“Well, Ellen, what grand difficulty can you not overcome?”

“None, my dear aunt.  My task is done; I only want your approval,” replied Ellen.

“Done!” repeated her aunt, in an accent of astonishment.  “My dear Ellen, it is impossible; I only gave it you a week ago.  You must have worked all night to finish it”

“Indeed I have not,” replied Ellen, quickly yet earnestly.

“Then I certainly must examine every little article,” said Mrs. Hamilton, laughing, “or I shall decidedly fancy this extreme rapidity cannot have been productive of neatness, which last I rather prefer to the first.”

Ellen submitted her work to her scrutiny, without reply, and remained kneeling on a stool at her aunt’s feet, without any apprehension as to the sentence that would be pronounced.

“Really, Ellen, I shall incline to Emmeline’s opinion, and believe some magic is at work within you,” was Mrs. Hamilton’s observation, as she folded up the tiny suit with very evident marks of satisfaction.  “How you have acquired the power of working thus neatly and rapidly, when I have scarcely ever seen a needle in your hand, I cannot comprehend.  I will appoint you my sempstress-general, in addition to bestowing my really sincere thanks for the assistance you have afforded me.”

Ellen pressed her aunt’s hand to her lips in silence, for an emotion Mrs. Hamilton beheld, but could not understand, choked her voice.

“What is the matter, love? has anything occurred to annoy you to-day?  You look paler and more sad than usual; tell me what it is.”

“Do you remember what—­what chanced—­have you forgotten the event that took place this very day, this very hour, in this very room, three years ago?” demanded Ellen, almost inaudibly, and her cheek blanched to the colour of her robe as she spoke.

“Why recall the painful past at such a moment, my sweet girl? has it not been redeemed by three years of undeviating rectitude and virtue?  I had hoped the recollection had ere this long ceased to disturb you,” replied Mrs. Hamilton, with much feeling, as she pressed her lips to her niece’s brow.

“It never can, it never will, unless—­unless—­” Strong and almost fearful emotion prevented all she had wished to say, and throwing into Mrs. Hamilton’s lap a small calf-skin pocket-book, she flung her arms round her neck, and burying her face in her bosom, murmured, in a voice choked with sobs, “The amount of all I took is there—­all—­all.  Oh, take it, and let me thus feel it as a debt which I have paid.”

“Ellen, my own Ellen, be composed,” entreated Mrs. Hamilton, alarmed by the extreme agitation she beheld.  “Tell me, love, what are the contents of this pocket-book? why do you entreat me so earnestly to take it?”

Struggling violently with herself, Ellen tore open the little book, and placed in her aunt’s hand bank notes to the amount of those which had once been so fatal a temptation.