to
commit. Had there been one to whom she could have confessed these
feelings, whose soothing friendship would have whispered it was needless
and uncalled-for to enhance the suffering of Edward's fate by such
self-reproach, Ellen's young heart would have been relieved; but from
that beloved relative who might have consoled and alleviated her grief,
this bitter trial she must still conceal. Mr. Hamilton dared not
encourage the hope which he had never felt but his bosom swelled with
love and almost veneration for the gentle being, to whose care Mr.
Maitland had assured him the recovery of his beloved wife was, under
Providence, greatly owing. He longed to speak of comfort; but, alas!
what could he say? he would have praised, encouraged, but there was that
about his niece that utterly forbade it; for it silently yet
impressively told whence that sustaining strength arose.

It was when Mrs. Hamilton was beginning to recover, that still more
active exertions on the part of Ellen were demanded. Every effort was
now made to prevent her relapsing into that despondency which
convalescence so often engenders, however we may strive to resist it.
She was ready at a minute's notice to comply with and often to
anticipate her aunt's most faintly-hinted wishes; she would read to her,
sing her favourite airs, or by a thousand little winning arts
unconsciously entice the interest of her aunt to her various pursuits,
as had been her wont in former days. There was no appearance of effort
on her part, and Mrs. Hamilton insensibly, at first, but surely felt
that with her strength her habitual cheerfulness was returning, and
fervently she blessed her God for this abundant mercy. No exertion on
her side was wanting to become to her husband and household as she had
been before the death of her beloved son; she felt the beauteous flower
was transplanted above; the hand of the reaper had laid it low, though
the eye of faith beheld it in perfect undying loveliness, and though the
mother's heart yet sorrowed, 'twas a sorrow now in which no pain was
mingled.

One evening they had been speaking, among other subjects, of Lilla
Grahame, whose letters, Mrs. Hamilton had observed, were not written in
her usual style. Too well did Ellen guess the reason; once only the poor
girl had alluded to Edward's supposed fate, but that once had more than
sufficiently betrayed to Ellen's quickly-excited sympathy the true
nature of her feelings towards him. As Lill