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