"I think I am changed," she said to herself, at last. "I didn't use to like to read the Bible, and now I do very much; — I never liked praying in old times, and now, oh! what should I do without it! I didn't love Jesus at all, but I am sure I do now. I don't keep his commandments, but I do _try_ to keep them; — I _must_ be changed a little. Oh! I wish Mamma had known it before!" Weeping with mixed sorrow and thankful joy, Ellen bent her head upon her little Bible to pray that she might be _more_ changed; and then, as she often did, raised the cover to look at the texts in the beloved handwriting. "I love them that love me, and they that seek me early shall find me." Ellen's tears were blinding her. "That has come true," she thought. "I will be a God to thee, and to thy seed after thee." "That has come true, too!" she said, almost in surprise — "and Mamma believed it would." — And then, as by a flash, came back to her mind the time it was written; she remembered how, when it was done, her mother's head had sunk upon the open page — she seemed to see again the thin fingers tightly clasped — she had not understood it then — she did now. "She was praying for me," thought Ellen — "she was praying for me; she believed that would come true." The book was dashed down, and Ellen fell upon her knees, in a perfect agony of weeping. Even this, when she was calm again, served to steady her mind. There seemed to be a link of communion between her mother and her that was wanting before. The promise, written and believed in by the one, realized and rejoiced in by the other, was a dear something in common, though one had in the meanwhile removed to heaven, and the other was still a lingerer on the earth. Ellen bound the words upon her heart. Another time, when they came to the last scene of Christian's journey, Ellen's tears ran very fast. John asked if he should pass it over, if it distressed her? She said, "Oh, no, it did not distress her;" she wanted him to go on, and he went on, though himself much distressed, and Alice was near as bad as Ellen. But the next evening, to his surprise, Ellen begged that before he went on to the second part, he would read that piece over again. And when he lent her the book, with only the charge that she should not go further than he had been, she pored over that scene with untiring pleasure, till she almost had it by heart. In short, never was a child more comforted and contented with a book than Ellen was with the _Pilgrim's Progress_. That was a blessed visit of John's. Alice said he had come like a sunbeam into the house; she dreaded to think what would be when he went away.