The Wide, Wide World | Page 3

well the silent answer of her eye. With a wild cry she flung her arms
round her mother, and hiding her face in her lap, gave way to a violent
burst of grief, that seemed for a few moments as if it would rend soul
and body in twain. For her passions were by nature very strong, and by
education very imperfectly controlled; and time, "that rider that breaks
youth," had not as yet tried his hand upon her. And Mrs. Montgomery,
in spite of the fortitude and calmness to which she had steeled herself,
bent down over her, and folding her arms about her, yielded to sorrow
deeper still, and for a little while scarcely less violent in its expression
than Ellen's own.
Alas! she had too good reason. She knew that the chance of her ever
returning to shield the little creature who was nearest her heart from the
future evils and snares of life was very, very small. She had at first
absolutely refused to leave Ellen, when her husband proposed it;
declaring that she would rather stay with her and die than take the
chance of recovery at such a cost. But her physician assured her she
could not live long without a change of climate; Captain Montgomery
urged that it was better to submit to a temporary separation, than to
cling obstinately to her child for a few months, and then leave her for
ever; said he must himself go speedily to France, and that now was her
best opportunity; assuring her, however, that his circumstances would
not permit him to take Ellen with them, but that she would be secure of

a happy home with his sister during her mother's absence; and to the
pressure of argument Captain Montgomery added the weight of
authority — insisting on her compliance. Conscience also asked Mrs.
Montgomery whether she had a right to neglect any chance of life that
was offered her; and at last she yielded to the combined influence of
motives no one of which would have had power sufficient to move her,
and though with a secret consciousness it would be in vain, she
consented to do as her friends wished. And it was for Ellen's sake she
did it, after all.
Nothing but necessity had given her the courage to open the matter to
her little daughter. She had foreseen and endeavoured to prepare herself
for Ellen's anguish; but nature was too strong for her, and they clasped
each other in a convulsive embrace, while tears fell like rain.
It was some minutes before Mrs. Montgomery recollected herself, and
then, though she struggled hard, she could not immediately regain her
composure. But Ellen's deep sobs at length fairly alarmed her; she saw
the necessity, for both their sakes, of putting a stop to this state of
violent excitement; self-command was restored at once.
"Ellen! Ellen! listen to me," she said. "My child, this is not right.
Remember, my darling, who it is that brings this sorrow upon us; —
though we must sorrow, we must not rebel."
Ellen sobbed more gently; but that and the mute pressure of her arms
was her only answer.
"You will hurt both yourself and me, my daughter, if you cannot
command yourself. Remember, dear Ellen, God sends no trouble upon
his children but in love; and though we cannot see how, he will no
doubt make all this work for our good."
"I know it, dear mother," sobbed Ellen, "but it's just as hard!"
Mrs. Montgomery's own heart answered so readily to the truth of
Ellen's words, that for the moment she could not speak.

"Try, my daughter," she said, after a pause, — "try to compose yourself.
I am afraid you will make me worse, Ellen, if you cannot; I am indeed."
Ellen had plenty of faults, but amidst them all, love to her mother was
the strongest feeling her heart knew. It had power enough now to move
her as nothing else could have done; and exerting all her self-command,
of which she had sometimes a good deal, she did calm herself; ceased
sobbing; wiped her eyes; arose from her crouching posture, and seating
herself on the sofa by her mother, and laying her head on her bosom,
she listened quietly to all the soothing words and cheering
considerations with which Mrs. Montgomery endeavoured to lead her
to take a more hopeful view of the subject. All she could urge, however,
had but very partial success, though the conversation was prolonged far
into the evening. Ellen said little, and did not weep any more; but in
secret her heart refused consolation.
Long before this the servant had brought in the tea-things. Nobody
regarded it at the time, but the little kettle hissing away on the fire now