Dinner gave place to the dessert, and that in its turn was removed with the cloth. Ellen was engaged in munching almonds and raisins, admiring the brightness of the mahogany, and the richly-cut and coloured glass, and silver decanter-stands, which were reflected in it; when a door at the further end of the room half-opened, a little figure came partly in, and holding the door in her hand, stood looking doubtfully along the table, as if seeking for some one. "What is the matter, Ellen?" said Mrs. Chauncey. "Mrs. Bland told me, Mamma," she began, her eye not ceasing its uneasy quest; but then breaking off and springing to Alice's side, she threw her arms round her neck, and gave her, certainly, the warmest of all the warm welcomes she had had that day. "Hallo!" cried Mr. Marshman, rapping on the table; "that's too much for any one's share. Come here, you baggage, and give me just such another." The little girl came near accordingly, and hugged and kissed him with a very good will, remarking, however, "Ah, but I've seen you before to-day, Grandpapa!" "Well, here's somebody you've not seen before," said he, good- humouredly, pulling her round to Ellen, — "here's a new friend for you — a young lady from the great city, so you must brush up your country manners. Miss Ellen Montgomery, come from — pshaw! what is it? — come from —" "London, Grandpapa?" said the little girl, as with a mixture of simplicity and kindness she took Ellen's hand, and kissed her on the cheek. "From Carra-carra, Sir," said Ellen, smiling. "Go along with you," said he, laughing, and pinching her cheek. "Take her away, Ellen, take her away, and mind you take good care of her. Tell Mrs. Bland she is one of grandpapa's guests." The two children had not, however, reached the door, when Ellen Chauncey exclaimed, "Wait — oh, wait a minute! I must speak to aunt Sophia about the bag." And, flying to her side, there followed an earnest whispering, and then a nod and smile from aunt Sophia; and, satisfied, Ellen returned to her companion, and led her out of the dining-room. "We have both got the same name," said she, as they went along a wide corridor; "how shall we know which is which?" "Why," said Ellen, laughing, "when you say 'Ellen,' I shall know you mean me; and when I say it you will know I mean you. I shouldn't be calling myself, you know." "Yes, but when somebody else calls 'Ellen,' we shall both have to run. Do you run when you are called?" "Sometimes," said Ellen, laughing. "Ah, but I do always; Mamma always makes me. I thought perhaps you were like Marianne Gillespie — she waits often as much as half a minute before she stirs, when anybody calls her. Did you come with Miss Alice?" "Yes." "Do you love her?" "Very much! — oh, very much!" Little Ellen looked at her companion's rising colour, with a glance of mixed curiosity and pleasure, in which lay a strong promise of growing love.