her, and never had looked more friendly than then. New and old, both were there. Ellen went on softly from flower-bed to flower-bed, soothed and rested, stopping here to smell one, or there to gaze at some old favourite or new beauty, thinking curious thoughts of the past and the future, and through it all taking a quiet lesson from the flowers, when a servant came after her with a request from Mrs. Lindsay that she would return to the house. Ellen hurried in she guessed for what and was sure as soon as she opened the door, and saw the figure of a gentleman sitting before Mrs. Lindsay. Ellen remembered well she was sent to her uncle as well as her grandmother, and she came forward with a beating heart to Mrs. Lindsay's outstretched hand, which presented her to this other ruler of her destiny. He was very different from Lady Keith her anxious glance saw that at once more like his mother. A man not far from fifty years old, fine-looking and stately, like her. Ellen was not left long in suspense his look instantly softened, as his mother's had done; he drew her to his arms with great affection, and evidently with very great pleasure; then held her off for a moment, while he looked at her changing colour and downcast eye, and folded her close in his arms again, from which he seemed hardly willing to let her go, whispering, as he kissed her, "you are my own child now you are my little daughter: do you know that, Ellen? I am your father henceforth you belong to me entirely, and I belong to you, my own little daughter!"