and the other of her mother's cheeks alternately. How sweet
the sense of the coming parting made every such embrace! This
one, for particular reasons, was often and long remembered. A
few minutes they remained thus in each other's arms, cheek
pressed against cheek, without speaking; but then Mrs.
Montgomery remembered that Ellen's bed-time was already past,
and dismissed her.

For a while after, Mrs. Montgomery remained just where Ellen
had left her, her busy thoughts roaming over many things, in
the far past, and the sad present, and the uncertain future.
She was unconscious of the passage of time, and did not notice
how the silence deepened as the night drew on, till scarce a
footfall was heard in the street, and the ticking of the clock
sounded with that sad distinctness which seems to say — "Time
is going on — time is going on, — and you are going with it —
do what you will, you can't help that." It was just upon the
stroke of ten, and Mrs. Montgomery was still wrapped in her
deep musings, when a sharp, brisk footstep in the distance
aroused her, rapidly approaching; and she knew very well whose
it was, and that it would pause at the door, before she heard
the quick run up the steps, succeeded by her husband's tread
upon the staircase. And yet she saw him open the door with a
kind of startled feeling, which his appearance now invariably
caused her; the thought always darted through her head,
"Perhaps he brings news of Ellen's going." Something, it would
have been impossible to say what, in his appearance or manner,
confirmed this fear on the present occasion. Her heart felt
sick, and she waited in silence to hear what he would say. _He_
seemed very well pleased — sat down before the fire, rubbing