say--and you will be grieved and angry no longer. She will love you
as only an unselfish child can love a mother; and you will love her
the moment you see her. I have talked to her from the first about
you, and she has already so pure an affection for you, that she is
longing to see you and throw herself upon your bosom. Oh! let me beg
of you to receive her in the spirit with which she is coming to you.
Be to her a mother, as she wishes to be to you a child."

It was not without many misgivings at heart that Charles Linden set
out to visit his mother. These could not be felt without their
effects being perceived by Ellen, who was tremblingly anxious about
her reception. Her spirits became in consequence depressed, and more
than once Charles found tears stealing from beneath her half-closed
eyelids. He understood well the cause, and strove, but vainly, to
assure her that all would be as her heart could wish.

It was nearly nightfall when the carriage that conveyed them from
the steamboat landing drew up before the elegant residence of Mrs.
Linden. Charles hurried in with his bride in a tumult of anxiety. A
servant was sent up to announce his arrival. Five minutes passed,
and they still sat alone in the parlour--Charles deeply agitated,
and Ellen looking pale and frightened.

"What can keep her so long?" the young man had just said, in a husky
whisper, when the door opened and his mother entered with a slow,
dignified step, her face calm, but severe, and her tall person drawn
up to its full height. Charles started forward, but the instantly
raised hand and forbidding aspect of his mother restrained him.

"Don't come near me," said she, coldly--"you have done that for