Mr. Dinsmore shook hands with his sister, addressed a remark to his wife, then, glancing about the room, asked, "Where is Elsie?"
"She left us a moment since, but did not say where she was going," said Rose.
"I presume you'll find her crying in her boudoir or dressing room," added Enna.
"Nothing that I know of, except that I told her of Herbert Carrington's being so much worse that they've taken him North as a last hope."
"Is that so?" and Mr. Dinsmore looked much concerned.
"Yes, there can be no doubt about it, for I heard it from Harry himself this morning."
Mr. Dinsmore rose, and, putting his little son gently aside, left the room.
Elsie was not in her own apartments; he passed through the whole suite, looking for her; then, going on into the grounds, found her at last in her favorite arbor. She was crying bitterly, but at the sound of his step checked her sobs, and hastily wiped away her tears. She thought he would reprove her for indulging her grief, but instead he took her in his arms and soothed her tenderly.
"Oh, papa," she sobbed, "I feel as if I had done it--as if I had killed him."
"Darling, he is not past hope; he may recover, and in any event not the slightest blame belongs to you. I have taken the whole responsibility upon my shoulders."
She gave him a somewhat relieved and very grateful look, and he went on: "And even if I had allowed you to decide the matter for yourself, you would have done what was your duty in refusing to promise to belong to one whom you love less than you love your father."
Some months later there came news of Herbert's death. Elsie's grief was deep and lasting. She sorrowed as she might have done for the loss of a very dear brother; while added to that was a half-remorseful feeling which reason could not control or entirely relieve; and it was long ere she was quite her own bright, gladsome sunny self again.
The bloom of opening flowers' unsullied beauty-- Softness and sweetest innocence she wears, And looks like nature in the world's first spring.
"What a very peculiar hand, papa; so stiff and cramped and old-fashioned," Elsie remarked, as her father laid down a letter he had just been reading.
"Yes. Did you ever hear me speak of Aunt Wealthy Stanhope?"
