up and down the deck, happened to look, as he passed, at her
little pale face. He went to the end of his walk that time,
but in coming back he stopped just in front of her, and,
bending down his face towards hers, said, —

"What is the matter with you, my little friend?"

Though his figure had passed before her a great many times
Ellen had not seen him at all; for "her eyes were with her
heart, and that was far away." Her cheek flushed with surprise
as she looked up. But there was no mistaking the look of
kindness in the eyes that met hers, nor the gentleness and
grave truthfulness of the whole countenance. It won her
confidence immediately. All the floodgates of Ellen's heart
were at once opened. She could not speak, but rising, and
clasping the hand that was held out to her in both her own,
she bent down her head upon it, and burst into one of those
uncontrollable agonies of weeping, such as the news of her
mother's intended departure had occasioned that first
sorrowful evening. He gently, and as soon as he could, drew
her to a retired part of the deck, where they were
comparatively free from other people's eyes and ears; then,
taking her in his arms he endeavoured by many kind and
soothing words to stay the torrent of her grief. This fit of
weeping did Ellen more good than the former one; that only
exhausted, this in some little measure relieved her.

"What is all this about?" said her friend, kindly. "Nay, never
mind shedding any more tears about it, my child. Let me hear
what it is, and perhaps we can find some help for it."