When I repeated to Mrs. Melville the conversation I had had with Mrs. Maclean, we were just passing in to dinner, and she bade Anna, as soon as we had dined, go over and invite the Leslies to pass the afternoon and evening with her; adding, in a lower tone, to me, that such was Ellen's wilfulness, she would not be at all surprised to hear that she had held her purpose for all day, or even for several days. Anna did not need to be reminded of her errand, but went over to Mrs. Maclean's quite early, and quickly returned, bringing Mary and Ellen along with her. It was now May, and Emma Melville having reported the spring roses to be in bud, the children soon left the parlor, where Col. and Mrs. Melville and I were seated, and from the windows of which, a few minutes after, we could see them walking around the flower-beds in the garden, and occasionally stopping to search for, or to communicate some new token of the advancing season. Our observations on them were interrupted by the sound of the door-bell and the entrance of a servant, who, handing Col. Melville a card and a letter, announced that the gentleman who brought them was waiting to see him in the next room. Col. Melville only glanced at the card, ran his eye hastily over the letter, and handing them both to Mrs. Melville, went to meet his visiter. "The Rev. Mr. Wallace," said Mrs. Melville, as she looked at the card, in a tone which indicated that to her at least he was a stranger. "And the letter," she added, as opening it she looked at once at the name of the writer, "is from Mrs. Herbert."

"And who is Mrs. Herbert?" I asked.

"Did you never hear of her? She is a sister of Mr. Leslie. I have not seen her since her marriage, fifteen years ago; but if her maturer years have fulfilled the promise of her early life, she must be excellent indeed."

"You say you have not seen her in fifteen years; has she never visited her brother in all that time?"

"No—she removed on her marriage to the western part of the State of New York; and as Mr. Herbert was not wealthy, the expense of travelling so far has perhaps had something to do with keeping her away."

"But Mr. Leslie was long thought a very wealthy man; did he not assist his sister?"

"I have heard that he offered to do so; but as he had disapproved her marriage with one who had so few worldly advantages to offer as Mr. Herbert, it was probably regard for her husband's feelings which made Mrs. Herbert decline his aid, replying, as I was told she did, with every expression of grateful affection for her brother, but adding the assurance that they had enough for happiness." After a few minutes' silence Mrs. Melville added: "I doubt not they were very happy, for he seemed worthy of her, and that is, I assure you, high praise. What a blow his death must have been!"

"His death!" I exclaimed—"is he dead?"

"Yes; I thought I had mentioned that she was now a widow: he died about the same time with Mr. Leslie. His death was sudden, and I fear he left her and her three children but illy provided for. Had it been otherwise, she would, I am sure, before this time have endeavored to do something for Mary and Ellen; for I know that Mr. Villars wrote soon after their father's death, informing her of their entire destitution, and of those embarrassments on his part which would prevent his doing all he wished for them."

Mrs. Melville had scarcely ceased speaking, when the door between the two parlors was opened, and Mr. Melville entered, accompanied by a very benevolent-looking old gentleman, whom he introduced as Mr. Wallace, saying, as he presented him to Mrs. Melville, that he was a near neighbor of her old friend Mrs. Herbert, of whom he could give her very late intelligence, as he had been only about a fortnight from home.

"I have just been speaking of Mrs. Herbert," said Mrs. Melville, addressing herself to Mr. Wallace, "and though it has been fifteen years since we met, there are few of whom I retain a more admiring and pleasant remembrance. I was indeed grieved when I heard of Mr. Herbert's death."

"It was a terrible blow," said Mr. Wallace, "the more terrible from being so sudden; but Mrs. Herbert is a mourner from a yet more recent affliction—the death of her eldest child and only daughter."

"Indeed! such repeated and heavy strokes—how has she borne up under them?"

"As one who, though a devoted wife and mother, is likewise a devoted Christian. The strokes have been indeed as you say, heavy, but she has bowed to them, and kissed the rod which she knew was in a Father's hand. You who remember her, madam, will not be surprised to learn that no selfish sorrow has made her forgetful of her remaining duties."

"She has yet two children, I believe," said Mrs. Melville.

"Yes—two fine boys, whose education is scarcely commenced yet, as the eldest is but thirteen years old. Her orphan and destitute nieces, too, who, I understood, were with you this afternoon, she feels to have strong claims upon her, almost as strong as those of her own children. To these claims she had not hitherto been able to attend, for she had scarce recovered from the first bewildering effect of her husband's death, when the symptoms which had already alarmed her in her daughter's health, deepened into decided consumption, and her whole time was necessarily given to her till death released her from her cares."

"And will she now be able to give a home to these poor girls?"

"Only to one of them," said Mr. Melville,—"to Ellen."

"And separate them!" exclaimed Mrs. Melville; "that will never do."

"So Mrs. Herbert thought at first," said Mr. Wallace, smiling, "but she has been in correspondence with Mr. Villars on the subject, and she has yielded to his arguments, on the one condition, that the children themselves consent to the arrangement."

"That I am sure they will never do," said Mrs. Melville.

"In that case, Mrs. Herbert's power of being useful to them ceases, since Mr. Villars has decided that the eldest must on no account relinquish the advantages of her position here, as neither he nor Mrs. Herbert are in circumstances to ensure them future support independently of their own exertions."

"Mr. Villars is certainly a very eccentric man," said Mrs. Melville; "does he suppose that a few years could make any difference in Mary's claims upon the people of H., or their willingness to give her their support, if she were then compelled to teach."

"Mr. Villars is eccentric," said Mr. Melville; "yet for what seemed to us strange, he has always had some good reason to give, as I doubt not he has now."

"Well, here come the children," said Mrs. Melville; "we shall soon hear their decision, and I suspect you will find that Mr. Villars' limitation is a complete hinderance to Mrs. Herbert's kind intentions."

The door was thrown open as Mrs. Melville spoke, and the children, unconscious of a stranger's presence, came laughing and talking in. Even Ellen looked pleased, which I was especially glad to see, as her usual gloomy countenance would have impressed a stranger unfavorably. Mrs. Melville led Mary and Ellen to Mr. Wallace, and introduced him to them as a friend of their Aunt Herbert. To their inquiries respecting their aunt and her family Mr. Wallace replied very fully. The children having said that they had never seen her, he described her appearance, her manners, her character—spoke of their cousins George and Charles Herbert, whom he represented as spirited, manly, but kind and affectionate tempered boys.

"And my cousin Lucy?" said Mary.

"Was one of the loveliest and most engaging young persons I ever saw, when she was on earth," said Mr. Wallace; "she is now, I hope, an angel in heaven."

"Is my cousin Lucy dead?" said Ellen, who had hitherto been a silent listener.

"Yes, my child, she has now been dead for more than two months, after enduring for almost two years very great suffering. During all that time, though I saw her very often, I never heard a complaining word from her. All her grief was for her mother. Even when she was dying she thought of her, and the last words we could distinguish from her were, 'Our good heavenly Father will comfort you, mother.'"

"Poor Aunt Herbert!" exclaimed Mary, touched with sympathy for such a loss.

"Yes, my dear child," said Mr. Wallace, "you may well pity her for losing such a daughter, her only daughter; your Aunt Herbert hopes that you will do more than pity her, that you will send her by me another daughter in your sister Ellen, to whom she will be just such a mother as she was to Lucy Herbert. She wished to have you both come to her as her daughters, but your Uncle Villars does not think it wise that you should leave H. just at present; he consents, however, that Ellen should go to her aunt, if you are both willing."

From the moment Ellen's name was mentioned, the sisters had sat looking earnestly into each other's eyes.

"Ellen," said Mr. Wallace, "will you not go with me, and be another Lucy to this good aunt?"

"I could not be like Lucy—I am not good enough; and I cannot leave Mary—I cannot leave Mary for anybody."

Mary threw her arm around Ellen, and drew her closely to her side, answering all Mr. Wallace's arguments only with her tears, or a silent shake of the head. Colonel Melville attempted to influence her, and then she spoke: "Oh! Colonel Melville, I cannot let Ellen go: I promised my mother, when I was a very little girl, and then I promised my father when he was on his death-bed, that I never would part with Ellen, and I cannot do it."

"Mary," said Colonel Melville, "I do not wish you to do it; none wish you to do it, unless you feel it to be not only right but desirable, and all I would ask of you now is that you and Ellen too would think before you decide on a question of so much importance. As respects your promise, you could not have promised that she should not leave you, because about that, you know, she will one of these days have a will of her own, and you cannot prevent her going from you if she chooses it. Now Ellen's home with you is not, I fear, a very happy one,"—Ellen colored and looked down at these words,—"and you have it not in your power to make it so; and here your kind aunt sends and asks her to come to her and be her daughter, promising to cherish her as her own dear child. Mrs. Herbert will educate Ellen as few are capable of doing, and so enable her to be of use to herself and to you too, if the necessity for your labors continue. And there will be no force exercised over Ellen's wishes there, more than here. I doubt not if, after six months or a year's trial of her home there, she should be dissatisfied, and wish to return to you, she will be permitted to do so."

"Will she, sir?—May she come back if she should wish to?" asked Mary quickly, turning to Mr. Wallace.

"Certainly, my dear; your aunt's desire is to make Ellen happy, and that could not be done by keeping her against her will. But I would not have you make up your minds in a hurry—take to-night to think about it. You have, I hope, been taught to pray; ask your heavenly Father to direct you to what is best for you. I intended to set off to-morrow afternoon on my way home, but I will wait till the next morning for Ellen, if you will give me your answer in the course of the day, or to-morrow."

And so it was determined. The children consented to defer their decision till the next day, and Colonel Melville advised that nothing more should then be said on the subject. I saw, however, that though they did not speak of it, Mary and Ellen both thought of it; for more than once I saw Mary's eyes fill with tears as they rested on her sister, and Ellen herself perceiving it at one time, shook her head, and said with a smile, "You need not be afraid, Mary; I shall not leave you." These thoughts, however, did not interfere with Ellen's enjoyment of her supper, which, from the appetite with which it was eaten, was, I doubt not, the only regular meal she had made that day.