and show you himself; that is all that is wanting."

"I will, Mamma," said Ellen, tearfully. "Oh, Mamma, what shall
I do without you?"

Alas! Mrs. Montgomery's heart echoed the question — she had no
answer.

"Mamma," said Ellen, after a few minutes, "can I have no true
love to Him at all unless I love him _best?_"

"I dare not say that you can," answered her mother, seriously.

"Mamma," said Ellen, after a little, again raising her head,
and looking her mother full in the face, as if willing to
apply the severest test to this hard doctrine, and speaking
with an indescribable expression, "do _you_ love him _better than
you do me?_"

She knew her mother loved the Saviour, but she thought it
scarcely possible that herself could have but the second place
in her heart; she ventured a bold question, to prove whether
her mother's practice would not contradict her theory.

But Mrs. Montgomery answered steadily, "I do, my daughter;"
and, with a gush of tears, Ellen sank her head again upon her
bosom. She had no more to say; her mouth was stopped for ever
as to the _right_ of the matter, though she still thought it an
impossible duty in her own particular case.