CHAPTER VIII

 
Time and the hour run through the roughest day.
 

– Shakespeare.

The going over the boat held them a long time, for Ellen's new friend took kind pains to explain to her whatever he thought he could make interesting; he was amused to find how far she pushed her inquiries into the how and the why of things. For the time her sorrows were almost forgotten.

"What shall we do now?" said he, when they had at last gone through the whole; "would you like to go to your friends?"

"I haven't any friends on board, sir," said Ellen, with a swelling heart.

"Haven't any friends on board! What do you mean? Are you alone?"

"No, sir," said Ellen, "not exactly alone; my father put me in the care of a lady that is going to Thirlwall; but they are strangers and not friends."

"Are they unfriends? I hope you don't think, Ellen, that strangers cannot be friends too?"

"No indeed, sir, I don't," said Ellen, looking up with a face that was fairly brilliant with its expression of gratitude and love. But casting it down again, she added, "But they are not my friends, sir."

"Well then," he said, smiling, "will you come with me?"

"Oh yes, sir! if you will let me, and if I shan't be a trouble to you, sir."

"Come this way," said he, "and we'll see if we cannot find a nice place to sit down, where no one will trouble us."

Such a place was found. And Ellen would have been quite satisfied though the gentleman had done no more than merely to permit her to remain there by his side; but he took out his little Bible, and read and talked to her for some time, so pleasantly that neither her weariness nor the way could be thought of.

When he ceased reading to her and began to read to himself, weariness and faintness stole over her. She had had nothing to eat, and had been violently excited that day. A little while she sat in a dreamy sort of quietude, then her thoughts grew misty, and the end of it was, she dropped her head against the arm of her friend and fell fast asleep. He smiled at first, but one look at the very pale little face changed the expression of his own. He gently put his arm round her and drew her head to a better resting-place than it had chosen.

And there she slept till the dinner-bell rang. Timmins was sent out to look for her, but Timmins did not choose to meddle with the grave protector Ellen seemed to have gained; and Mrs. Dunscombe declared herself rejoiced that any other hands should have taken the charge of her.

After dinner, Ellen and her friend went up to the promenade deck again, and there for a while they paced up and down, enjoying the pleasant air and the quick motion, and the lovely appearance of everything in the mild hazy sunlight. Another gentleman, however, joining them, and entering into conversation, Ellen silently quitted her friend's hand and went and sat down at the side of the boat. After taking a few turns more, and while still engaged in talking, he drew his little hymn-book out of his pocket, and with a smile put it into Ellen's hand as he passed. She gladly received it, and spent an hour or more very pleasantly in studying and turning it over. At the end of that time, the stranger having left him, Ellen's friend came and sat down by her side.

"How do you like my little book?" said he.

"Oh, very much indeed, sir."

"Then you love hymns, do you?"

"Yes, I do, sir, dearly."

"Do you sometimes learn them by heart?"

"Oh yes, sir, often. Mamma often made me. I have learnt two since I have been sitting here."

"Have you?" said he. "Which are they?"

"One of them is the one you showed me this morning, sir."

"And what is your mind now about the question I asked you this morning?"

Ellen cast down her eyes from his inquiring glance, and answered in a low tone, "Just what it was then, sir."

"Have you been thinking of it since?"

"I have thought of it the whole time, sir."

"And you are resolved you will obey Christ henceforth?"

"I am resolved to try, sir."

"My dear Ellen, if you are in earnest you will not try in vain. He never yet failed any that sincerely sought Him. Have you a Bible?"

"Oh yes, sir! a beautiful one. Mamma gave it to me the other day."

He took the hymn-book from her hand, and turning over the leaves, marked several places in pencil.

"I am going to give you this," he said, "that it may serve to remind you of what we have talked of to-day, and of your resolution."

Ellen flushed high with pleasure.

"I have put this mark," said he, showing her a particular one, "in a few places of this book for you. Wherever you find it, you may know there is something I want you to take special notice of. There are some other marks here too, but they are mine. These are for you."

"Thank you, sir," said Ellen, delighted. "I shall not forget."

He knew from her face what she meant – not the marks.

The day wore on, thanks to the unwearied kindness of her friend, with great comparative comfort to Ellen. Late in the afternoon they were resting from a long walk up and down the deck.

"What have you got in this package that you take such care of?" said he, smiling.

"Oh, candies," said Ellen. "I am always forgetting them. I meant to ask you to take some. Will you have some, sir?"

"Thank you. What are they?"

"Almost all kinds, I believe, sir. I think the almonds are the best."

He took one.

"Pray take some more, sir," said Ellen. "I don't care for them in the least."

"Then I am more of a child than you – in this, at any rate – for I do care for them. But I have a little headache to-day; I mustn't meddle with sweets."

"Then take some for to-morrow, sir. Please do!" said Ellen, dealing them out very freely.

"Stop, stop!" said he, "not a bit more. This won't do. I must put some of these back again. You'll want them to-morrow, too."

"I don't think I shall," said Ellen. "I haven't wanted to touch them to-day."

"Oh, you'll feel brighter to-morrow, after a night's sleep. But aren't you afraid of catching cold? This wind is blowing pretty fresh, and you've been bonnetless all day. What's the reason?"

Ellen looked down, and coloured a good deal.

"What's the matter?" said he, laughing. "Has any mischief befallen your bonnet?"

"No, sir," said Ellen in a low tone, her colour mounting higher and higher. "It was laughed at this morning."

"Laughed at! Who laughed at it?"

"Mrs. Dunscombe and her daughter and her maid."

"Did they? I don't see much reason in that, I confess. What did they think was the matter with it?"

"I don't know, sir. They said it was outlandish, and what a figure I looked in it."

"Well, certainly that was not very polite. Put it on and let me see."

Ellen obeyed.

"I am not the best judge of ladies' bonnets, it is true," said he, "but I can see nothing about it that is not perfectly proper and suitable – nothing in the world! So that is what has kept you bare-headed all day? Didn't your mother wish you to wear that bonnet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then that ought to be enough for you. Will you be ashamed of what she approved, because some people that haven't probably half her sense choose to make merry with it? – is that right?" he said gently, "Is that honouring her as she deserves?"

"No, sir," said Ellen, looking up into his face, "but I never thought of that before. I am sorry."

"Never mind being laughed at, my child. If your mother says a thing is right, that's enough for you; let them laugh!"

"I won't be ashamed of my bonnet any more," said Ellen, tying it on, "but they made me very unhappy about it, and very angry too."

"I am sorry for that," said her friend gravely. "Have you quite got over it, Ellen?"

"Oh yes, sir, long ago."

"Are you sure?"

"I am not angry now, sir."

"Is there no unkindness left towards the people who laughed at you?"

"I don't like them much," said Ellen. "How can I?"

"You cannot of course like the company of ill-behaved people, and I do not wish that you should; but you can and ought to feel just as kindly disposed towards them as if they had never offended you – just as willing and inclined to please them or do them good. Now, could you offer Miss – what's her name? – some of your candies with as hearty goodwill as you could before she laughed at you?"

"No, sir, I couldn't. I don't feel as if I ever wished to see them again."

"Then, my dear Ellen, you have something to do, if you were in earnest in the resolve you made this morning. 'If ye forgive unto men their trespasses, my Heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you forgive not men their trespasses, neither will my Father forgive your trespasses!'"

He was silent, and so was Ellen for some time. His words had raised a struggle in her mind, and she kept her face turned towards the shore, so that her bonnet shielded it from view; but she did not in the least know what she was looking at. The sun had been some time descending through a sky of cloudless splendour, and now was just kissing the mountain tops of the western horizon. Slowly and with great majesty he sank behind the distant blue line, till only a glittering edge appeared, and then that was gone. There were no clouds hanging over his setting, to be gilded and purpled by the parting rays, but a region of glory long remained, to show where his path had been.

The eyes of both were fixed upon this beautiful scene, but only one was thinking of it. Just as the last glimpse of the sun had disappeared Ellen turned her face, bright again, towards her companion. He was intently gazing towards the hills that had so drawn Ellen's attention a while ago, and thinking still more intently, it was plain; so though her mouth had been open to speak, she turned her face away again as suddenly as it had just sought his. He saw the motion, however.

"What is it, Ellen?" he said.

Ellen looked again with a smile.

"I have been thinking, sir, of what you said to me."

"Well?" said he, smiling in answer.

"I can't like Mrs. and Miss Dunscombe as well as if they hadn't done so to me, but I will try to behave as if nothing had been the matter, and be as kind and polite to them as if they had been kind and polite to me."

"And how about the sugar-plums?"

"The sugar-plums! Oh," said Ellen, laughing, "Miss Margaret may have them all if she likes – I'm quite willing. Not but I had rather give them to you, sir."

"You give me something a great deal better when I see you try to overcome a wrong feeling. You mustn't rest till you get rid of every bit of ill-will that you feel for this and any other unkindness you may suffer. You cannot do it yourself, but you know who can help you. I hope you have asked him, Ellen?"

"I have, sir, indeed."

"Keep asking Him, and He will do everything for you."

A silence of some length followed. Ellen began to feel very much the fatigue of this exciting day, and sat quietly by her friend's side, leaning against him. The wind had changed about sundown, and now blew light from the south, so that they did not feel it at all.

The light gradually faded away till only a silver glow in the west showed where the sun had set, and the sober grey of twilight was gently stealing over all the bright colours of sky, and river, and hill; now and then a twinkling light began to appear along the shores.

"You are very tired," said Ellen's friend to her – "I see you are. A little more patience, my child; we shall be at our journey's end before a very great while."

"I am almost sorry," said Ellen, "though I am tired. We don't go in the steamboat to-morrow, do we, sir?"

"No, in the stage."

"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 a 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.

"Is this Miss Montgomery?" said she; "I can't see, I am sure, it's so dark. Is that you, Miss Montgomery?"

"Yes," said Ellen, "it is I; do you want me?"

"If you please, miss, Mrs. Dunscombe wants you to come right down; we're almost in, she says, miss."

"I'll come directly, Miss Timmins," said Ellen. "Don't wait for me – I won't be a minute – I'll come directly."

Miss Timmins retired, standing still a good deal in awe of the grave personage whose protection Ellen seemed to have gained.

"I must go," said Ellen, standing up and extending her hand "Good-bye, sir."

She could hardly say it. He drew her towards him and kissed her cheek once or twice; it was well he did, for it sent a thrill of pleasure to Ellen's heart that she did not get over that evening, nor all the next day.

"God bless you, my child," he said gravely, but cheerfully; "and good-night! – you will feel better, I trust, when you have had some rest and refreshment."

He took care of her down the stairs, and saw her safe to the very door of the saloon, and within it; and there again took her hand and kindly bade her good-night.

Ellen entered the saloon only to sit down and cry as if her heart would break. She saw and heard nothing till Mrs. Dunscombe's voice bade her make haste and be ready, for they were going ashore in five minutes.

And in less than five minutes ashore they went.

"Which hotel, ma'am?" asked the servant who carried her baggage – "the Eagle, or Foster's?"

"The Eagle," said Mrs. Dunscombe.