Grandmother Elsie

"Nor less was she in heart affected,
But that she masked it with modesty,
For fear she should of lightness be detected."
—Spenser's "Fairy Queen."

Violet had lingered at the Laurels, with her Aunt Rose, for some hours after her mother returned to Ion with the children, and in the meanwhile there had been a long talk between Mrs. Travilla and Capt. Raymond, in which he had pleaded his cause with all the eloquence an ardent passion could inspire.

Elsie's answer was, "If you have won my daughter's heart, her hand shall not be refused you. But she is yet too young for the grave responsibilities of married life. Nor can I reconcile myself to the thought of parting with her so soon; therefore I should greatly prefer to have the matter dropped, at least for the present."

The captain repeated what he had said to Mr. Dinsmore in regard to his willingness to leave Violet with her mother if only he might have her for his wife.

"That would be very pleasant," Elsie said her eyes shining; "and so far you have the decided advantage of a suitor who would carry her away from us; but, Captain, you are a father, and the woman whom you marry should be not only a wife to you, but also a mother to your children; but for that care and responsibility my little Vi is, I fear, far too young. Indeed, my mother heart can ill brook the thought of her being so burdened in the very morning of her life."

"Nor should I be willing to burden her, my dear Mrs. Travilla," he said with feeling; "she should never bear the lightest burden that I could save her from. But, my dear madam, would my children be any better off if I should remain single? I think not, and I also think that should I marry another while my heart is your daughter's, I should be doing very wrong. But I cannot; if I fail to win her I shall remain as I am to the end of my days."

"I trust not," she said; "you may get over this and meet with some one else with whom you can be very happy."

He shook his head very decidedly. "I feel that that is impossible. But how was it in your own case, Mrs. Travilla? Mrs. Dinsmore is, I understand, but a few years older than yourself."

"That is quite true, sir; and I know papa never let her take any responsibility in regard to me, but taught, trained, and cared for me in all respects himself; he was father and mother both to me," she said with a lovely smile; "but you, my dear sir, are so situated that you could not follow his example; you can neither stay at home with your children nor take them to sea with you."

"True, but they can stay where they are quite as well if I am married as if I remain without a wife. I love them very dearly, Mrs. Travilla, and earnestly desire to do my whole duty to them, but I do not think it a part of that either to do without the dear little wife I covet, or to burden her with cares unsuited to her tender years. Are you not willing to let me settle this question of duty for myself?"

"I certainly have not the shadow of a right or inclination to attempt to settle any question of duty for you, sir," she answered with sweet gentleness, "but I must, I think, try to help my dear child to consider such questions for herself. And with her, after all, must the decision of this matter remain."

Both mother and lover waited with anxiety for that decision, and while waiting the captain wrote his letter, the mother busied herself with her accustomed cares and duties as daughter, mother, mistress, and hostess, each heart lifting up silent petitions that the result might be for God's glory and the best interests of all concerned.

Elsie was not surprised that Violet did not join the family that evening on her return from the Laurels.

"She doubtless wants a talk with her mother first," was her silent comment on learning that Vi had gone directly to that part of the house in which the private apartments of the family were situated, and presently, as all separated for the night, she sought her own dressing-room, expecting to find Violet waiting for her there.

But the room was unoccupied; one swift glance revealed that fact, and also showed her the box Violet had left on her toilet-table, and beside it some little token of love and remembrance from each of the other members of the family.

A label on each told who was the giver, and breathed of tender affection to her for whom it was prepared.

She looked them over with glistening eyes, a heart full of gratitude for the loves still left her, though sore with the thought, recalled by every anniversary, of him who was gone, and a sweet and beautiful smile playing about her lips.

Violet's gift was the last to be taken up and examined. So life-like was the pictured face suddenly exposed to Elsie's view that it startled her almost as if he had come in and stood by her side. The label told her it was from Violet, but even without that she would have recognized it as her work; and that it was so made it all the more precious to the widowed mother.

She was gazing intently upon it, her lips quivering, the big tears dropping fast down her cheeks, as Violet, with Capt. Raymond's letter in her hand, opened the door, came softly in, and glided noiselessly to her side.

"Dearest mamma," she murmured, stealing an arm about her mother's waist, "does it please you?"

"Nothing could be more like him! My darling, thank you a thousand times!"

"I painted almost entirely from memory, mamma, and it was emphatically a labor of love—love to you and to him. Oh, how sadly sweet it was to see the dear face growing day by day under my hand!"

"Has your grandpa seen it?"

"Yes, mamma, he used to come in sometimes and watch me at my work. He thinks as you do of the likeness. Ah, I hear his step!" and she hastened to open the door for him.

"I thought I should find you here," he said, kissing her on both cheeks, then drawing her near the light and gazing with keen, loving scrutiny into the blushing face.

"Elsie daughter," turning to her—"Ah!" as he perceived her emotion and took note of the miniature in her hand, "is it not a speaking likeness?"

"Yes, papa," she said in a trembling voice, going to him to lay her head on his breast while he clasped her in his arms, "but it has roused such an intense longing in my heart!

"'Oh, for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!"

"Dearest child!" he said tenderly, "the separation is only for time, and a long eternity of reunion will follow. 'Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.'"

"'But for a moment!'" she repeated. "Yes, it will seem like that when it is past, though now the road looks so long and lonely."

"Ah, dearest!" he said, softly smoothing her hair, "remember that nearer, dearer Friend whose promise is, 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.'"

Presently she lifted her head, wiped away her tears, and as her father released her from his arms, turned to her daughter with a tenderly interested and inquiring look.

"What is it, my darling?" she asked, glancing at the letter in the young girl's hand.

Violet gave it to her, saying, with downcast eyes and blushing cheeks, "I found it on my dressing-table, mamma. It is from him—Capt. Raymond—and I have written a note in reply."

"Shall I go away, Vi, and leave you and your mamma to your confidences?" Mr. Dinsmore asked playfully, putting an arm about each and looking with smiling eyes from one to the other.

"No, grandpa, please stay; you know I have no secrets from you," Violet answered, half hiding her face on his shoulder.

"And are grandpa and I to read both epistles—yours and his?" asked her mother.

"If you please, mamma. But mine is not to be given unless you both approve."

The captain's was a straightforward, manly letter, renewing his offer with a hearty avowal of strong and deathless love, and replying to her objections as he had already in talking with her mother and grandfather.

Violet's answer did not contain any denial of a return of his affection; she simply thanked him for the honor done her, but said she did not feel old enough or wise enough for the great responsibilities of married life.

"Rather non-committal, isn't it, little cricket?" was her grandfather's playful comment. "It strikes me that you neither accept nor reject him."

"Why, grandpa," she said confusedly, "I thought it was a rejection."

Mr. Dinsmore and his daughter had seated themselves near the table, on which a lamp was burning, and Violet knelt on a hassock at her mother's feet, half hiding her blushing face on her lap.

"Ah, my little girl!" Elsie said, with playful tenderness, putting one hand under Vi's chin, and lifting the fair face to look into it with keen, loving scrutiny, "were I the captain, I should not despair; the citadel of my Vi's heart is half won."

The cheeks were dyed with hotter blushes at that, but no denial came from the ruby lips. "Mamma, I do not want to marry yet for years," she said, "and I think it will not be easy for any one to win me away from you."

"But he says he will not take you away," remarked her grandpa.

"Are you on his side, grandpa?" asked Violet.

"Only if your heart is, my dear child." "And in that case I am on his side too," said her mother, "because I desire my little girl's happiness even more than her dear companionship as exclusively my own."

"Except what belongs to her grandpa and guardian," said Mr. Dinsmore, taking Vi's arm and gently drawing her to a seat upon his knee.

Vi put her arms about his neck. "The dearest, kindest grandpa and guardian that ever anybody had!" she said, giving him a kiss of ardent affection. "Well, if you, sir, and mamma are both on the captain's side, I suppose it won't do for me to reject him. But you say my note isn't a rejection, so will you please give it to him? And if he isn't satisfied to take it for no and let me alone on the subject, he may wait a year or two and see if—if he still feels toward me as he does now, and perhaps—only perhaps—if he hasn't changed his mind and asks again——"

"You may say yes?" Mr. Dinsmore asked as she broke off in confusion.

"Oh, grandpa, say what you think best! only don't make it too easy for him," she said, with an arch smile, but blushing deeply.

"I think," said Mr. Dinsmore, "I shall only give him your note without any additions of my own, and leave him to carry on further negotiations, or not, as he sees fit."

Capt. Raymond did not take Vi's answer as a decided rejection, and within twenty-four hours had won from her an acknowledgment that she was not indifferent to him, and persuaded her to promise him her hand at some far-off future day. All seemed well contented with the arrangement, and the week that followed was a very delightful one to the lovers.

In the mean time his Christmas gifts to his children had been received by them with great joy. Especially did Max and Lulu rejoice over the opportunity now afforded them to open their hearts to their father and tell him all their grievances.

He had written to both Mr. Fox and Mrs. Scrimp directing his gifts to be delivered into the children's own hands without any examination, and never to be taken from them. Also that they be allowed to spend their Christmas together.

So Max was permitted to go to Mrs. Scrimp's to spend the day with his sisters, and was well pleased to do so when he learned that that lady would not be at home, having accepted an invitation to take her Christmas dinner elsewhere.

Ann, who was left at home to look after the children, gave them an excellent dinner, and Max, having found some money in his desk, came provided with candies.

They compared presents, and spent some time over the books their father had sent, then Max and Lulu decided that it would be best to write now to their father, thanking him for his gifts and telling him all they had so long wanted him to know.

Lulu compressed what she had to say into a few lines—her love, thanks, longing to see papa, Gracie's feebleness, and her own belief that it was all because she did not get enough to eat; an acknowledgment that she was saucy to "Aunt Beulah," and sometimes helped herself to food, but excusing it on the plea that otherwise she too would be half starved; and that poor Max was often beaten and abused by Mr. Fox for just nothing at all.

Max's letter was much longer, as he went more into detail, and was not finished for several days. When it was he inclosed it and Lulu's, which she had given into his charge, in one of the envelopes that he had found in his desk ready stamped and directed, and mailed it to his father.

These letters reached Ion on New Year's morning. The captain read them with deep concern, first to himself, then to Mrs. Travilla and Violet, as they happened to be alone together in the parlor.

The hearts of both ladies were deeply touched, and their eyes filled with tears as they listened to the story of the wrongs of the poor motherless children.

"Oh, captain, you will not leave them there where they are so ill used?" Vi said almost imploringly; "it breaks my heart to think of their sufferings!"

"Don't let it distress you, my dear girl," he replied soothingly; "we should perhaps make some allowance for unintentional exaggeration. There are always two sides to a story, and we have but one here."

"But told in a very straightforward way," Elsie said with warmth. "Both letters seem to me to bear the stamp of truth. Depend upon, it, captain, there is good ground for their complaints."

"I fear so," he said, "and am quite as anxious, my dear Mrs. Travilla, as you could wish to set my dear children free from such tyranny; but what can I do? In obedience to orders, I must return to my vessel to-morrow and sail at once for a distant foreign port. I cannot go to see about my darlings, and I know of no better place to put them. I shall, however, write to Mrs. Scrimp, directing her to have immediately the best medical advice for Gracie, and to follow it, feeding her as the doctor directs. Also always to give Lulu as much as she wants of good, plain, wholesome food. I shall also write to Fox, giving very particular directions in regard to the management of my son."

"Great minds, like heaven, are pleased in doing good."
—Rowe.

Capt. Raymond's departure left Violet more lonely than his coming had found her, much as she was at that time missing her elder sister and brother.

They were to correspond, but as he would sail immediately for a foreign port, the exchange of letters between them could not, of course, be very frequent.

Her mother, grandpa, and Grandma Rose all sympathized with her in the grief of separation from the one who had become so dear, and exerted themselves to cheer and comfort her.

She and her mamma were bosom companions, and had many a confidential chat about the captain and his poor children, the desire to rescue the latter from their tormentors and make them very happy growing in the hearts of both.

As the captain had not enjoined secrecy upon them in regard to the letters of Max and Lulu, and it was so much the habit of both to speak freely to Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore—especially the former—of all that interested themselves, it was not long before they too had heard, with deep commiseration, the story of the unkind treatment to which Max, Lulu, and Gracie were subjected.

"We must find a way to be of service to them," Mr. Dinsmore said. "Perhaps by instituting inquiries among our friends and acquaintances we may hear of some kind and capable person able and willing to take charge of them, and to whom their father would be willing to commit them."

"I wish we could!" Elsie said with a sigh. "I think I can fully sympathize with the poor things, for I have not forgotten how in my early childhood I used to long and weep for the dear mamma who had gone to heaven, and my dear papa away in Europe."

"A very poor sort of father he was then, very culpably neglectful of his little motherless child," Mr. Dinsmore said in a remorseful tone, and regarding her with a tenderly affectionate look.

"But afterward and to this day the very best of fathers," she responded, smiling up at him. "Dear papa, what a debt of gratitude do I not owe to you for all the love, care, and kindness shown by you to me and my children!"

"I feel fully repaid by the love and obedience I receive in return," he said, seating himself on the sofa by Vi's side and softly stroking her hair.

"Children and grandchildren all rise up and call you blessed, dear papa," Elsie said, laying down the embroidery with which she had been busy, and coming to his other side to put her arm about his neck and gaze lovingly into his eyes.

A silent caress as he passed his arm around her waist and drew her closer to him was his only response.

"Grandpa and mamma," said Vi, "don't you think Capt. Raymond is to be pitied? Just think! he has neither father nor mother, brother nor sister! no near and dear one except his children; and from them he is separated almost all the time."

"Yes," said Mr. Dinsmore, "I do indeed! but am not sorry enough for him to give you up to him yet. I would not allow your mamma to marry till she was several years older than you are now."

"No, sir," said Elsie, smiling, "I well remember that you utterly forbade me to listen to any declarations of love from man or boy, or to think of such things if I could possibly help it."

"Well, you lost nothing by waiting."

"Lost! oh, no, no papa!" she cried, dropping her head upon his shoulder, while a scalding tear fell to the memory of the husband so highly honored, so dearly loved.

"My dear child! my poor dear child!" her father said very low and tenderly, pressing her closer to his side; "the separation is only for the little while of time, the reunion will be for the endless ages of eternity."

"A most sweet and comforting thought, dear father," she said, lifting her head and smiling through her tears; "and with that glad prospect and so many dear ones left me, I am a very happy woman still."

At that moment there was an interruption that for a long time put to flight all thought of effort on behalf of Capt. Raymond's children: Herbert and Harold came hurrying in with the news that a summons to Roselands had come for their grandpa, grandma, and mother. Mrs. Conly had had another stroke, was senseless, speechless, and apparently dying; also the shock of her seizure had prostrated her father, and Arthur considered him dangerously ill.

The summons was promptly obeyed, and Violet left in the temporary charge of children, house, and servants at Ion.

Mrs. Conly died that night, but the old gentleman lingered for several weeks, during which time his son was a constant attendant at his bedside, either Rose or Elsie almost always sharing the watch and labor of love.

At length all was over: the spirit had returned to God who gave it, the body had been laid to rest in the family vault. Mr. Dinsmore and his wife and daughter went home to Ion, and life there fell back into its old quiet grooves.

They spoke tenderly of the old grandfather, and kept his memory green in their loving hearts, but he had gone to his grave like a shock of corn fully ripe, and they did not mourn over his death with the sadness they might have felt had it been that of a younger member of the family.

Toward spring Capt. Raymond's letters became urgent for a speedy marriage. He expected to be ordered home in June and allowed a rest of some weeks or months. Then he might be sent to some distant quarter of the globe, and not see his native land again for a long while, perhaps years. Under such circumstances, how could he wait for his little wife? Would not she and her mother and grandfather consent to let him claim her in June?

The tender hearts of Elsie and Violet could not stand out against his appeals. Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore felt for him too, and at length consent was given, and preparations for the marriage were set on foot.

Then the talk about the captain's children was renewed, and Vi said, with tears in her sweet azure eyes, "Mamma, I do feel like being a mother to them—especially for his sake—it only I were old enough and wise enough to command their respect and obedience. Ah, mamma, if only you could have the training of them! Yet I could not bear to have you so burdened."

"I have been thinking of it, Vi, dear," Elsie said; "that perhaps we could give them a happy home here, and help them to grow up to good and noble man and womanhood, if their father would like to delegate his authority to your grandpa and you and me. I think we would not abuse it, but without it 'twould be quite useless to undertake the charge."

"Dear mamma!" cried Vi, her eyes shining, "how good, how kind, and unselfish you always are!"

Mr. Dinsmore, entering the room at the moment, asked playfully, "What is the particular evidence of that patent at this time, Vi?"

She answered his question by repeating what her mother had just said.

"I have a voice in that," he remarked, with, a grave shake of the head. "I do not think, daughter, that I can allow you to be so burdened."

She rose, went to him where he stood, and putting her arms about his neck, her eyes gazing fondly into his, "Dear papa," she said, "you know I will do nothing against your wishes, but I am sure you will not hinder me from doing any work the Master sends me?"

"No, dear child, you are more His than mine, and I dare not, would not interfere if He has sent you work; but the question is, has He done so?"

"If you please, papa, we will take a little time to consider that question; shall we not?"

"Yes," he said, "it need not be decided to-day. The right training and educating of those children would certainly be a good work, and could it be so managed that I could do all the hard and unpleasant part of it——" he said musingly.

"Oh no! no! my dear father," she hastily interposed, as he paused, leaving his sentence unfinished, "the work should be mine if undertaken at all."

"Perhaps," he said, "it might be tried for a short time as a mere experiment, to be continued only if the children do not prove ungovernable, or likely to be an injury to our own; for our first duty is to them."

"Yes indeed, papa!" responded his daughter earnestly. "And nothing can be really decided upon until Capt. Raymond comes. He may have other plans for his children."

"Yes, it is quite possible he may think best to place Max and Lulu at school somewhere."

"But poor little sick Gracie!" said Violet, the tears springing to her eyes. "Mamma, I do want to have her to love and pet, and I think if we had her here with our good old mammy to nurse her, and Cousin Arthur to attend her, she might grow to be strong and healthy."

"Dear child! I am glad to hear you say that!" said Elsie, "for it is just as I have been thinking and feeling. My heart yearns over the poor motherless children, and that little feeble one very especially."

Capt. Raymond was deeply touched when, shortly after his arrival at Ion to claim his bride, he learned what was in her heart and her mother's toward his children.

After due deliberation it was settled that the experiment should be tried. Arrangements were made for the whole family to spend the summer in two adjoining cottages at a lovely seaside resort on the New England coast, Mrs. Dinsmore to be mistress of one house, Violet of the other, while the captain could be with her, which he had reason to expect would be for several months.

In the fall he would probably be ordered away; then Violet would return to Ion with her mother and the rest of the family, taking his children with her, if Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie should still feel willing to take them in charge. He had a high opinion of Dr. Conly's skill as a physician, and was extremely anxious to place Gracie under his care. Also he thought that to no other persons in the world would he so joyfully commit his children to be trained up and educated as to Mr. Dinsmore, his daughter and granddaughter, and he was more than willing to delegate to them his own authority during his absences from home.

The marriage would take place at Ion, the bride and groom start northward the same day on a wedding tour. On the return trip to the spot which was to be their home for the summer, they would call for the captain's children.

In the mean time the others would complete their arrangements for the season, journey northward also, and take possession of their seaside cottage.

It was a sore disappointment to the whole family at Ion, but especially to Violet and her brother, that Elsie Leland could not be present at the wedding. Lester's health was almost entirely restored, but he felt it important to him as an artist to prolong his stay in Italy for at least some months.

Edward had remained with them through the winter, had left them in April, intending to make an extensive European tour before returning to his native land, but would surely hasten home for Vi's wedding if his mother's summons reached him in season.

"Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings."
—Rowly.

It was Saturday evening. Edward Travilla, travelling leisurely through France, had stopped in a village not many miles from Paris, to spend the Sabbath.

Having taken his supper and afterward a stroll through the village, he retired to his room to read and answer a budget of letters just received from America.

The first he opened was from his mother. It told of Violet's approaching marriage and urged his immediate return that he might be present at the ceremony.

"We are all longing to see you," she wrote, "your mother more, I believe, than any one else. If you have not had enough of Europe yet, my dear boy, you can go back again soon, if you wish, perhaps taking some of us with you. And Vi will be sorely disappointed if you are not present on the occasion so important to her."

"I must certainly go," he mused, laying down the letter. "I should not like to miss it. Vi will be as lovely a bride as Elsie was. I have never been able to decide which of the two is the more beautiful; but I wonder that she is allowed to marry so young—just nineteen! I should have had her wait a year or two at least."

There was a step in the hall without, a rap on the door.

"Come in," Edward said, and Ben appeared.

"Marse Ed'ard, dey tells me dars a 'Merican gentleman bery sick in de room cross de hall hyar; gwine ter die, I reckon."

"Indeed!" Edward said with concern. "I should be glad to be of assistance to him. Is he quite alone, Ben? I mean has he no friends with him?"

"I b'lieves dar's a lady long wid him, Marse Ed'ard, but I mos'ly has to guess 'bout de half ob what dese Frenchers say."

"You don't know the name, Ben?"

"No, sah, couldn't make it out de way dey dispronounces it. But I understands, sah, dat dese folks—meanin' de sick gentleman and de lady—and we's de only 'Mericans in de town."

"Then here, Ben, take my card to the lady and ask if I can be of service to them. Say that I am a countryman of theirs and shall be most happy to do anything in my power."

Ben came back the next moment with a face full of grave concern. "Marse Ed'ard," he said, "it's Mistah Love and Miss Zoe."

"Is it possible!" cried Edward, starting up. "And is he really so very ill?"

"Berry sick, Marse Ed'ard, looks like he's dyin' sho nuff."

"Oh, dreadful! And no one with him but his daughter?"

"Dat's all, sah. De young lady come to de do', and when I give her de card, she look at it and den at me an' say, 'O Ben! I thought we hadn't a friend in all dis country! and papa so very sick! Please tell Mr. Travilla we'll be glad to see him.'"

Edward went to them at once, bidding Ben remain near at hand lest he should be needed to do some errand.

The Loves had remained in Rome for a few weeks after Elsie's marriage, during which Edward had met them frequently, his liking for the father and admiration of the daughter's beauty and sprightliness increasing with every interview.

He had found Mr. Love a sensible, well-informed Christian gentleman. The daughter was a mere child—only fifteen—extremely pretty and engaging, but evidently too much petted and indulged, her father's spoiled darling.

Edward knew that she was an only child and motherless, and was much shocked and grieved to hear that she was likely to lose her only remaining parent.

Zoe herself opened the door in answer to his gentle rap.

"O Mr. Travilla!" she said, giving him both hands in her joy at seeing a friendly face in this hour of sore distress, but with tears streaming down her cheeks, "I am so glad you have come! Papa is so sick, and I don't know what to do, or where to turn."

"My poor child! we must hope for the best," Edward said, pressing the little hands compassionately in his. "You must call upon me for help and let me do whatever I can for you and your poor father, just as if I were his son and your brother."

"Oh, thank you! you are very kind. Will you come now and speak to him?" and she led the way to the bedside.

"Travilla!" the sick man exclaimed, feebly holding out his hand. "Thank God for sending you here!"

Edward took the offered hand in his, saying with an effort to steady his tones, "I am glad indeed to be here, sir, if you can make use of me, but very sorry to see you so ill."

The hand he held was cold and clammy, and death had plainly set his seal upon the pale face on the pillow.

"Shall I send Ben for a physician?" Edward asked.

"Thank you. I have had one; he will be here again presently, but can do little for me," the sick man answered, speaking slowly and with frequent pauses. "Zoe, my darling, go into the next room for a moment, dear. I would be alone with Mr. Travilla for a little while."

The weeping girl obeyed at once, her father following her with eyes that were full of anguish.

"'Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive,'" repeated Edward in low tones, tremulous with deep sympathy.

How this scene brought back that other, but a year and a half ago, when his own father lay wrestling with the king of terrors!

"Yes, yes, precious promise! for she will soon be that, my poor darling!" groaned the sufferer. "That I must leave her alone in the world, without one near relative, alone in a strange land, penniless too, oh this is the bitterness of death!"

"I will be a friend to her, sir," Edward said with emotion, "and so I am sure will my mother and grandfather when they learn her sad story. Tell me your wishes in regard to her, and I will do my best to see them carried out."

As briefly as possible, for his strength was waning, Mr. Love made Edward acquainted with the state of his affairs. He had retired from business the previous year with a comfortable competence, and being somewhat out of health, had undertaken a European tour with the hope of benefit, if not entire recovery.

The improvement had been very decided for a time, but within the last few days distressing news had reached him from America; news of the failure, through the extensive peculation of one of its officers, of a bank in which the bulk of his savings had been invested.

He had other property, but as the law made each stockholder liable for double the amount of his stock, that too was swallowed up and he thus utterly ruined.

The terrible shock of the disaster had so increased his malady that it had become mortal; he was too utterly prostrated to rally from it, and knew that his hours on earth were numbered.

He had a little ready money with him, enough he thought to pay his funeral expenses and Zoe's passage back to her native land, but such a mere child as she was, always used to depending upon him to see to all their affairs, she would not know how to manage, and would probably be robbed of the little she had. And even if she should arrive safely in her own country, what was to become of her then? Without means, no one upon whom she had any claim for assistance, and too young and ignorant to do anything to earn her own living.

Edward was deeply moved by the sad recital. "My dear Mr. Love," he said, "make yourself quite easy about Miss Zoe. I will attend to all these matters about which you have spoken. I am about to return home myself, and will be her companion and protector on the voyage. Nor shall she want for friends or any needed assistance after we arrive."

"God bless you! you have lifted a heavy load from my heart!" faltered the dying father, with a look of deep gratitude. "You are young, sir, but I can trust you fully. There are few older men whom I would as willingly trust."

"And you can die in peace, trusting in the Saviour of sinners?"

"Yes; He is all my hope, all my trust."

"I have been told there is a Protestant minister in the village. Shall I send Ben for him?"

"Yes, thank you; I should be glad to see him, though I feel that he or any man could be of little assistance to me now, if the work of repentance and faith had been left for this hour."

Edward went to the door, called Ben and sent him on the errand, then coming back to the bedside, "Mr. Love," he said, flushing and speaking with some little hesitation, "will you give your daughter to me if she is willing?"

"Give her to you?" the sick man asked as if not fully comprehending.

"Yes, sir; give her to me to wife, and I will cherish her to life's end."

There was a flash of joy in the dying eyes, quickly succeeded by one of hesitation and doubt. "Is it love or compassion only that moves you to this most generous offer?" he asked.

"It is both," Edward said. "I have admired and felt strongly attracted to her from the first day of our acquaintance, though I did not recognize it as love until now. We are both so young that I should not have spoken yet but for the peculiar circumstances in which we are placed; but I truly, dearly love the sweet girl and earnestly desire to be given the right to protect, provide for and cherish her as my dearest earthly treasure so long as we both shall live."

"But your friends, your relatives?"

"I think my mother would not object, if she knew all. But I am of age, so have an undoubted right to act for myself even in so vitally important a matter."

"Then if my darling loves you, let me see you united before I die."

At this moment the door of the adjoining room opened and Zoe's voice was heard in imploring, tearful accents: "Mayn't I come back now? O papa, I cannot stay away from you any longer!"

Edward hastened to her, and taking both her hands in his, "Dear Miss Zoe," he said, "I love you, I feel for you, I want to make you my very own, if you can love me in return, that I may have the right to take care of you. Will you be my dear little wife? will you marry me now, to-night, that your father may be present and feel that he will not leave you alone and unprotected?"

She looked up at him in utter surprise, then seeing the love and pity in his face, burst into a passion of grief.

"Leave me! papa going to leave me!" she cried. "Oh, no, no! I cannot bear it! He must, he will be better soon! O Mr. Travilla, say that he will!"

"No, my darling!" replied a quivering voice from the bed, "I shall not live to see the morning light, and if you love Mr. Travilla tell him so and let me see you married before I die."

"Can you, do you love me, dear little Zoe?" Edward asked in tenderest tones, passing his arm about her waist.

"Yes," she said half under her breath, with a quick glance up into his face, then hid her own on his breast, sobbing, "Oh, take care of me! for I'll be all alone in the wide world when dear papa is gone."

"I will," he said, pressing her closer, softly pushing back the fair hair from the white temple and touching his lips to it again and again. "God helping me, I will be to you a tender, true, and loving husband."

"Come here, Zoe, darling," her father said, "our time grows short;" and Edward led her to the bedside.

"O papa, papa!" she sobbed, falling on her knees and laying her wet cheek to his.

Edward, with heart and eyes full to overflowing, moved softly away to the farther side of the room, that in this last sad interview the constraint of even his presence might not be felt.

Low sobs and murmured words of tenderness and fatherly counsel reached his ear, and his heart went up in silent prayer for both the dying one and her just about to be so sorely bereaved.

Presently footsteps approached the door opening into the passage, a gentle tap followed, and he admitted the minister who had been sent for, beckoning Ben to come in also.

A few whispered words passed between Edward and the minister, then both drew near the bed.

A brief talk with the dying man, in which he professed himself ready and willing to depart, trusting in the atoning blood and imputed righteousness of Christ, a short fervent prayer for him and his child, then Edward, leaning over the still kneeling, weeping Zoe, whispered, "Now, dearest!"

The tear-dimmed eyes looked up inquiringly.

"We are going to belong to each other, are we not?" he said very low and tenderly. "The minister is ready now to speak the words that will make us one for the rest of our lives."

Without speaking she rose, wiping away her tears, put her hand within his arm, and the ceremony began.

When it was over Edward took her in his arms, saying softly as he pressed his lips again and again to her forehead, her cheek, her lips, "My wife, my own dear little wife!"

"My child! my darling!" murmured the father, feebly reaching for her hand.

Edward took it and put it into his.

The dying fingers closed feebly over it. "Lord, I thank thee for this great mercy! 'Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.'"

The words came low and faintly from the lips already growing cold in death, a gasp for breath followed, and all was still, no sound in the room but Zoe's wild weeping, while with silent caresses Edward held her to his heart.

They laid him to rest in the nearest Protestant cemetery, for such had been his request.

In answer to a question from her young husband, Zoe said, "No, no. I shall not wear mourning! I detest it, and so did papa. He made me promise I would not wear it for him. I shall dress in white whenever it is suitable. That is if you like it," she added quickly. "Oh, I shall try to please you always, dear Edward, for you are all I have in the world, and so, so dear and good to me!" and her head went down upon his breast.

"My darling little wife!" he said, holding her close, "you are so dear and lovely in my eyes that I find you beautiful in everything you wear. Yet I am glad you do not care to assume that gloomy dress."

There was no time to be lost if they would catch the next steamer for America, which Edward felt it important to do; so within an hour after the funeral they were en route for Paris, and that night found them on board, beginning their homeward voyage.

Zoe in her deep grief shrank from contact with strangers and clung to her young husband. So they kept themselves much apart from their fellow-passengers. Edward devoting himself to Zoe, soothing her with fond endearing words and tender caresses, and every day their hearts were more closely knit together.

But she seemed half afraid to meet his kindred.

"What if they dislike and despise me!" she said. "O Edward, if they do, will you turn against me?"

"Never, my love, my darling! Have I not promised to love and cherish you to life's end? But if you knew my sweet mother, you would have no fear of her. She is a tender mother, and her kind heart is large enough to take you in among the rest of her children. You saw my sister Elsie in Rome—would you fear her?"

"Oh, no; she was so lovely and sweet!"

"But not more so than our mother; they are wonderfully alike, only mamma is, of course, some years the older. Yet I have often heard it remarked that she looks very little older than her eldest daughter."

He talked a great deal to her of the different members of the Ion family, trying to make her acquainted with them all and their manner of life, which he described minutely.

The picture he drew of mutual love and helpfulness between parents and children, brothers and sisters, was a charming one to Zoe, who had had a lonely, motherless childhood.

"Ah, what a happy life is before me, Edward!" she said, "if only they will let me be one of them! But whether they will or no, I shall have you to love me! You will always be my husband and I your own little wife!"

"Yes, darling, yes, indeed!" he answered, pressing the slight, girlish figure closer to his side.

"Benedict the married man."
—Shakspeare.

Violet's wedding-day was drawing near and Edward had not been heard from, still they hoped he was on his way home and would yet arrive in season. Each day they looked for a telegram saying what train would bring him to their city, but none came.

Edward had not written because a letter would travel no faster than themselves, and did not telegraph because so little could be said in that way. All things considered, it seemed as well to take his mother and the rest entirely by surprise.

He had no fear that his little wife would meet with other than a kind reception, astounded as doubtless they would be to learn that he had one. But he would have the surprise come upon them all at home, where no stranger eye would witness the meeting; therefore sent no warning of his coming lest some one of them should meet him at the depôt.

Yet the first object that met his eye on turning about from assisting Zoe to alight from the train, was the Ion family carriage, with Solon standing at the horses' heads.

"Ki! Marse Ed'ard, you's here sho nuff!" cried the man, grinning with satisfaction.

"Yes, Solon," Edward said, shaking hands with him. "Who came in with you?"

"Nobody, sah. You wasn't spected particular, kase you didn't send no word. But Miss Elsie tole me fotch de kerridge anyhow, an' mebbe you mout be here."

"So I am, Solon, and my wife with me," presenting Zoe, who timidly held out her little gloved hand.

Solon took it respectfully, gazing at her in wide-eyed and open-mouthed wonder. "Ki! Marse Ed'ard, you don' say you's ben an' gwine an' got married! Why dere's weddin's an' weddin's in de family!"

"So it seems, Solon," laughed Edward, putting Zoe into the carriage and taking his place beside her, "but as I am older than Miss Vi, my turn should come before hers. All well at Ion?"

"Yes, sah, an' mighty busy wid de necessary preparations for Miss Wilet's weddin'."

"What an elegant, comfortable, easy-rolling carriage!" remarked Zoe, leaning back against the cushions, "it's a pleasant change from the cars."

"I am glad you find it so, dear," Edward responded, gazing upon her with fond, admiring eyes.

"Yes, but—O Edward, how will I be received?" she cried, creeping closer to him and leaning her head on his shoulder. "I can hardly help wishing I could just be alone with you always."

"Don't be afraid, dearest," he said, putting his arm round her and kissing her tenderly again and again. "When you know them all you will be very far from wishing that."

The whole family were gathered upon the veranda when the carriage drove up. As it stopped, the door was thrown open, and Edward sprang out. There was a general exclamation, of surprise and delight, a simultaneous springing forward to give him an affectionate, joyous greeting; then a wondering murmur and exchange of inquiring glances, as he turned to hand out a slight girlish figure, and drawing her hand within his arm, came up the veranda steps.

Elsie stood nearest of all the waiting group, heart and eyes full of joyous emotion at sight of the handsome face and manly form so like his father's.

"Darling mother!" he exclaimed, throwing his free arm about her and giving her an ardent kiss. Then drawing forward the blushing, trembling Zoe. "My little wife, mother dear you will love her now for my sake, and soon for her own. She is all ours—alone in the world but for us."

Before the last words had left his lips Zoe felt herself folded in a tender embrace, while the sweetest of voices said, "Dear child! you are alone no longer. I will be a true mother to you—my Edward's wife—and you shall be one of my dear daughters."

A gentle, loving kiss accompanied the words, and all Zoe's fears were put to flight; glad tears rained down her cheeks as she clung about the neck of her new-found mother.

"Oh, I love you already," she sobbed.

Mrs. Dinsmore next embraced the little bride with a kind, "Welcome to Ion, my dear."

Then Mr. Dinsmore took her in his arms, saying, with a kiss and a look of keen but kindly scrutiny into the blushing face, "Edward has given us a surprise, but a very pretty and pleasant-looking one. I am your grandpa, my dear."

"Oh, I am glad! I never had a grandpa before. But you hardly look old enough, sir," she said, smiling, while the blush deepened on her cheek.

The others crowded round; each had a kiss and kind word of welcome for her as well as for Edward.

Then the news of the arrival having spread through the house, the servants came flocking about them, eager to see and shake hands with "Marse Ed'ard" and his bride.

Zoe went through it all with easy grace, but Elsie noted that her cheek was paling and her figure drooping with weariness.

"She is tired, Edward; we will take her to your apartments, where she can lie down and rest," she said. "All this excitement is very trying after her long and fatiguing journey. You both should have some refreshment too. What shall it be?"

"Thank you, mamma; I will consult her when I get her up there, then ring and order it," Edward said, putting his arm round Zoe's waist and half carrying her up the stairs, his mother leading the way.

"There, Zoe, what think you of your husband's bachelor quarters?" he asked gayly, as he deposited her in an easy-chair, took off her hat, and stood looking fondly down at her, Elsie on the other side, looking at her too with affectionate interest.

"Oh, lovely!" cried Zoe, glancing about upon her luxurious surroundings. "I am sure I shall be very happy here with you, Edward," with a fond look up into his face; then turning toward Elsie, she added timidly, "and this sweet mother."

"That is right, dear child," Elsie said, bending down to kiss her again, "call me mother or mamma, as Edward does, and never doubt your welcome to my heart and home. Now I shall leave you to rest, and Edward must see that all your wants are supplied."

"O Edward, how sweet, how dear, and how beautiful she is!" cried Zoe, as the door closed on her mother-in-law.

"Just as I told you, love," he said, caressing her. "She takes you to her heart and home without even waiting to inquire how I came to marry in haste without her knowledge or approval."

"Or asking who I am or where I came from. But you will tell her everything as soon as you can?"

"Yes; I shall wait only long enough to see you eat something and lying down for a nap, so that you will not miss me while I have my talk with her."

Zoe, in this her first appearance among them, had produced a favorable impression upon all her new relatives; but the uppermost feeling with each, from the grandfather down, was one of profound astonishment that Edward had taken so serious a step without consulting those to whom he had hitherto yielded a respectful and loving obedience.

Elsie could not fail to be pained to find her dearly loved father and herself so treated by one of her cherished darlings, yet tried to put the feeling aside and suspend her judgment until Edward had been given an opportunity to explain.

The younger children gathered about her, with eager questioning as she rejoined them in the veranda.

"I can tell you nothing yet, dears," she answered in her accustomed sweet and gentle tones, "but no doubt we shall know all about it soon. I think she is a dear little girl whom we shall all find it easy to love. We will do all we can to make her happy and at home among us, shall we not?"

"Yes, mamma, yes indeed!" they all said.

Mr. Dinsmore rose, and motioning to his wife and daughter to follow him went to the library.

Elsie read grave displeasure in his countenance before he opened his lips.

"Dear papa, do not be angry with my boy," she said pleadingly, going to him where he stood, and putting her arms about his neck. "Shall we not wait until we have heard his story?"

"I shall try to suspend my judgment for your sake, daughter," Mr. Dinsmore answered, stroking her hair caressingly, "but I cannot help feeling that Edward seems to have strangely failed in the loving respect and obedience he should have shown to such a mother as his. He has taken very prompt advantage of his arrival at his majority."

"Yet perhaps with good reason, papa," she returned, still beseechingly, her eyes filling with tears.

"We will not condemn him unheard," he answered, his tones softening, "and if he has made a mistake by reason of failing to seek the advice and approval of those who so truly desire his happiness, it is he himself who must be the greatest sufferer thereby."

"Yes," she returned with a sigh, "even a mother's love is powerless to save her children from the consequences of their own follies and sins."

Edward, scarcely less desirous to make his explanation than his mother was to hear it, hastened in search of her the moment he had seen Zoe comfortably established upon a sofa in his dressing-room.

He found her in the library with his grandfather evidently awaiting his coming. They were seated together upon a sofa.

"Dearest mother," Edward said, dropping upon his knees by her side and clasping her in his arms, "how can I ever thank you enough for your kindness this day to me and my darling! I fear I must seem to you and grandpa an ungrateful wretch; but when you know all, you will not, I trust, blame me quite so severely."

"We are not blaming you, my dear boy, we are waiting to hear first what you have to say for yourself," Elsie answered, laying her hand fondly upon his head. "Sit here by my side while you tell it," she added, making room for him on the sofa.

He made his story brief, yet kept nothing back.

His hearers were deeply moved as he repeated what Mr. Love had told him of the lonely and forlorn condition in which he must leave his petted only child, and went on to describe the hasty marriage and the death scene, so immediately following. Their kind hearts yearned over the little orphaned bride, and they exonerated Edward from all blame for the part he acted in the short, sad drama.

"Cherish her tenderly, my dear boy," his mother said, with tears in her soft eyes, "you are all, everything to her, and must never let her want for love or tenderest care."

"Mother," he answered in moved tones, "I shall try to be to my little wife just the husband my father was to you."

"That is all any one could ask, my son," she returned, the tears coursing down her cheeks.

"Do not expect too much of her, Edward," Mr. Dinsmore said. "She is a mere child, a petted and spoiled one, I presume, from what you have told us, and if she should prove wayward and at times unreasonable, be very patient and forbearing with her."

"I trust I shall, grandpa," he answered. "I cannot expect her to be quite the woman she would have made under my mother's training; but she is young enough to profit by mamma's sweet teachings and example even yet. I find her very docile and teachable, very affectionate, and desirous to be and do all I would have her."

Zoe came down for the evening simply but tastefully attired in white, looking very sweet and fair. She was evidently disposed to be on friendly terms with her new relatives, yet clung with a pretty sort of shyness to her young husband, who perceived it with delight, regarding her ever and anon with fond, admiring eyes.

It excited no jealousy in mother or sisters. Such an emotion was quite foreign to Elsie's nature and found small place in the heart of any one of her children.

Violet, spite of the near approach of her own nuptials, was sufficiently at leisure from herself to give time and thought to this new sister, making her feel that she was so esteemed, and winning for herself a large place in Zoe's heart.

Indeed all exerted themselves to make Zoe fully aware that they considered her quite one of the family. That very evening she was taken with Edward to Vi's room to look at the trousseau, told of all the arrangements for the wedding and the summer sojourn at the North, and made the recipient of many handsome presents from Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, Elsie, and Violet.

But for her recent sad bereavement she would have been a very happy little woman indeed. As it was she was bright and cheerful when with the family, but had occasional paroxysms of grief when alone with Edward, in which she wept bitterly upon his breast, he soothing her with tenderest caresses and words of endearment.

Violet's wedding was strictly private, only near relatives being present; but in accordance with the wishes of the whole family, she was richly attired in white silk, orange blossoms, and costly bridal veil.

Zoe, leaning on Edward's arm, watched her through the ceremony with admiring eyes, more than half regretting that the haste of her own marriage had precluded the possibility of so rich and becoming a bridal dress for herself—a thought which she afterward expressed to Edward in the privacy of their own apartments. "Never mind, my sweet," he said, holding her close to his heart "I couldn't love you any better if you had given yourself to me in the grandest of wedding-dresses."

"How nice in you to say that!" she exclaimed, laying her head on his breast and gazing fondly up into his face. "Didn't Captain Raymond look handsome in his uniform?"

"Yes, indeed; don't you think I have as much reason to envy his appearance as a groom as you Vi's as a bride?"

"No, indeed!" she cried indignantly, "he's not half so nice as you are! I wouldn't exchange with her for all the world!"

"Thank you; that's a very high compliment, I think; for I greatly admire my new brother-in-law," Edward said, with a gleeful laugh, and repeating his caresses.