Alice went on:-- "'I have a rich almighty friend, Jesus the Saviour is His name, He freely loves and without end.' "Oh, dear Ellen, whoever can say that has no right to be unhappy. No matter what happens, we have enough to be glad of." "And then I was thinking of those words in the Psalms--'Blessed is the man'--stop, I'll find it; I don't know exactly how it goes;--'Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven; whose sin is covered.'" "Oh yes, indeed!" said Alice. "It is a shame that any trifles should worry much those whose sins are forgiven them, and who are the children of the great King. Poor Miss Fortune never knew the sweetness of those words. We ought to be sorry for her, and pray for her, Ellen; and never, never, even in thought, return evil for evil. It is not like Christ to do so." "I will not, I will not, if I can help it," said Ellen. "You can help it; but there is only one way. Now, Ellen dear, I have three pieces of news for you that I think you will like. One concerns you, another myself, and the third concerns both you and myself. Which will you have first?" "Three pieces of good news!" said Ellen, with opening eyes; "I think I'll have my part first." Directing Ellen's eyes to her pocket, Alice slowly made the corner of the letter show itself. Ellen's colour came and went quick as it was drawn forth; but when it was fairly out, and she knew it again, she flung herself upon it with a desperate eagerness Alice had not looked for; she was startled at the half-frantic way in which the child clasped and kissed it, weeping bitterly at the same time. Her transport was almost hysterical. She had opened the letter, but she was not able to read a word; and quitting Alice's arms she threw herself upon the bed, sobbing in a mixture of joy and sorrow that seemed to take away her reason. Alice looked on surprised a moment, but only a moment, and turned away. When Ellen was able to begin her letter, the reading of it served to throw her back into fresh fits of tears. Many a word of Mrs. Montgomery's went so to her little daughter's heart that its very inmost cords of love and tenderness were wrung. It is true the letter was short and very simple, but it came from her mother's heart; it was written by her mother's hand, and the very old-remembered handwriting had mighty power to move her. She was so wrapped up in her own feelings that through it all she never noticed that Alice was not near her, that Alice did not speak to comfort her. When the letter had been read time after time, and wept over again and again, and Ellen at last was folding it up for the present, she bethought herself of her friend, and turned to look after her. Alice was sitting by the window, her face hid in her hands, and as Ellen drew near she was surprised to see that _her_ tears were flowing, and her breast heaving. Ellen came quite close, and softly laid her hand on Alice's shoulder. But it drew no attention.