Elsie's Widowhood. Finley Martha

there too – three generations, two of the sons bringing wives and little ones with them.

      The Carringtons, of Ashlands, were also present; for, though not actually related to the Travillas, the old and close friendship, and the fact that they were of Mrs. Rose Dinsmore's near kindred, seemed to place them on the footing of relationship.

      But we are forgetting Mrs. Travilla's sister Rose. She was now Mrs. Lacey, of the Laurels – a handsome place some four miles from Ion – and mother of a fine son, whom she and her husband brought with them to the family gathering and exhibited to the assembled company with no little joy and pride.

      It remains only to mention Lester Leland and his relatives of Fairview, who were all there, received and treated as honored guests by their entertainers, with urbane politeness by all the others, except Mrs. Conly and Virginia, who saw fit to appear almost oblivious of their existence.

      They, however, took a sensible view of the situation, and were quite indifferent as to the opinions and behavior toward them of the two haughty women.

      No one else seemed to notice it; all was apparent harmony and good will, and Lester felt himself welcomed into the family with at least a show of cordiality from the most of the relatives of his betrothed.

      She behaved very sweetly, conducting herself with a half shy, modest grace that disarmed even Aunt Conly's criticism.

      A few happy weeks followed, weeks rosy and blissful with love's young dream, then Lester tore himself away and left his Elsie mourning; for half the brightness and bloom of life seemed to have gone with him.

      Father and mother were very patient with her, very tender and sympathizing, very solicitous to amuse and entertain and help her to renew her old zest for simple home pleasures and employments, the old enjoyment of their love and that of her brothers and sisters.

      Ah! in after days she recalled it all – especially the gentle, tender persuasiveness of her father's looks and tones, the caressing touch of his hand, the loving expression of his eye – with a strange mixture of gladness and bitter sorrow, an unavailing, remorseful regret that she had not responded more readily and heartily to these manifestations of his strong fatherly affection. There came a time when a caress from him was coveted far more than those of her absent lover.

      CHAPTER III

      "Faith is exceedingly charitable and believeth no evil of God."

– Rutherford.

      Delicious September days had come; the air was soft and balmy; a mellow haze filled the woods, just beginning to show the touch of the Frost King's fingers.

      The children could not content themselves within doors, and the wisely indulgent mother had given them a holiday and spent the morning with them on the banks of the lakelet and floating over its bright surface in their pretty pleasure-boat.

      Returned to the house, she was now resting in her boudoir, lying back in a large easy chair with a book in her hand. Suddenly it dropped into her lap, she started up erect in her chair and seemed to listen intently.

      Was that her husband's step coming slowly along the hall? It was like and yet unlike it, lacking the firm, elastic tread.

      The door opened and she sprang to her feet. "Edward! you are ill!" for there was a deathly pallor on his face.

      "Do not be alarmed, little wife; it is nothing – a strange pain, a sudden faintness," he said, trying to smile, but tottered and would have fallen had she not hastened to give him the support of her arm.

      She helped him to a couch, placed a pillow beneath his head, rang for assistance, brought him a glass of cold water, cologne and smelling-salts from her dressing-table; doing all with a deft quickness free from flurry, though her heart almost stood still with a terrible fear and dread.

      What meant this sudden seizure, this anguish so great that it had bowed in a moment the strength of a strong man? She had never known him to be seriously ill before. He had seemed in usual health when he left her for his accustomed round over the plantation only a few hours ago, and now he was nearly helpless with suffering.

      Servants were instantly despatched in different directions: one to Roselands to summon Dr. Arthur Conly, another to the Oaks for her father, to whom she instinctively turned in every time of trouble, and who was ever ready to obey the call.

      Both arrived speedily, to find Mr. Travilla in an agony of pain, bearing it without a murmur, almost without a moan or groan, but with cold beads of perspiration standing on his brow; Elsie beside him, calm, quiet, alert to anticipate every wish, but pale as a marble statue and with a look of anguish in her beautiful eyes. It was so hard to stand by and see the suffering endured by him who was dearer than her own life.

      She watched Arthur's face as he examined and questioned his patient, and saw it grow white to the very lips.

      Was her husband's doom then sealed?

      But Arthur drew her and Mr. Dinsmore aside.

      "The case is a bad one, but not hopeless," he said. "I am unwilling to take the responsibility alone, but must call in Dr. Barton and also send to the city for the best advice to be had there."

      "We have great confidence in your skill, Arthur," Elsie said, "but let nothing be left undone. God alone can heal, but he works by means."

      "And in the multitude of counsellors there is safety," added Mr. Dinsmore. "Dear daughter, 'be strong and of a good courage;' there shall no evil befall you, for your heavenly Father knows, and will do what is best."

      "Yes, papa, I know, I believe it," she answered with emotion. "Ah, pray for me, that strength may be given me according to my day: and to him, my dear, dear husband; no murmuring thoughts arise in either of our hearts."

      The news had flown through the house that its master and head had been stricken down with sudden, severe illness. Great were the consternation and distress among both children and servants, so beloved was he, so strange a thing did it seem for him to be ill, for he had seldom had a day's sickness in all the years that they had known him.

      Elsie, Edward and Violet hastened to the door of the sick-room, begging that they might be admitted, that they might share in the work of nursing the dear invalid.

      Their mamma came to them, her sweet face very pale but calm.

      "No, darlings," she said in her gentle, tender tones, "it will not do to have so many in the room while your dear father is suffering so much. Your grandpa, mammy and I must be his only nurses for the present; though after a time your services may be needed."

      "O mamma, it is very hard to have to stay away from him," sobbed Violet.

      "I know it, dearest," her mother said, "and my heart aches for you and all my darlings; but I am sure you all love your dear father too well not to willingly sacrifice your own feelings when to indulge them might injure him or increase his pain."

      "O mamma, yes, yes indeed!" they all cried.

      "Well then, dears, go away now; look after the younger ones and the servants – I trust them all to your care; and when the doctors say it will do, you shall see and speak to your father, and do anything for him that you can."

      So with a loving, motherly caress bestowed upon each, she dismissed them to the duties she had pointed out, and returned to her station beside her husband's couch.

      Mr. Dinsmore, Arthur Conly, and Aunt Chloe were gathered about it engaged in efforts to relieve the torturing pain. His features were convulsed with it, but his eyes wandered restlessly around the room as if in search of something. As Elsie drew near they fixed themselves upon her face, and his was lighted up with a faint smile.

      "Darling, precious little wife," he murmured, drawing her down to him till their lips met in a long loving kiss, "don't leave me for a moment. Nothing helps me to bear this agony like the sight of your sweet face."

      "Ah, beloved, if I might bear it for you!" she sighed, her eyes filling with tears, while her soft white hand was laid tenderly upon his brow.

      "No, no!" he said, "that were far worse, far worse!"

      Her tears were falling fast.

      "Ah,