Without replying, Mrs. Montgomery raised herself to a sitting posture, and, lifting both hands to her face, pushed back the hair from her forehead and temples, with a gesture which Ellen knew meant that she was making up her mind to some disagreeable or painful effort. Then taking both Ellen's hands, as she still knelt before her, she gazed in her face with a look even more fond than usual, Ellen thought, but much sadder too; though Mrs. Montgomery's cheerfulness had always been of a serious kind. "What question was that you were asking me awhile ago, my daughter?" "I thought, mamma, I heard papa telling you this morning, or yesterday, that he had lost that lawsuit." "You heard right, Ellen--he has lost it," said Mrs. Montgomery sadly. "Are you sorry, mamma?--does it trouble you?" "You know, my dear, that I am not apt to concern myself overmuch about the gain or the loss of money. I believe my Heavenly Father will give me what is good for me." "Then, mamma, why are you troubled?" "Because, my child, I cannot carry out this principle in other matters, and leave quietly my _all_ in His hands." "What is the matter, dear mother? What makes you look so?" "This lawsuit, Ellen, has brought upon us more trouble than ever I thought a lawsuit could--the loss of it, I mean." "How, mamma?" "It has caused an entire change of all our plans. Your father says he is too poor now to stay here any longer; and he has agreed to go soon on some government or military business to Europe." "Well, mamma, that is bad; but he has been away a great deal before, and I am sure we were always very happy?" "But, Ellen, he thinks now, and the doctor thinks too, that it is very important for my health that I should go with him." "Does he, mamma? And do you mean to go?" "I am afraid I must, my dear child." "Not, and leave _me_, mother?" The imploring look of mingled astonishment, terror, and sorrow with which Ellen uttered these words took from her mother all power of replying. It was not necessary, her little daughter understood only too well the silent answer of her eye. With a wild cry she flung her arms round her mother, and hiding her face in her lap gave way to a violent burst of grief that seemed for a few moments as if it would rend soul and body in twain. For her passions were by nature very strong, and by education very imperfectly controlled; and time, "that rider that breaks youth," had not as yet tried his hand upon her. And Mrs. Montgomery, in spite of the fortitude and calmness to which she had steeled herself, bent down over her, and folding her arms about her, yielded to sorrow deeper still, and for a little while scarcely less violent in its expression than Ellen's own.