Ellen's other hand was gratefully laid upon her father's arm as this second proposal was made and accepted.
"Let us show you Edinburgh," said Ellen to herself, as she and Mr. Lindsay slowly and gravely went back through the hall. "So there is an end of my fine morning! But, however, how foolish I am! John has his own ways of doing things he can make it pleasant in spite of everything."
She went to bed, not to sleep indeed, for a long time, but to cry for joy, and all sorts of feelings at once.
Good came out of evil, as it often does, and as Ellen's heart presaged it would when she arose the next morning. The ride was preceded by half an hour's chat between Mr. John, Mr. Lindsay, and her grandmother; in which the delight of the evening before was renewed and confirmed. Ellen was obliged to look down to hide the too bright satisfaction she felt was shining in her face. She took no part in the conversation; it was enough to hear. She sat with charmed ears, seeing her brother overturning all her father's and grandmother's prejudices, and making his own way to their respect at least, in spite of themselves. Her marvelling still almost kept even pace with her joy. "I knew he would do what he pleased," she said to herself; "I knew they could not help that; but I did not dream he would ever make them like him, that I never dreamed!"
On the ride, again, Ellen could not wish that her father were not with them. She wished for nothing; it was all a maze of pleasure, which there was nothing to mar but the sense that she would, by-and-by, wake up and find it was a dream. And no not that either. It was a solid good and blessing, which, though it must come to an end, she should never lose. For the present there was hardly anything to be thought of but enjoyment. She shrewdly guessed that Mr. Lindsay would have enjoyed it too, but for herself; there was a little constraint about him still, she could see. There was none about Mr. John; in the delight of his words, and looks, and presence, Ellen half the time forgot Mr. Lindsay entirely; she had enough of them; she did not for one moment wish Mr. Lindsay had less.
At last the long, beautiful ride came to an end; and the rest of the morning soon sped away, though, as Ellen had expected, she was not permitted to spend any part of it alone with her brother. Mr. Lindsay asked him to dinner, but this was declined.
Not till long after he was gone did Ellen read Mr. Humphreys' letter. One bit of it may be given:
"Mr. Van Brunt has lately joined our little church. This has given me great pleasure. He had been a regular attendant for a long time before. He ascribes much to your instrumentality; but says his first thoughts (earnest ones) on the subject of religion, were on the occasion of a tear that fell from Ellen's eyes upon his hand one day when she was talking to him about the matter. He never got over the impression. In his own words, 'it scared him!' That was a dear child! I did not know how dear till I had lost her. I did not know how severely I should feel her absence; nor had I the least notion when she was with us of many things respecting her that I have learnt since. I half hoped we should yet have her back, but that will not be. I shall be glad to see you, my son."
The correspondence with John was begun immediately, and was the delight of Ellen's life. Mrs. Lindsay and her daughter wished to put a stop to it; but Mr. Lindsay dryly said that Mr. Humphreys had frankly spoken of it before him, and as he made no objection then, he could not now.
Ellen puzzled herself a little to think what could be the third thing John wanted of her; but, whatever it were, she was very sure she would do it!