It was not likely that Ellen's "time" would be a short one.
Her mother seeing this, took a chair at a little distance, to
await patiently her decision; and while Ellen's eyes were
riveted on the Bibles, her own, very naturally, were fixed
upon her. In the excitement and eagerness of the moment, Ellen
had thrown off her little bonnet, and with flushed cheek and
sparkling eye, and a brow grave with unusual care, as though a
nation's fate were deciding, she was weighing the comparative
advantages of large, small, and middle-sized — black, blue,
purple, and red — gilt and not gilt — clasp and no clasp.
Everything but the Bibles before her Ellen had forgotten
utterly; she was deep in what was to her the most important of
business; she did not see the bystanders smile — she did not
know there were any. To her mother's eye it was a most fair
sight. Mrs. Montgomery gazed with rising emotions of pleasure
and pain that struggled for the mastery; but pain at last got
the better, and rose very high. "How can I give thee up!" was
the one thought of her heart. Unable to command herself, she
rose and went to a distant part of the counter, where she
seemed to be examining books; but tears, some of the bitterest
she had ever shed, were falling thick upon the dusty floor,
and she felt her heart like to break. Her little daughter, at
one end of the counter, had forgotten there ever was such a
thing as sorrow in the world; and she, at the other, was bowed
beneath a weight of it that was nigh to crush her. But in her
extremity she betook herself to that refuge she had never
known to fail: it did not fail her now. She remembered the
words Ellen had been reading to her but that very morning, and
they came like the breath of heaven upon the fever of her soul
— "Not my will, but thine be done." She strove and prayed to