There was an expression of such calm, such chastened thanksgiving on Mrs.
Greville's features, changed as they were by years of sorrow, that none could gaze on her without a kindred feeling stealing over the heart, and in very truth those feelings seemed reflected on the young and lovely countenance beside her.

A pensive yet a sweet and pleasing smile rested on Ellen's lips, and her dark eye shone softly bright in the light of sympathy.

Beautiful indeed were the orphan's features, but not the dazzling beauty of early youth.

If a stranger had gazed on her countenance when in calm repose, he would have thought she had seen sorrow; but when that beaming smile of true benevolence, that eye of intellectual and soul-speaking beauty met his glance, as certain would he have felt that sorrow, whatever it might have been, indeed had lost its sting.
"It was such an evening, such an hour my Mary died," Mrs.Greville said, as she laid her hand in Ellen's.

"I thought not then to have reflected on it with feelings such as now fill my heart.