Grandmother Elsie

"I feel
Of this dull sickness at my heart afraid
And in my eyes the death sparks flash and fade
And something seems to steal
Over my bosom like a frozen hand."
—Willis.

Dr. Arthur Conly rode briskly up the avenue at Roselands, dismounted, throwing the bridle to a servant, and went up the steps into the veranda, whistling softly to himself.

"You seem in good spirits, Art," remarked Calhoun, who sat there with the morning paper in his hand. "I haven't heard you whistle before for—well I should say something like a fortnight."

"I am in good spirits, Cal, the Ion children are out of danger, and uncle has just had a telegram from Ned announcing the safe arrival of their party in New York in good season to take the steamer."

"I presume this tells the same story, though I can't think why it isn't directed to grandpa, or to me as the eldest son of the house," Calhoun said, handing an unopened telegram to his brother.

Arthur tore it hastily open, glanced at the contents and paled to the very lips.

"What is it?" cried Calhoun in alarm.

"Mother!" said Arthur huskily, putting the paper into his brother's outstretched hand. "She has been struck down with apoplexy. Cal, I must take the first train for New York. Look at the paper, see when it leaves. Thank God that those children are out of danger! But I must see whom I can get to take charge of them and my other patients during my absence."

Then calling to a servant he directed a fresh horse to be saddled and brought to the door with all speed, and hurrying into the house, summoned his old mammy and bade her pack a valise with such clothing as he would need on a journey to the North which might occupy a week or more.

"You are acting very promptly," Calhoun said, following him in to give the desired information in regard to the train.

"Yes, there's not a minute to lose, Cal."

Calhoun's face was full of grief and anxiety. "I think I should go, too, Art, if—if you think there's any probability of—finding her alive."

"It's impossible to tell. But we can hardly both be spared from home. It should be kept from grandpa as long as possible, and if he saw us both rushing off in the direction she has taken, he would know at once that something very serious had happened her."

"Yes, you are right, and for the first time I envy you your medical knowledge and skill. She's with Virginia, the message is sent by her," glancing again at the paper which he still held in his hand. "I'm glad of that—that she has at least one of her children with her, if——"

He paused and Arthur finished the sentence. "If she will be of any use or comfort to her, you were about to say? Well, we can only hope that so terrible an emergency has developed some hitherto unsuspected excellencies in Virginia's character."

A horse came galloping up the avenue. Calhoun glanced from the window.

"Another telegram!" he cried, and both brothers dashed out upon the veranda.

This was directed to Calhoun, sent from Philadelphia by their uncle Edward Allison. He and Adelaide would be with Mrs. Conly in two hours, telegraph at once in what condition they found her, and if practicable start with her immediately for her home.

The brothers consulted together, and Arthur decided to go on with his preparations, but delay setting out upon his journey until the coming of the promised message.

It came in due time, and from it they learned that their mother was already on her way home.

The sad tidings had now to be communicated to the other near relatives, but it was deemed best to keep them from the younger children and the feeble old father until the day when she might be expected to arrive.

As gently and tenderly as possible the old gentleman's son broke the news to him.

He was much overcome. "She will never get over it, I fear," he sighed, the tears coursing down his furrowed cheeks. "One bereavement is apt to tread closely upon the heels of another, and she will probably soon follow her sister. But oh if I only knew that she had been washed from her sins in the precious blood of Christ, that she had accepted His invitation, 'Come unto me,' so that death would be but falling asleep in Him, safe in His arms, safe on His gentle breast—I think I could let her go almost willingly, for my race is well nigh run, and it can hardly be long ere I too shall get my summons home."

"Dear father, if such be the will of God, may you be spared to us for many years yet," returned his son with emotion. "And Louise! We do not know her exact condition, but let us hope that God will in His great mercy give her yet more time—months or years—in which to prepare for eternity. We will cry earnestly for her, and in the name of Christ, to Him who hath said, 'I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth,' but bids them 'Turn yourselves and live ye.'"

"Yes; and whose promise is, 'If two of you shall agree on earth, as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven!'"

Silence fell between them for a moment, then the old gentleman asked, "What arrangements have the boys made? She will hardly be able to drive home in a carriage."

"Oh no! they will meet her at the depôt with an ambulance, and I shall be there with the carriage for Mr. Allison, Adelaide, and Virginia."

"Virginia is coming too?"

"We do not know certainly, but expect to see her with the others."

"I cannot say that I hope you will. I never saw a more useless person; she will be only in the way; and—I cannot banish a suspicion that she has brought this attack upon her poor mother. I strongly suspect that Virginia's match has turned out a very bad one, and that she has heaped reproaches upon her mother for the hand she had in bringing it about."

"I hope not!" his son exclaimed with energy; "for if so it must surely be the cause of life-long self-reproach to her. Will you go with us to the depôt, father?"

"No, no, my son! let my first sight of my poor stricken child be where we will not be the gazing stock of an idle, curious crowd. I shall meet her here at my own door."

The train steamed into the depôt, and Mrs. Allison, glancing from a window of the parlor-car, saw her brother and nephews standing near the track.

They saw her, too, and lifted their hats with a sad sort of smile. All felt that the invalid must be unable to sit up or her face also would have been in sight.

In another moment the train had come to a stand-still, and the next the three gentlemen were beside the couch on which Mrs. Conly lay.

She looked up at her sons with eyes full of intelligence, made an effort to speak, but in vain; and the big tears rolled down her cheeks.

They bent over her with hearts and eyes full to overflowing.

"Mother, dear mother, we are glad you have come to us alive," Calhoun said in low, tremulous tones.

"And we hope we shall soon have you much better," added Arthur.

"Yes," said Adelaide, "she is already better than when we first saw her in New York, but has not yet recovered her speech and can not help herself at all. One side seems to be quite paralyzed."

"We have an ambulance waiting," said Calhoun. "As soon as the crowd is out of the way it shall be brought close to the platform of this car and we will lift her into it."

Greetings were exchanged while they waited.

"Where is Virginia?" asked Mr. Dinsmore.

"She preferred to remain behind," replied Mrs. Allison in a low-toned aside, "and as she would have been of no use whatever, we did not urge her to come."

"It is just as well," was Mr. Dinsmore's comment.

Very tenderly and carefully the poor invalid was lifted and placed in the ambulance by her sons and brothers. The former accompanied her in it, while the latter, with Mrs. Allison, entered the Roselands family carriage, and drove thither considerably in advance of the more slowly moving ambulance.

"Has Virginia made a really good match?" Mr. Dinsmore asked, addressing his sister Adelaide.

"Good! it could hardly be worse!" she exclaimed. "Would you have believed it? we found them in a tenement-house, living most wretchedly."

"Is it possible! He was not wealthy then? Or has he lost his means since the marriage?"

"As far as I can learn," said Mr. Allison, "he has always lived by his wits; he is a professional gambler now."

"Dreadful! How does he treat his wife?"

"Very badly indeed, if we may credit her story. They live, as the saying is, like cat and dog, actually coming to blows at times. They are both bitterly disappointed, each having married the other merely for money; which neither had."

Mr. Dinsmore looked greatly concerned. "Virginia was never a favorite of mine," he remarked, "but I do not like to think of her as suffering from either poverty or the abusive treatment of a bad husband. Can nothing be done to better her condition?"

"I think not at present," said Adelaide; "she has made her bed and will have to lie in it. I don't believe the man would ever proceed to personal violence if she did not exasperate him with taunts and reproaches; with slaps, scratches, and hair pulling also, he says."

"O disgraceful!" exclaimed her uncle. "I have no pity for her if she is really guilty of such conduct."

"She told me herself that on one occasion she actually threw a cup of coffee in his face in return for his accusation that she and her mother had inveigled him into the marriage by pretences to wealth they did not possess. Poor Louise! I have no doubt her attack was brought on by the discovery of the great mistake she and Virginia had made, and reproaches heaped on her for her share in making the match."

"'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap,'" sighed Mr. Dinsmore. "I presume Virginia was too proud to show herself here among relatives whose approval of the match had not been asked, and acquaintances who had heard of it as a splendid affair?"

"Your conjecture is entirely correct," said Adelaide. "She gave vent to her feelings on the subject in her mother's presence, supposing, I presume, as I did, that not being able to speak or move, she was also unable to hear or understand, but it was evident from the piteous expression her countenance assumed and the tears coursing down her cheeky that she did both."

"Poor Louise! she has a sad reaping—so far as that ungrateful, undutiful daughter is concerned; but Isa, Calhoun, and Arthur are of quite another stamp."

"Yes, indeed! she will surely find great comfort in them. I wish Isa was not so far away. But you have not told me how my dear old father is. How has he borne this shock?"

"It was a shock of course, especially to one so old and feeble; but I left him calmly staying himself upon his God."

They arrived at Roselands some time before the ambulance. They found the whole household, and also Mrs. Howard, her husband and sons, and Mrs. Travilla, gathered upon the veranda to receive them.

Lora stood by her father's side and Elsie too was very near, both full of loving care for him in this time of sore trial.

And Adelaide's first thought, first embrace, were for him. They wept a moment in each other's arms.

"Is she—is she alive?" he faltered.

"Yes, father, and we hope may get up again. Be comforted for her and for yourself; because 'He doeth all things well,' and 'We know that all things work together for good to them that love God.'"

"Yes, yes; and who can tell but this may be His appointed means for bringing her into the fold!"

There had been time for an exchange of greetings all around and a few comforting words to the younger Conlys, when the ambulance was seen entering the avenue.

With beating hearts and tearful eyes they watched its slow progress. Lying helpless and speechless in the shadow of death, Louise Conly seemed nearer and dearer than ever before to father, children, brothers and sisters.

The ambulance stopped close to the veranda steps, and the same strong, loving arms that had placed her in it now lifted her anew and bore her into the house, the others looking on in awed and tearful silence.

She was carried to her own room, laid upon the bed, and one by one they stood for an instant at her side with a kiss of welcome.

It was evident that she knew them all, though able to speak only with those sad, wistful eyes that gazed with new yearning affection into the faces of father and children.

But presently Arthur, by virtue of his medical authority, banished all from the room except Lora, Elsie, and a faithful and attached old negress who had lived all her days in the family and was a competent nurse.

"Then come the wild weather—come sleet or come snow,
We will stand by each other, however it blow;
Oppression and sickness, and sorrow and pain,
Shall be to our true love as links to the chain."
—Longfellow. (From the German.)

"Courage, sister dear!" whispered Edward Travilla, putting an arm tenderly about Elsie's waist as they found themselves at the very door of Lester Leland's studio.

Her face had grown very pale and she was trembling with agitation.

Still supporting her with his arm, Edward rapped gently upon the door, and at the same instant it was opened from within by the attending physician, who had just concluded his morning call upon his patient.

He was an Italian of gentlemanly appearance and intelligent countenance.

"Some friends of Signor Leland: from America?" he said in good English and with a polite bow.

"Yes. How is he?" Edward asked, stepping in and drawing his sister on with him.

"Sick, signor, very sick, but he will grow better now. I shall expect to see him up in a few weeks," the doctor answered with a significant glance and smile as he turned, with a second and still lower bow, to the sweet, fair maiden.

She did not see it, for her eyes were roving round the room—a disorderly and comfortless place enough, but garnished with some gems of art; an unfinished picture was on the easel; there were others with their faces to the wall; models, statues in various stages of completion, and the implements of painter and sculptor were scattered here and there; a screen, an old lounge, a few chairs, and a table littered with books, papers, and drawing materials, completed the furniture of the large, dreary apartment.

An open door gave a glimpse into an inner room, from which came a slight sound as of a restless movement, a sigh or groan.

Pointing to the chairs, the physician invited the strangers to be seated.

Edward put his sister in one and took possession of another close at her side.

"How soon can we see Mr. Leland?" he asked, putting his card into the doctor's hand.

"I will go and prepare Signor Leland for the interview," the doctor answered, and disappeared through the open doorway.

"Good news for you, signor!" they heard him say in a quiet tone.

"Ah! let me hear it," sighed a well-known voice. "'As cold water to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.'"

"You are right, signor, it comes from far-off America. A friend—a young signor has arrived, and asks to see you."

"Ah! his name?" exclaimed the sick man, with a tremor of gladness in his feeble tones.

"Here is his card."

"'Edward Travilla!'—ah what joy! Let me see him at once. 'Twill be like a breath of home air!"

Every word had reached the ears of the two in the studio.

"Go! go!" cried Elsie, scarcely above her breath, and Edward rose and went softly in.

"Not much talk now, signores," Elsie heard the doctor say.

"No; we'll be prudent," Edward said, grasping Lester's hand.

"So good! so kind! more than I dared hope! But how is she? my darling?" Elsie heard in feeble, faltering, yet eager accents.

"Well, very well, and longing to come here and nurse you back to health."

"Ah, a glimpse of her sweet face I think would bring me back from the borders of the grave! But I could not expect or ask such a sacrifice."

Elsie could wait no longer; she rose and glided with swift, almost noiseless steps to the bedside.

Edward made way for her. Lester looked up, caught sight of her, and a flash of exceeding joy lighted up his pale, emaciated features.

"Elsie!"

"Lester!"

She dropped on her knees, laid her face on the pillow beside his, and their lips met in a long kiss.

"O love, love! how sweet, how kind, how dear in you!" he murmured.

"I have come to be your nurse," she said, with a lovely blush and smile, "come to stay with you always while God spares our lives."

Soon Edward went out and left them together. He had much to attend to, with Dinah and Ben for his helpers. Other and better apartments were speedily rented, cleaned, and comfortably, even elegantly furnished. Their mother had sent them off with full purses and carte blanche to draw upon her bankers for further supplies as they might be needed; and Edward knew it would be her desire to see Elsie and Lester surrounded by the luxuries to which she had been accustomed from her birth.

When night came the doctor pronounced his patient already wonderfully improved.

"But the signora must leave him to me and the nurse to night," he said; "she is fatigued with her long journey and must take her rest and sleep, or she too will be ill."

So Elsie took possession of the pleasant room which had been prepared for her, and casting on the Lord all care for herself and dear ones, and full of glad anticipations for the future, slept long and sweetly.

It was early morning when she woke. That day and several succeeding ones were spent at Lester's side in the gentle ministrations love teaches. There was little talk between them, for he was very weak, and love needs few words; but he slept much of the time with her hand in his, and waking gazed tenderly, joyously into the sweet face.

Happiness proved the best of medicines, and every hour brought a slight increase of strength, a change for the better in all the symptoms.

Meanwhile Edward and the two servants were busy with the laying in of needed supplies and the preparation of the suite of apartments which were to form the new home—Elsie giving a little oversight and direction.

At length their labors were completed, and she was called in to take a critical survey and point out any deficiency, if such there were.

She could find none. "My dear brother, how can I thank you enough?" she said, with a look of grateful affection.

"You are satisfied?"

"Oh, entirely! I only wish mamma and the rest could see how comfortable, tasteful, really beautiful you have made these rooms!"

"I am very glad our work pleases you. And the doctor tells me that under the combined influence of good nursing and unexpected happiness, Lester is gaining faster than he could have deemed possible. What is the time fixed upon for the ceremony which is to rob you of your patronymic, sister mine?"

"Add to it, you should say," she corrected, with a charming blush. "Noon of day after to-morrow is the hour. Edward, do you know that our good doctor is a Waldensian?"

"No, I did not, and am pleased to learn it; though I was satisfied that he was no Papist."

"Yes, he is one of that long-persecuted noble race, and will take you to see his pastor on our behalf. I have so greatly admired and loved the Waldenses that I really feel that to be married by one of their pastors will be some small compensation for—for being so far from home and—mamma. O Edward, if she were but here!"

Her tears were falling fast. He put his arm about her waist, her head dropped upon his shoulder and he smoothed her hair with caressing hand.

"It is hard for you," he said tenderly; "so different from what you and all of us have looked forward to. But you have been very brave, dear; and what a blessing that your coming is working such a cure for Lester!"

"Yes, oh yes! God is very good to me, His blessings are unnumbered!"

"It seems a sad sort of bridal for you," he said, "but I shall telegraph the hour to mamma immediately, and they will all be thinking of and praying for you."

"Oh, that is a comfort I had not thought of!" she exclaimed, with glad tears shining in her eyes. "What a blessing you are to me, brother dear!"

Lester was not able to leave his bed or likely to be for weeks, but that she might devote herself the more entirely to him Elsie had consented to be married at once.

She laid aside her mourning for the occasion, and Dinah helped her to array herself for her bridal in a very beautiful evening dress of some white material which had been worn but once before.

"Pity dars no time to get a new dress, Miss Elsie," remarked the handmaiden half regretfully. "Doe sho' nuff you couldn't look no sweeter and beautifuller dan you does in dis."

"I prefer this, Dinah, because they all—even dear, dear papa—have seen me in it," Elsie said, hastily wiping away a tear; "and I remember he said it became me well. Oh, I can see his proud, fond smile as he said it, and almost feel the touch of his lips; for he bent down and kissed me so tenderly."

"Miss Elsie, I jes b'lieves he's a lookin' at you now dis bressed minute, and ef de res' of dose dat lubs you is far away he'll be sho to stan' close side o' you when de ministah's a saying de words dat'll make you Massa Leland's wife."

"Ah, Dinah, what a sweet thought! and who shall say it may not be so!"

"Dar's Massa Edward!" exclaimed Dinah, as a quick, manly step was heard, followed by a light rap upon the door.

She hastened to open it "We's ready, Marse Ed'ard."

He did not seem to hear or heed her; his eyes were fastened upon his beautiful sister, more beautiful at this moment, he thought, than ever before.

"Elsie!" he cried. "Oh that mamma could see you! she herself could hardly have been a lovelier bride! yet these are wanted to complete your attire," opening a box he had brought, and taking therefrom a veil of exquisite texture and design and a wreath of orange blossoms.

"How kind and thoughtful, Edward!" she said, thanking him with a sweet though tearful smile; "but are they suitable for such a bridal as this?"

"Surely," he said. "Come, Dinah, and help me to arrange them."

Their labors finished, he stepped back a little to note the effect.

"O darling sister," he exclaimed, "never, I am sure, was there a lovelier bride! I wish the whole world could see you!"

"Our own little world at Ion is all I should ask for," she responded in tremulous tones.

"Yes, it must be very hard for you," he said; "especially not to have mamma here, you who have always clung to her so closely. Such a different wedding as it is from hers! But it's very romantic you know," he added jocosely, trying to raise her drooping spirits.

"Ah, I am forgetting a piece of news I have to tell I met an American gentleman and his daughter, the other day, fell into conversation with him, and learned that we have several common acquaintances I think we were mutually pleased, and I have asked him and his daughter in to the wedding; thinking it would not be unpleasant to you, and we should thus have two more witnesses."

"Perhaps it is best we should," she returned, in her sweet, gentle way, yet looking somewhat disturbed.

"I'm afraid I ought to have consulted you first," he said. "I'm sorry, but it is too late now His name is Love; his daughter—an extremely pretty girl by the way—he calls Zoe."

Ben now came to the door to say that all was in readiness—the minister, the doctor, and the other gentleman and a lady had arrived.

Edward gave his arm to his sister and led her into the room, to which Lester had been carried a few moments before, and where he lay on a luxurious couch, propped up with pillows into a half-sitting posture.

A touch of color came into his pale cheeks, and his eyes shone with love and joy as they rested upon his lovely bride, as Edward led her to the side of his couch.

Dinah and Ben followed, taking their places near the door and watching the proceedings with interest and sympathy.

The minister stood up, the doctor, the stranger guests, the nurse also, and the ceremony began.

Elsie's eyes were full of tears, but her sweet low tones were distinct and clear as she took the marriage vows.

So were Lester's; his voice seemed stronger than it had been for weeks, and when he took the small white-gloved hand in his, the grasp was firm as well as tender.

"One kiss, my love, my wife!" he pleaded when the ceremony was ended.

A soft blush suffused the fair face and neck, but the request was granted; she bent over him and for an instant their lips met.

Then Edward embraced her with brotherly affection and good wishes. He grasped Lester's hand in cordial greeting, then turned and introduced his new-made friends to the bride and groom.

A table loaded with delicacies stood in an adjoining room, and thither the brother and sister and their guests now repaired, while for a short season the invalid was left to quietness and repose that he might recover from the unwonted excitement and fatigue.

"Therein he them fall fair did entertain,
Not with such forged shows as fitter been
For courting fools, that courtesies would faine,
But with entire affection plain."
—Spenser's "Fairy Queen."

One bright morning in November the Ion family were gathered about the breakfast-table. Rosie and Walter were there for the first time since their severe illness, a trifle pale and thin still, but nearly in usual health, and very glad to be permitted to take their old places at the table.

Mrs. Dinsmore had returned from her sojourn at the Laurels, the home of her daughter Rose; the grandchildren there, whom she had been nursing, having also recovered their health; and so the places of the eldest son and daughter of the house were the only vacant ones.

Both Elsie and Edward were sorely missed, especially by the mother and Violet.

"It seems time we had letters again from our absentees, papa," Mrs. Travilla remarked as she poured the coffee. "We have had none since the telegram giving the hour for the wedding."

"No, but perhaps we may hear this morning—the mail has not come yet."

"Yes, grandpa; here comes Solon with it," said Harold, glancing from the window.

In a few moments the man came in bringing the mail-bag, which he handed to Mr. Dinsmore.

All looked on with interest, the younger ones in eager expectation, while their grandfather opened it and examined the contents.

"Yes, daughter, there is a letter from each of them, both directed to you," he said, glancing over the addresses on several letters which he now held in his hand. "Here, Tom," to the servant in waiting, "take these to your mistress. Don't read them to the neglecting of your breakfast," he added with a smile, again addressing Mrs. Travilla.

"No, sir; they will keep," she answered, returning the smile; "and you shall all share the pleasure of their perusal with me after prayers. Doubtless they give the particulars we all want so much to learn."

They all gathered round her at the appointed time. She held the letters open in her hand, having already given them a cursory examination lest there should be some little confidence intended for none but "mother's" eye.

"Papa," she said, looking up half tearfully, half smilingly at him as he stood at her side, "the deed is indeed done, and another claims my first-born darling as his own."

"You have not lost her, Elsie dearest, but have gained a son; and I trust we shall have them both with us ere long," he responded, bending down to touch his lips to the brow still as smooth and fair as in the days of her girlhood.

"Poor dear Elsie! how she must have missed and longed for you, dearest mamma!" Violet sighed, kneeling close to her mother's chair and putting her arms around her.

"What is it? all about Elsie's wedding?" asked Herbert. "Please let us hear it, mamma. The telegram told nothing but the hour when it was to be, and I was so surprised, for I never understood that that was what she went away for."

"Nor I," said Harold; "though I suppose it was very stupid in us not to understand."

"Who did get married with my sister Elsie, mamma?" asked little Walter.

"Mr. Leland, my son."

"But I thought he was most dead," remarked Rosie in surprise.

"He has been very ill," her mother said, "but is improving fast, though not yet able to sit up."

Rosie, opening her eyes wide in astonishment, was beginning another question when Harold stopped her.

"Wait, Rosie, don't you see mamma is going to read the letters? They will tell us all about it, I presume."

"I shall read Edward's first, it gives a very minute account of what they have done since he wrote us last, just after their arrival in Rome," the mother said. "He is a good boy to take the trouble to tell us everything in detail; is he not, papa?"

"Yes," Mr. Dinsmore assented, seating himself by her side and taking Rosie upon one knee, Walter on the other; "and so good a mother richly deserves good, thoughtful sons and daughters, ever ready to do all in their power to promote her happiness, or afford her pleasure. Does she not, children?"

"Yes, grandpa, indeed she does!" they replied in chorus.

Her sweet soft eyes glistened with happy tears as she sent a loving glance round the little circle; then all becoming perfectly quiet and attentive, she began to read.

Edward's first item of news was that the marriage had just taken place; the next that Lester's health was steadily improving. Then came a description of the rooms they were occupying; both as they were when first seen by Elsie and himself and as they had become under his renovating and improving hands.

After that he drew a vivid picture of Elsie's appearance in her bridal robes, told who were present at the ceremony, who performed it, how the several actors acquitted themselves, and what refreshments were served after it was over.

He said he thought happiness was working a rapid cure with Lester, and that from all he could see and hear, his success as both painter and sculptor was already assured.

Elsie's themes were the same, but she had much to say of Edward's kind thoughtfulness, his energy and helpfulness; "the best and kindest of brothers," she called him, and as she read the words the mother's eyes shone with love and pride in her eldest son.

But her voice trembled, and the tears had to be wiped away once and again when she came to that part of the letter in which Elsie told of her feelings as she robed herself for her bridal with none to assist but Dinah; how sad was her heart, dearly as she loved Lester, and how full of longing for home and mother and all the dear ones so far away; then of the comfort she found in the idea that possibly the dear departed father might be near her in spirit.

"Was it wrong, mamma," she asked, "to think he might perhaps be allowed to be a ministering spirit to me in my loneliness? and to find pleasure in the thought?"

"Mamma, what do you think about it?" asked Herbert.

"I do not know that we have any warrant for the idea in the Scriptures," she answered; "it seems to be one of the things that is not revealed; yet I see no harm in taking comfort in the thought that it may be so. My poor lonely darling! I am glad she had that consolation. Ah, papa, what a different wedding from mine!"

"Yes," he said, "and from what we thought hers would be. But I trust she will never see cause to regret the step she has taken. Lester is worth saving even at the sacrifice she has made."

His daughter looked at him with glistening eyes. "Thank you, papa, that is a good thought, and consoles me greatly for both our darling and ourselves."

She went on with the reading of the letter; there were but a few more sentences; then, while the others discussed its contents, Violet stole quietly from the room, unobserved as she thought. But in that she was mistaken. Her mother's eyes followed her with a look of love and sympathy.

"Dear child!" she said in a low aside to her father, "she misses Elsie sorely; I sometimes think almost more than I do, they were so inseparable and so strongly attached."

Vi's heart was very full, for Elsie's marriage, though far, far from being so great a sorrow as the death of their father, seemed in some respects even more the breaking up of a life that had been very sweet.

She sought the studio she and Elsie had shared together (how lonely and deserted it seemed!) and there gave vent to her feelings in a burst of tears.

"O Elsie, darling! we were so happy together! such dear friends! with never a disagreement, hardly a thought unshared! And now I am alone! all alone!"

She had unconsciously spoken aloud. A soft sweet voice echoed the last word.

"Alone! ah, my darling, no! not while your mother lives. You and I must cling the closer together, Vi dearest," the voice went on, while two loving arms enfolded her and a gentle kiss was imprinted upon cheek and brow.

"Dearest mamma!" cried Violet, returning the caress, "forgive me that I should indulge in such grief while you are left me—you and your dear love, the greatest of earthly treasures."

"Yes, dear child, your grief is very natural. These changes, though not unmixed calamities, are one of the hard conditions of life in this lower world, dear daughter; but we must not let them mar our peace and happiness; let us rejoice over the blessings that are left, rather than weep for those that are gone."

"I will, mamma," Violet said, wiping away her tears. "Ah, how much I still have to rejoice in and be thankful for!"

"Yes, dear, we both have! and not the least the love of Him who has said, 'Lo, I am with you alway.' Oh the joy, the bliss of knowing that nothing can ever part us from Him! And then to know, too, that some day we shall all be together in His immediate presence, beholding His face and bearing His image!"

Neither spoke again for some moments, then the mother said, "Vi, dearest, there is nothing more conducive to cheerfulness at such a time as this than being fully employed. So I ask you to take charge of Rosie and Walter for a few hours. They are not yet well enough for tasks or for out door sports, but need to be amused. And your grandpa and grandma want me to drive with them to the Laurels and Roselands."

"Yes, do go, mamma, and try to enjoy yourself. You have seen so little of Aunt Adelaide since she came, or of Aunt Rosie, since the sickness began with her children and ours. Thank you for your trust, I shall do my best," Violet said with cheerful alacrity. "Ah, the recovery of the darlings is one of the many mercies we have to be thankful for!"

"Yes, Vi, and my heart is full of joy and gratitude to the Great Physician."

At Roselands Mrs. Conly still lay helpless on her couch, her condition having changed very slightly for the better; she could now at times, with great effort, speak a word or two, but friends and physicians had scarcely a hope of any further improvement; she might live on thus for years, or another stroke might at any moment bring the end.

Cut off from all other means of communicating her thoughts and feelings, she could show them only by the expression of her countenance, which was sullen, fierce, despairing, piteous by turns.

She had the best of care and nursing from her sisters, her sons, and her old mammy, assisted occasionally by other friends and relatives, and could not fail to read in their faces and the tones of their voices tender pity and sympathy for her in her sore affliction.

They could not tell whether she understood all that was said to her, but hoping that she did, spoke often to her of the loving Saviour and tried to lead her to Him.

Hitherto the Ion friends had not been able to be with her a great deal, but it had not been necessary, as Adelaide was still at Roselands.

She, however, expected soon to return to her own home, and there would then be greater need of their services; therefore there was double reason for thankfulness for the restoration to health of the little ones at Ion and the Laurels; releasing, as it did, both Mrs. Dinsmore and Mrs. Travilla from the cares and labors which had occupied them for some weeks past.

The latter gave expression to that thought while driving to the Laurels with her father and his wife, adding, "I can now hold myself in readiness to take Aunt Adelaide's place at any moment."

"Not with my consent," said Mr. Dinsmore emphatically; "if you consider yourself at all under my authority you will take a week at least of entire rest and relaxation."

She looked at him with her own sweet smile, full of filial love and reverence, and putting her hand in his, said, "Yes, my dear father, that is still one of my great happinesses, as it has been almost ever since I can remember. Ah, it is often very restful to me just to resign myself to your wise, loving guidance and control!"

His fingers closed over the small, daintily gloved hand, holding it in a warm and tender clasp.

"Then do not forget that you are not to undertake anything that can tax your strength, without my knowledge and permission. Nor must you, Rose," he added with playful authority, turning an affectionate, smiling glance upon her; "you too are worn out and must have rest."

"Well, my dear," she said laughingly, "I make no rash promises. You know I never have equalled Elsie in submissiveness."

"No; and yet you have usually shown yourself amenable to authority."

"Perhaps because it has so seldom been exerted," she saucily returned. "My dear, we have not yet had our first quarrel."

"And have lived together for thirty odd years. I think it would hardly be worth while to begin after so long a delay."

"Nor do I," she said, "therefore shall probably yield to your wishes in this matter—or commands, call them what you will; especially as they are in full accord with my own inclinations."

"Elsie," he said, turning to his daughter again, "I have taken the liberty of inviting some guests to Ion this morning."

"Liberty, papa!" she exclaimed. "It would be impossible for you to take liberties with me or mine; I consider your rights and authority in any house of mine fully equal, if not superior to my own. If the mistress of the mansion be subject to your control," she added, with a bright look up into his face, and much of the old time archness in her smile, "surely all else must be."

"Thank you, daughter; then I have not taken a liberty, but I have invited the guests all the same. You do not ask how it happened or who they are, but I proceed to explain.

"In glancing over the morning paper, while you and Rose were attiring yourselves for the drive, I saw among the items of news that Donald Keith is in our city. So I dispatched Solon with a carriage and a hastily written note, asking Donald to come out to see us, bringing with him any friend or friends he might choose."

"I am glad you did, papa; they shall have a warm welcome. But will it not make it necessary for us to return home earlier than we intended?"

"No, not at all, it is not likely they will arrive until near our dinner hour—if they come at all to-day, and if they should be there earlier, Violet is quite capable of entertaining them."

"Yes," said Mrs. Dinsmore, "I know of no one more competent to minister to the enjoyment of either grown people or children. As regards talent, sweetness of disposition, and utter unselfishness combined, our Vi is one in a thousand."

"Thank you, mamma, for saying it," Elsie said, her eyes shining with pleasure. "She seems all that to me; but I thought it might be that mother love magnified her good qualities and made me blind to her imperfections."

Violet, in the nursery at home, was showing herself worthy of these encomiums by her efforts to amuse the little ones and keep them from missing the dear mother who had been so constantly with them of late. She played quiet little games with them, told them beautiful stories, showed them pictures and drew others for them, dressed dolls for Rosie and cut paper horses for Walter.

Several hours were passed thus, then seeing them begin to look weary—for they were still weak from their recent illness—she coaxed them to lie down while she sang them to sleep.

The closed eyes and soft breathing telling that they slept, she rose and bent over them a moment, gazing tenderly into each little face, then drawing out her watch and turning to the old nurse, whispered, "It is time for me to dress for dinner, mammy. I'll go now, but if they wake and want me let me know at once."

Her toilet was scarcely completed when the sound of wheels caught her ears.

"There! mamma has come! Dear, dear mamma!" she said half aloud, and presently hastened from the room to meet and welcome her.

But instead a servant was coming leisurely up the broad stairway.

"Where is mamma, Prilla?" the young girl asked in a slightly disappointed tone.

"Miss Elsie not come yet, Miss Wilet. De gentlemen is in de drawin'-room," Prilla answered, handing two visiting-cards to her young mistress.

"'Donald Keith, U.S.A.,'" read Violet with a brightening countenance, as she glanced at the first.

On the other was inscribed, "L. Raymond, U.S.N."

Violet hastening to the drawing-room, met her cousin with outstretched hand and cordial greeting.

"I am so glad you have come, Cousin Donald! We have all wanted you to see Ion."

"Thank you, Cousin Violet; you can't have wished it more than I, I am sure," he said, with a look of delight. "Allow me to introduce my friend, Captain Raymond, of the navy. You see I took your grandfather at his word and brought a friend with me."

Violet had already given her hand to her cousin's friend—as such he must have no doubtful welcome—but at Donald's concluding sentence she turned to him again with a look of surprised inquiry, which he was about to answer, when the door opened and Mr. Dinsmore, his wife and daughter came in.

There were fresh greetings and introductions, Mr. Dinsmore saying, as he shook hands with the guests, "So you received my hasty note, Donald, and accepted for yourself and friend? That was right. You are both most welcome, and we hope will find Ion pleasant enough to be willing to prolong your stay and to desire to visit us again."

"Thank you, I was certain of that before I came," said Donald.

"And I surely am now that I am here," remarked the captain gallantly, and with an admiring glance from Mrs. Dinsmore's still fresh, bright, and comely face to the more beautiful ones of Elsie and her daughter.

Elsie's beauty had not faded, she was still young and fair in appearance, with the same sweetly pure and innocent expression which old Mrs. Dinsmore had been wont to stigmatize as "that babyish look." And Violet's face was peerless in its fresh young beauty.

As for the captain himself, he was a man of commanding presence, noble countenance, and magnificent physique, with fine dark eyes and an abundance of dark brown curling hair and beard; evidently Donald's senior by some years, yet not looking much, if at all, over thirty.

The two older ladies presently left the room to reappear shortly in dinner dress.

While they were gone Mr. Dinsmore engaged the captain in conversation, and Donald and Violet talked together in a low aside.

"Your sister is well, I hope?" he remarked interrogatively.

"Elsie? We had letters from her and Edward this morning. They were well at the time of writing."

"They are not at home then?" he said in a tone of surprise and disappointment.

"Oh, no! had you not heard?" and Violet's eyes filled. "It is very foolish, I'm afraid," she went on in half tremulous tones, in answer to his inquiring look, "but I can't help feeling that Lester Leland has robbed me of my sister."

"She is married? and has gone to a home of her own?"

Violet answered by telling the story as succinctly as possible.

"He was in Italy pursuing his art studies," she said. "They had become engaged shortly before he went, and a few weeks ago we heard he was very ill with typhoid fever. Elsie at once said she must go to him, she could not let him die for lack of good nursing. So grandpa and mamma consented to her going with Edward and our faithful old Ben—papa's foster-brother and body-servant, who travelled for years with him in Europe—for protectors.

"Of course she took a maid too, and Aunt Louise offered to go with them, but was taken sick in New York, so had to be left behind.

"They found Lester very but not hopelessly ill, and the joy of seeing them had an excellent effect. So they were married, Cousin Donald. Just think how sad for poor Elsie! away from mamma and all of us except Edward!"

"It was sad for her, I am sure!" he said with warm sympathy, "and very, very noble and unselfish in her to leave all for him."

"Yes; and yet not more, I think, than any right-minded woman would do for the man she loved well enough to marry."

Harold and Herbert came in at that moment full of boyish enthusiasm and delight over the arrival of "Cousin Donald," whom they liked and admired extremely; in especial for his fine figure, soldierly bearing, and pleasant, kindly manner.

They had hardly done shaking hands with him and Captain Raymond, to whom their grandfather introduced them with a look of paternal pride, when their mother and "Grandma Rose" returned to the drawing-room, and dinner was announced.

"A man's heart deviseth his way; but the Lord directeth his steps."—Prov. 16:9.

The boys were greatly disappointed on learning from the talk at the dinner-table that Cousin Donald's furlough was so short that he could give but two days to his Ion friends.

There were many expressions of regret. Then Mr. Dinsmore said, "If you must leave us so soon we must make good use of our time, by taking you at once to see relatives, friends, and places of interest in the neighborhood. If you and the captain are not too weary to enjoy a ride or drive, we will go to Roselands for a call this afternoon, then on to the Oaks to take tea with my son Horace and his family."

"You can assure us of a welcome at both places?" Donald said inquiringly and with a slight smile.

"You need not have the slightest fear on that score," was the quick, earnest rejoinder.

"I for one," remarked the captain, "am not in the least fatigued, and if the ladies are to be of the party, accept with pleasure and thanks."

"I also," said Donald, with a look at Violet which seemed to express a hope that she was not intending to remain behind.

Mrs. Dinsmore and Mrs. Travilla excused themselves from going on the plea of fatigue from recent nursing of the sick and the long drive of the morning, Elsie adding that her little convalescents ought hardly to be deprived of mamma all day.

"Then we will take Vi," said Mr. Dinsmore, looking affectionately at her; "she has shut herself up with those same convalescents all the morning and needs air and exercise."

"Yes, papa," her mother said, "and I know she would enjoy a gallop on her favorite pony. Cousin," turning to Donald, "we have both riding and carriage horses at your and the captain's service; please do not hesitate to express your preference."

They thanked her, and after a little more discussion it was arranged that the whole party, including Harold and Herbert, should ride.

The horses were ordered at once and they set out very shortly after leaving the table. Mr. Dinsmore and the captain headed the cavalcade, Donald and Violet came next, riding side by side, and the two lads brought up the rear.

Donald was well satisfied with the arrangement, and he and Vi found a good deal of enjoyment in recalling the scenes, doings, and happenings of the past summer; particularly of the weeks spent together on the New Jersey coast.

Also Vi rehearsed to him Edward's account of Elsie's wedding and his description of the suite of apartments he had had fitted up for their use. Edward expected to spend the winter there, she said.

It was all very interesting to Donald. He thought Lester Leland a man to be envied, yet perhaps less so than he who should secure for his own the fair, sweet maiden riding by his side.

They passed a pleasant hour at Roselands, seeing all the family except the invalid, then rode on to the Oaks, where they found a warm welcome and most delightful and hospitable entertainment.

Then the return to Ion by moonlight was very enjoyable.

It was still early when they arrived; the two older ladies awaited them in the parlor, and some time was spent in pleasant converse before retiring for the night.

"I have not yet had the pleasure of seeing my little favorites, Rosie and Walter, Cousin Elsie," remarked Donald.

"No," she said, "and they are very eager for an interview with you. They are in bed now, but I hope they will be well enough to join us at breakfast to-morrow."

"They have been quite sick?"

"Yes, were dangerously ill for a time, and though about again, still need constant care lest they should take cold."

The guests given adjoining rooms, opened the door of communication between and had a little private chat together before seeking their pillows.

"These relatives of yours, Keith, are extremely nice people," remarked the captain.

"Of course they are," returned Donald, "relatives to be proud of."

"I never saw a more beautiful woman than Mrs. Travilla," pursued the captain. "I think I may say never one so beautiful; and the most charming part of it is beauty that will last; beauty of heart and intellect. Can she be Miss Violet's own mother? There is a resemblance, though their styles of beauty are quite different, but there does not seem to be sufficient difference in age."

"She is own mother, though, and not only to Violet, but to two older ones—a son and daughter."

The captain expressed great surprise. "But youthful looks must be a family characteristic," he added meditatively. "Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore look extremely young to be the grandparents of the family."

Donald explained that Mr. Dinsmore was really only eighteen years older than his daughter, and Rose, a second wife, but half as many.

"And what think you of Violet's beauty?" he asked.

"Absolutely faultless! She has an angelic face! If I were a young fellow like you, Keith, I'd certainly not look elsewhere while I could see a ray of hope in that direction. But there's the relationship in the way."

"It's too distant to stand in the way," returned Donald a trifle shortly, "I look upon her prospective wealth as a far greater obstacle, having no fancy for playing the rôle of fortune-hunter, or laying myself open to the suspicion of being such."

"Then you've no intention of trying for her?"

"I haven't said so, have I? Well, good-night, it's getting late."

"What do you think of Captain Raymond?" Rose was asking her husband. "You have had by far the best opportunity to cultivate his acquaintance."

"He impresses me very favorably as both a man and a Christian," was the emphatic reply.

"Ah! I am glad Donald has so nice a friend," was her pleased comment.

"Yes, there seems a warm friendship existing between them, though the captain must be the older by several years. Married too, for he mentioned his children incidentally."

On coming down to the parlor the next morning the guests found Mr. Dinsmore there fondling his little grandchildren—Rosie on one knee, Walter on the other.

Cousin Donald's entrance was hailed with delight, Walter presently transferred to his knee.

Then the captain coaxed Rosie to his, saying, "Your dark eyes and hair remind me of my little Lulu's."

"Have you a little girl of your own, sir?" Rosie asked with a look of interest.

"Yes, my dear, two of them. Lulu is a year or two younger than I take you to be, and Gracie is only seven."

"Have you any boys?" inquired Walter.

"Yes, my little man; I have one. We call him Max. He is two years older than Lulu."

"About as old as I am?" said Rosie half inquiringly.

"Yes; if you are eleven, as I suppose."

"Yes, sir, I'm eleven and Walter's five."

"If they're good children we'd like 'em to come here and play with us," remarked Walter.

"I am afraid they are not always good," the captain said with a smile and a half sigh. "I am not with them enough to give them the teaching and training that doubtless you enjoy."

"But why doesn't their mamma do it? Our mamma teaches us;" and the child's eyes turned lovingly upon her as at that moment she entered the room.

The usual morning greetings were exchanged, and Walter's question remained unanswered.

The gentlemen were out nearly all day, riding or driving; the ladies with them a part of the time. The evening was enlivened with music and conversation, and all retired to rest at a seasonable hour; the two guests expecting to take leave of their hospitable entertainers the next morning.

Darkness and silence reigned for some hours, then the shining of a bright light into Donald's eyes awoke him.

He sprang from his bed, rushed to the window, saw that a cottage not far away, which he had noticed in riding by, was in flames. The next moment he had snatched up a few articles of clothing and was at the captain's side shaking him vigorously.

"Up, Raymond! up, man! There's a fire and we'll be needed to help put it out."

"What is it? breakers ahead, do you say?'" muttered the captain, only half awake.

"Fire! fire!" repeated Keith.

"Fire? where?" and the captain sprang up, now wide awake, and began hurrying on his clothes.

"That cottage down the road."

"That's bad indeed; but not quite so bad as a vessel foundering or burning at sea. Anybody else in the house awake?"

"I don't know. Yes, there! I hear steps and voices."

They hurried into the hall and down the stairs. Mr. Dinsmore was in the lower hall giving directions to the men-servants, who were all collected there.

"Haste! Solon, Tom, Dick—all of you!" he was saying, "gather up all the large buckets about the house, ropes too and ladders, and follow me as fast as you can. Ah, captain! and Donald too! You have seen the fire, I suppose? Will you come with me? There'll be work enough for us all no doubt. We've no engine in this neighborhood."

"Certainly, sir!"

"That's the port we are bound for." And each catching up a bucket they all three set off at full speed in the direction of the burning house, several of the negroes following close at their heels.

They found a crowd already gathered there—men and women, black and white. Some were carrying out furniture from the lower rooms, some bringing water in buckets from a spring near by, others contenting themselves with looking on and giving orders which nobody obeyed.

"I see the house will have to go," Mr. Dinsmore said. "Are the family all out of it?"

"All but an old colored woman," some one replied, "old Aunt Betsy. Nobody thought of her in time, and now it's too late, for the stairs are burned away. Hark!" as a crash was heard, "there's the last of them."

"What! will you leave a helpless old woman to be burnt alive?" cried Captain Raymond. "Where is she?"

"Yonder!" cried several voices; "see, she's at the window! and she's screaming for help!" as a wild shriek rent the air, a black face full of terror and despair showing itself at an upper window, where the fire's lurid light fell full upon it.

"Oh, ain't dar nobody to help ole Aunt Betsy?" she screamed, stretching out her wrinkled arms and toil-worn hands in passionate entreaty; "will you ebery one ob you leave de po' ole woman to burn up in dis awful fiah? Isn't ye got no pity in yo' souls! Oh, somebody come an' help de po' ole woman to git down 'fore she burn all up!"

"A rope!" shouted the captain, "quick! quick! a rope!"

"Heah, massa cap'n!" answered Solon close it hand. "Ise brung it jus' in time."

"What can you do with a rope, Raymond?" asked Donald.

"Make an effort to save her with the help of that lightning-rod."

"You risk your own life, and it is worth far more than hers," Donald said entreatingly.

"Stay a moment, captain," said Mr. Dinsmore, "they are bringing a ladder."

"But there's no time to lose; see! the flames are already bursting out from the next window."

"Yes, but here it is," as the negroes halted with it close beside them. "It is to be used to reach that window, boys," he said, turning to them and pointing upward. "Set it up there."

"Can't do it, sah! 'Mos' as much as a man's life is wuth to go so near de fire."

"Then give it to me!" cried the captain, taking hold of it, Mr. Dinsmore and Donald giving their assistance.

It was the work of a moment to set it up against the wall; in another the captain was ascending it, while the other two held it firmly in place.

He gained the window and sprang in.

"Bress you, massa! bress you!" exclaimed the old negress, "you's gwine to save me I knows."

"Get out here on to the ladder and climb down as fast as you can," he said hurriedly, taking hold of her arm to help her.

But she drew back shuddering. "I can't, massa! I'se ole and stiff. I can't no how 'tall."

There was not a moment to lose. The captain stepped back on to the top round of the ladder, took her in his arms, and began as rapid a descent as was possible so burdened.

The ladder shook beneath their weight, for both were heavy, and Aunt Betsy struggled in his grasp, screaming with fright; then a tongue of flame shooting out from below caught her cotton gown, and in her frantic terror she gave a sudden spring that threw her preserver and herself to the ground.

Mr. Dinsmore and Donald seized the captain and dragged him out of harm's Way, other hands doing a like service for the woman.

She was shrieking and groaning, but her rescuer neither spoke nor moved.

They took him up, carried him out of the crowd, and laid him gently down upon a sofa; one of the articles of furniture saved from the fire.

"Poor fellow!" sighed Donald with emotion. "I'm afraid he has paid dear for his kindness of heart!"

"Solon," said Mr. Dinsmore, "mount the fastest horse here and ride to Roselands for Dr. Arthur. Tell him we don't know how seriously this gentleman is hurt. Hurry! make all possible haste!"

Solon was turning to obey, but stopped, exclaiming, "Why, sho' anuff, dar's de doctah hisself just lightin' off his hoss ober yondah!"

"Then run and bring him here."

Arthur obeyed the summons with all speed. The alarm of the fire had reached Roselands, and he had hastened to the spot to give aid in extinguishing it, or to any who might be injured.

He found the captain showing signs of life; he moved his head, then opened his eyes.

"Where are you hurt, sir?" asked the doctor.

"Not very seriously anywhere, I trust," replied the captain, trying to rise. "Ah!" as he fell back again, "both back and ankle seem to have had a wrench. But, friends, are you not needed over there at the fire? My injuries can wait."

"Little or nothing more can be done there, and there are people enough on the ground now to leave us free to attend to you," said Mr. Dinsmore.

The doctor was speaking aside to Donald and Solon.

Coming back, "We will have a litter ready in a few moments," he said, "and carry you over to Ion."

"By all means," said Mr. Dinsmore. "You accompany us, of course, Arthur?"

"Certainly, sir."

"How is she—the old negress? Was she much injured by the fall?" Captain Raymond asked.

No one could tell him, and he begged the doctor to attend to her while the litter was preparing.

Arthur went in search of her, and presently returned, saying she had escaped without any broken bones, though apparently a good deal shaken up and bruised.