"Shall you be in the stage, Sir?"
"No, my child. But I am glad you and I have spent this day together."
"Oh, Sir," said Ellen, "I don't know what I should have done if it hadn't been for you."
There was silence again, and the gentleman almost thought his little charge had fallen asleep, she sat so still. But she suddenly spoke again, and in a tone of voice that showed sleep was far away.
"I wish I knew where Mamma is now."
"I do not doubt, my child, from what you told me, that it is well with her, wherever she is. Let that thought comfort you whenever you remember her."
"She must want me so much," said poor Ellen, in a scarcely audible voice.
"She has not lost her best friend, my child."
"I know it, Sir," said Ellen, with whom grief was now getting the mastery "but oh! it's just near the time when I used to make the tea for her who'll make it now? she'll want me oh, what shall I do!" and, overcome completely by this recollection, she threw herself into her friend's arms and sobbed aloud.
There was no reasoning against this. He did not attempt it; but with the utmost gentleness and tenderness endeavoured, as soon as he might, to soothe and calm her. He succeeded at last; with a sort of despairing submission, Ellen ceased her tears, and arose to her former position. But he did not rest from his kind endeavours till her mind was really eased and comforted which, however, was not long before the lights of the city began to appear in the distance. And with them appeared a dusky figure ascending the stairs, which, upon nearer approach, proved by the voice to be Timmins.