or seeking it were never known to those for whom
I worked."

"And could she approve of a task such as this, my Ellen? Could she
counsel such painful self-denial and tedious labour?"

"She did all she could to dissuade, and at first positively refused to
assist me; but at last yielded to my entreaties, for she saw I never
should be happy till I could look on the past more as a debt
than--than--" She paused, then added--"My own spirit rebelled enough;
that was far more difficult to overcome than other dissuasions."

"And what strong impulse could have urged you to this course of
self-denial, my sweet girl? I know not yet whether I shall not scold you
for this almost needless infliction of pain, and for the deception it
involves towards me," said Mrs. Hamilton, with reproachful tenderness.

"Forgive me, oh, forgive me that!" exclaimed Ellen, clasping the hand
she held. "I have often and often felt I was deceiving you; failing in
that confidence I had promised you should never have again to demand;
but I dared not tell you, for I knew you would have prohibited the
continuance of my task."

"I should indeed, my Ellen; and tell me why you have done this. Was it
indeed because you imagined nothing else could atone for the past?"

"Because I felt--I knew, though I was restored to your favour, your
confidence, my conscience was not at peace, because I had read, '_If the
wicked restore the pledge, give again that which he had robbed, walk in
the statutes of life, without committing iniquity, he shall surely live,
he shall not die_;' and I felt, however I might endeavour to be virtuous
and good, till I had given again that which I had robbed, I dared not
implore the mercy of my God."

It is impossible to do justice by mere description to the plaintive
eloquence, to the mournfully-expressive voice with which these simple
words were said, betraying at once those thoughts and feelings which had
been so long concealed in Ellen's meek and youthful heart, the hidden
spring from which her every action had emanated; Mrs. Hamilton felt its
power, the sentiment was too exalted, too holy for human praise. She
folded her niece to her bosom.

"May the Almighty searcher of hearts accept this sacrifice and bless
you, my dear child. Secretly, unostentatiously, it has been done. Pure
must have been the thoughts which were yours when thus employed, when
such was their origin, and we may hope, indeed, they have been accepted.
Had no self-de