and then there were sometimes agonies of grief that would
almost have broken Mrs. Montgomery's resolution, had she known
them.

This, however, could not last. Ellen was a child, and of most
buoyant and elastic spirit naturally; it was not for one
sorrow, however great, to utterly crush her. It would have
taken years to do that. Moreover, she entertained not the
slightest hope of being able by any means to alter her
father's will. She regarded the dreaded evil as an inevitable
thing. But though she was at first overwhelmed with sorrow,
and for some days evidently pined under it sadly, hope at
length _would_ come back to her little heart; and no sooner in
again, hope began to smooth the roughest, and soften the
hardest, and touch the dark spots with light, in Ellen's
future. The thoughts which had just passed through her head
that first morning, as she stood at her window, now came back
again. Thoughts of wonderful improvement to be made during her
mother's absence; of unheard-of efforts to learn and amend,
which should all be crowned with success; and, above all,
thoughts of that "coming home," when all these attainments and
accomplishments should be displayed to her mother's delighted
eyes, and her exertions receive their long-desired reward; —
they made Ellen's heart beat, and her eyes swim, and even
brought a smile once more upon her lips. Mrs. Montgomery was
rejoiced to see the change; she felt that as much time had
already been given to sorrow as they could afford to lose, and
she had not known exactly how to proceed. Ellen's amended
looks and spirits greatly relieved her.